Nick and Bec's Big Trip

Through Our Eyes

nick_earl — Thu, 25 Jun 2009 01:01:00 GMT

Thinking about how to sum up a year of travel, through some of the poorest countries on the planet. A thought provoking journey. A trip to cut through the crap we are told by media: newspapers, TV and the internet.

Countries in debt up to their eye balls to the world bank and the IMF, where corrupt governments are almost the norm. Places where oil companies drill and destroy forests. Where pollution is irrelevant, where global warming is an unknown phrase, but where Coca Cola is cheaper and more available than drinking water. Mining for diamonds and gold causes war, death and destruction. Where endangered animals, silver back gorillas amongst them, are murdered for bush meat. Where the majority of the population are subsistance farmers living without choice.

We have seen so many wonderfull things, animals: lions, leopards, cheetahs, elephants, gorillas, hippos, crocodiles, anacondas, phiranas and hummingbirds. We have been to cities, great and small: Capetown, Cairo, Rio de Janerio and Cartagena and seen monuments such as the Pyramids of Giza and Machu Picchu. Possibly the most iconic archeological sities in the world. We have stared out across the Serengeti plain, camped under the stars in the Sahara, canoed in the Ecuadorian Amazon rainforest and snorkelled with sea lions in the Galapagos.

There have been many ups and downs, smiling like crazy people after seeing the silver back gorillas of Rwanda. The connection between them and us incredible, looking into each others eyes. I have shouted at painfull Egpytions over small change. I have feel scared in Quito after having my trousers slashed in an attempt to steal my money. I have felt foolish when asking a Ugandan boy why he did not go to school. His parents had both died, maybe from AIDS, he could not go, he had to run the household now and grow food for his brothers and sisters.

I have never felt so emotional as I did standing in the genocide memorial in Rwanda, a country where, in 1994, a million people were slaughtered in six weeks for practically no reason at all. Bigotry. I wanted to scream and shout upon reading the brutality of it all. How could someone murder a child, a two year old child, for belonging to another tribe, then murder another and another.

I have looked on in awe at Condors flying just metres away from me, so effortless and gracefull. I am full of wonder at nature: the mountains, vast plains, forests and animals. Still I get annoyed at the lack of protection, the readiness to destroy, to pour concrete, to push national park boundaries for mineral wealth.

My mind is expanded.

I have done things I thought I could never do. Spending eight days aboard a boat, I thought that impossible, but I did it. I convinced Bec to canoe the Zambesi amongst hippos and crocodiles. She did it.

We have spent a year in each others pockets and have not strangled each other. We have seen a bit more of the world, taken photos, written journal entries. We have met wonderfull people: locals, travellers, lots of people.

I hope Innocent sets up his street kid program in Africa, I hope Jorge stays passionate about the Galapagos and fights for its continued protection. I hope Gerry Lewis learns an extra eight languages to make fifteen and continues to guide with such enthusiasm.

So, we have travelled through twenty countries, sat on over 150 buses, flown 18 times, been in 70 plus taxis, driven a Land Rover in Kenya, watched the world go by on 24 trains, 10 bicycles, motorbike taxis, 3 camels, a dinosaur bus, canoes, horses and by foot.

I could go on and on. Overall it has been a fantastic experience, at times I have wanted to finish early or continue on past our one year deadline. I have learnt a lot, seen a lot. I have a well used passport and a tired mind and body, but I would not change it for anything.

Thats it, through our eyes, now it is your turn. Go on get out there, go travel. See the world you live on.

A damp Bogota, full of gold

nick_earl — Wed, 17 Jun 2009 00:48:00 GMT

A couple of weeks ago we crossed the border into Columbia and travelled north through Pasto, Popayan, San Agustin on the way to Bogota. From there we took a flight to the Carribean sea, Cartagena. We wandered the streets of the historical town, now a large and imposing city, climbed yet another volcano, this one was only 20 metres or so high and filled with supposedly theraputic mud, then turned south and went the back-way, via Mompos, to Bucaramanga, where we are now. We are only staying here a short while, to try the fried giant ants and catch another bus to San Gill, roughly two and a half hours away.

Here´s my journal entry for the 7th June a walking tour through Bogota.

Today we toured Bogota by foot and visited the Museo del Oro, Museum of Gold, and to quote or guide book, "arguably the most important gold museum in the world".

Starting at the beginning though, we left our hotel, Hotel Aragon, and headed to Plaza Bolivar. named after that revolutionary so important in South American history especially the countries to the north and west of Brazil.

Avoiding the pigeons we had a peek inside the cathedral, a typical catholic place of worship with lots of ornate stone work and gold, plus paintings of the saints and JC high in the arches. We completed a loop of the isles and high altar emerging back outside taking a swift right turn towards a bakery where some chocolate star shaped things were purchased, before heading slightly up hill for the art gallery of Botero. Not someone I have heard of, but I liked his style. His drawings and paintings of chubby people and oversize fuit are enough to put a smile on most peoples faces. In the gallery we also came across, unexpectedly which is always a nice surprise, some raunchy Picasso, some Henry Moore, a solitary Salvador Dali and a couple of Renoirs and a Monet. My favourite, apart from the amusing, but slightly overweight Boteros, was a photorealistic painting of, I presume, a North American city from the inside of a bus or tram.

Not to gabble on about paintings, we left and headed for the fantastic museum of gold in the drizzle of Bogota. We decided to hire an audio guide to help us through the rooms, exhibits and displays of gold, copper and silver, collected from around Columbia prior to the arrival of the Spanish.

We saw fabulous and intricate breast plates, nose rings (they must have had huge noses), ear rings and crowns. Cast, foled and hammered into shape from ingot and flat sheet adding great detail. All interesting stuff to a couple of engineers. We watched the videos, listened to our audio guide and tried to absorb it all, not an easy task.

Next we learnt about the Shammans and their transcendence to another level of the cosmos using hallucinogens to allow themselves to become bird flying into the heavens or pumas to gain great strength. The Shammans commanded great respect using their abilities to predict the unknown, cure the sick and foretell of impending disaster.

We decided to leave after seeing the magnificent gold ship, the detail was incredible, and find lunch in the worsening drizzle. We struggled up Carrera 7 amongst the slow coaches and weaving in and out of the endless tat sellers. You could buy anything from a rubber spiderman to broken TV sets. We didn´t make a purchase.

On arrival at the multiplex cinema, we looked at the films on offer and decided they could wait for the flight to Sydney did a u-turn and decided to go up the 172 metre 48 story office building open as a mirador on weekends.

So after 46 floors by lift and the remaining 2 by foot we exited onto a walkway around the top of the mighty building to views of a wet Bogota all around. Some of the roads through Bogota are arrow straight and appear to go on forever, well at least to the rain clouds in the distance. We did a circuit, took some snaps for the record and descended.

That was about it for today, we wandered back stopping for a toilet break, lunch did not agree with me and then headed back to the Hotel to rest our damp weary limbs.

We have only a few days left of our year long trip. Next for us is getting a flight in Bogota on the 23rd June to Santiago, then on the 26th June we leave South America for the long flight to Sydney. Time flies when your are traveling the world.

Natural Selection: Survival of the Fittest

nick_earl — Sat, 30 May 2009 03:32:00 GMT

We are in Ecuador, leaving tomorrow for Columbia. Since I wrote last we have been to Machu Picchu, flown over the Nasca lines, popped into Lima and hopped on a plane to Quito. Here in Ecuador we have been to The Galapagos and the Amazon jungle.

Here are some diary entries relating to our eight day sail around The Galapagos. A huge test for me as I have no sea legs what-so-ever. I have some new friends now, called Dramamine. Wonderfull stuff. I consider myself an ultimate test for a motion sickness drug. I was even offered an opportunity to get off the boat for the evening and I turned it down!

So read on.

We are here, The Galapagos, about 30 minutes south of the equator and 90 degrees west of the Greenwich Meridian. The water is aquamarine and the sky is deep blue with clouds of white to grey, the islands are a combination of green flora with black volcanics.

First views of the boat.

Is that it? Surely not. It can´t be that small. How am I going to survive on that thing for a week, well eight days to be precise! There must be a bigger more stable looking craft around here somewhere.

These were my initial thoughts on seeing the good ship Sulidae our chosen vessel for our tour of The Galapagos. What have I let myself in for?

20th May - Day 8, Overnight to Isla Daphne Meyor and to see the giant tortoises in the wild.

Wow, last night was a really rough crossing. I think Marlo was sick and a couple of the others were not feeling so good. As for me, my wonder drugs did the trick and I even managed to stay on deck for a while chatting away to Charlie the US oil man from Oaklahoma whilst the boat was pitching into the sea and rolling heavily from port to starboard and back again.

Eventually I gave up and made the bold move for towards my bunk. It took a fair amount of effort not to fall over the side holding on with grim determination to the railing and cabin roof. I made it to the top of the stairs and bracing myself gingerly descended trying to go with the motion of the boat. Through the kitchen and past the dining table I did a u-turn into our cabin and went to the bathroom with carefull aim. Decided not to clean my teeth for fear of poking an eye out and getting smacked in the head by our possessed bathroom cabinet mirror. I changed into my pjamas immitating a contorted trapese artist and fell into bed. I decided the ´recovery position´would give me the best chance of staying in bed and not rolling out into the isle. Lying in bed hoping for immediate sleep I heard Bec muttering curses as the bathroom door slammed shut on her fingers during a dramatic roll to starboard. Ouch!

So I did fall asleep and slept well apart from being partly crushed by my falling pack and getting covered in damp towels and wet swimmers sometime during the night. Ah the fun of boat travel.

Morning did arrive, not soon enough, but did eventually turn up. The sea was calm and we had nearly reached Isla Daphne Meyor, a tough cone or some other type of volcanic feature a few kilometres of the shore of Isla Santa Cruz.

The Captain took the Sulidae within a few metres of the small island giving us great views of the Blue Footed Boobies, a gull type bird with strikingly blue feet as the name implies. Over head were Scissor Tailed Frigate birds and Pelicans eyeing the sea for a potential breakfast. After a loop of the island we headed for the channel or canal between Isla Baltra and the larger Isla Santa Cruz. Departing the ship by panga for a short minibus ride to see giant tortoises in their natural habitat.

We wandered through a reserve of sorts following our guide Jorje finding numerous tortoises amongst bushes and scrub going about their daily lives. The largest tortoises we found must have been about 220 kilos, a monster, and estimated at 80 years old. No one really knows. Anyway, middle aged if estiamtes are correct as they can live to around 150 years old.

Before heading back to the ship, to collect our packs as this was our last day of our sail, we walked through some giant lava tunnels. Probably 3 to 4 metres high, created long ago by a long forgotten eruption. They were impressive to see and gave some idea of the scale of eruptions in the past.

So that concluded our eight day sail around The Galapagos, seeing giant tortoises, swimming with playfull sea lions, watching turtles and marine iguanas feed under water, staring wide eyed through a diving mask at 40 or so White Tipped Sharks and seeing Darwin´s Finches, prime examples of his theory of evolution. Incredible.

So are the Galapagos of today what Darwin saw after he stepped off the Beagle in the 19th Century? No, definately not. Not even if you imagine no half completed concrete buldings, drab hotels, plastic cruise boats and envitable rubbish of a plastic drinks bottle. During the early colonisation of the islands over 100,000 tortoises were slaughtered for meat and for oil, some species were probably wiped out and for others there are only a few left and for the Pinta tortoise, only Lonesome George recovered from a California zoo exists.

It can be depressing to read about the destruction caused by introduced animals: ants, goats, cats, dogs and cattle to name a few. A huge problem in itself.

So there is wildlife, but it doesn´t teem with wildlife as Darwin would have found it. Not all the beaches are pristine as Darwin would have found them. And so on. Sighing loudly and taking stock of what I have seen and the measures the authorities are taking to protecting what is left I say it is still The Galapagos and it exists. It along with other people and places in the world, such as the Wallace line in northern Australiasia, has changed the way we look at the natural history and how it was created.

So to conclude! I was not sick! Bec was! I have survived!

The not so sunny Isla del Sol

nick_earl — Sun, 26 Apr 2009 05:43:00 GMT

We have arrived in Cuzco, Peru. Inka capital and centre of the Inka empire. Here are a couple of diary entries from our last two days in Bolivia.

8th April - Bus to Copacabana

Sitting on the bus today was a great way to watch the world go by. You see a dog nosing through some rubbish, another taking itself for a walk, a third eating some left over scraps. Stray dogs being stray dogs. They are everywhere too. I have no idea what make or model they are, they are just stray dogs.

The other traffic on the road consists mostly of public transport vehicles, countless minibuses with the destination stuck to the inside of the windscreen and conductor leaning out of the side door spying the road ahead for potential passengers. Second most numerous are the taxis, a collection of beat up old Japanese cars eager for a paying passenger. Then it steps up to buses, like the one we are on now, our 95th bus of the trip, to old Dodge, GMC and Chevy school buses painted dark blue, white with green and blue horizontal stripes all pumping out the diesel fumes that make up a large part of the La Paz atmosphere.

I am glad to be away from La Paz breathing some thin, but much cleaner air.

Next are the trucks in all forms of repair, generally knackered to very knackered, many old bull nose Mercedes and North American makes. The tyres are typically bald with the slightest hint of tread on the corners and the driver looks frozen under many layers of clothing.

Not really any private cars at all, maybe at a guess one per hundred minibuses. Oh and in La Paz the horn is almost constantly on. This is all city traffic though and when the countryside is reached the traffic disappears and you feel like you are the only people on the road.

As for Copacabana, it is a small town of mostly hotels, cafes and shops set on the edge of Lake Titicaca with rough streets, ours is mostly mud with the odd tangible rock, with the standard amounts of rubbish and stray dogs, of course.

We are staying at Hostel Umtata. A groovy place in an odd sort of way. Our room is out there, with a synthetic leopard skin blanket, leaking roof, our own bathroom behind a murial of a setting sun in a South American hill top village, may be here long ago. The floor is parkay, very posh, and we even have a sofa, but it is under the leak. Oh and I nearly forgot the toilet is basically wrapped up in blue shag pile carpet. A must have photo.

Time for a shower, then out for grub. A note about the typical Bolivian shower or the maracas shower, because it sounds like someone is shaking away above your head whilst you´re underneath adjusting the tap millimetre by millimetre for ultimate temperature. The tap on the shower is often hidden under a hat of insulation tape, this tells you something about the wiring doesn´t it.

10th April - Copacabana, Isla del Sol - The most boring boat ride ever

At least I wasn´t sick and in my opinion coped admirably, coming out the other side of two grueling boat rides with nothing more than a headache and a strong desire to set foot on solid land, which isn´t a small island requiring further boat transportation.

Honestly though it was the slowest boat in the world having two speeds stopped or nearly stopped. Every man and his dog was on board, the seating full inside and on the roof. The driver did an awfull lot of faffing before and during the trip, which set my frustration dial to max. We would be chugging along at an unbelieveable slow pace then he would stop the engine and do something to the other engine, give up, and go back to the first one. We were on the boat for most of the day, probably about five hours and we were on the island for only four hours!

So after what seems like an eternity we arrive and fuddle our way out of the village heading for our first Inka ruins of the trip. Not a bad place to start our Inka tour, the birth place of man and woman according to Inka legend.

We both had a pee in the public WC and the guy was cheeky enough to ask for payment, when the toilets didn´t flush, the door didn´t lock and there was no water to wash your mits with. That kept my frustration high and I had the grump when we had to pay fees to see the ruins later in the day. I´ll get off my high horse now before it becomes a rant.

So we headed to the Inka and pre-Inka ruins at the north end of the island, including a sacred rock, a very complete, excluding rooves, set of interlocked buildings with low winding corridors connecting them all together, looking out across Lake Titicaca. We now turned and progressed south with some increasingly bad weather, rain and wind, coming up from behind. All gnarly and unpleasant, but not bad enough for me to buy a silly woollen hat I might add.

Poor Bec suffered today, she is stuggling with altitude, basically it won´t let her go up hills without huffing and puffing like an old stream train. She did improve though almost coincidentally with the weather. For a strong moment I thought Isla del Sol was a bad choice of name.

We finished our brief tour of the island descending an Inka stairway to an old port, now tourist boat chaos. The steps consisting of a set of neatly laid stones with grass mortar and a stream running under and parallel to the steps until the lake.

We found the good ship very slow and boarded hoping for immenent departure. With a standard amount of faffing we crept put of port and trundled, I feel trundle sounds too fast, towards Copacabana stopping at some reed islands for a peek. In my opinion they look like a floating amusement park with nothing to do except stand on the wobbly floor, but perhaps I am missing the point.

No more to say, time for a read and bed. Good night.

I have seen the rings of Saturn and I have walked upon the Moon

nick_earl — Fri, 3 Apr 2009 05:47:00 GMT

We have moved slightly to Sucre and have been to see dinosaur footprints over 68 million years old. More about that another day. Here´s a diary entry from the 24th March, San Pedro de Atacama, Chile.

My evangelical title, but worth it. It all starts with the star tour last night run by an amusing and very passionate Chile-French pair of astronomers.

We were picked up about 9:30pm and driven out of town to the astronomers house and enormous back yard, plus the sky, just full of stars. We huddled around as they explained to us the visible and non-visible constellations in the sky.

Plus how to find north, how many stars are visible on a clear night, roughly 3,000 per side of the planet. Why planets are called planets, they orbit in a planar motion. Why France is the centre of the universe, Sirius (8.6 light years away) the brightest star in the night sky, not forgetting the Sun is a star too. Canopus the second brightest night star, Orion, the Southern Cross, the Fly, the Centaur, including the Pointers and Ursa Major just on the horizon.

Plus the position and meaning of the small and large Magellanic Coulds, not part of the Milkyway and actually other distant galaxies. Nebular and globular clusters and so on and so on. Right up my alley so to speak. Their enthusiasm was infectious.

We also looked through numerous telescopes pointed at different parts of the night sky. After a warm up break we chatted about why the world is not flat and the make up of the universe, including our galaxy and the furthest known galaxies observed using Hubble Space Telescope at a massive distance of 13 billion light years away. Huge beyond description.

The highlight was yet to come. Seeing Saturn and it rings including one of its many moons, Titan. Through the telescope it was incredible.

Back to earth, sort of. Today we trekked through Death Valley and the The Valley of the Moon. The landscape was barren, desolate, rock strewn and, well, Moon like. We wound our way through the moonscape with our girl guide and two chain smoking Germans. The up hills very tough and we could feel the altitude hurting our lungs and sapping our energy.

We were in the Salt Mountain Range. Very simply put, part of the sea bed long ago. Then due to tectonic plate movements was thrust skyward. The sea bed bent and buckled forming mountain and canyon. Rains channeled into rivers, which cut gorges through the mud-rock substance. The water has long since gone as we found out by following an anicent streamway over dry water falls and through ox-bow caves cut by the river eons ago. The salt from the anicent sea still exists though and can be seen everywhere imitating a fine layer of snow, but of course it is not snow. We did try some crystalised rock salt, licking a finger and touching the glass looking substance buried in the walls.

During our whole day we were under the watchful gaze of many volcanos in the region of six thousand metres straddling the present Bolivia-Chile border. The snow capped monsters were an impressive back drop to the sunset at the end of the day. Being at 23 degress of latitude the sun sets fast, then the colours of the night start to creep up, reds to purples to greys and finally to the black of the night once more.

Fun with Nick and Bec. Climbing a 6b at El Salto, Mendoza

nick_earl — Tue, 31 Mar 2009 02:48:00 GMT

We are in Potosi, Bolivia the highest city in the world apparently at around 4060 metres high. It feels high. We arrived in Bolivia via the Bolivian Altiplano and the Salar de Uyuni. Here is blog for today, Bec and I climbing.

13th March - Climbing at Mendoza

This is what all days should be made of. Today we went climbing with the 2007-2008 Argentinian National Champion, Federico Zambrano. A friendly, brilliant climber from Mendoza. We climbed until we could climb no more. I even did a sport lead climb with a grade of 6b ish.

Now that I have given all the highlights away, I will expand on how the day unfolded.

Federico had car trouble, so our 9am start became 9:40am, but he turned up eventually with greasy hands after fighting with his Nissan, unsuccessfully as we found out, becuase a clapped out old Ford was waiting for us outside. With us all inside we rattled along, introducing oursleves as we left the city. We found ourselves back on the road towards the border, stunningly straight, with rows of millimetre perfect grape vines going on forever either side of the road. They must grow an obscene amount of grapes here and drink gallons and litres (imperial and metric to keep everyone happy) of the stuff. By stuff I mean wine. As you can tell I am a dedicated wine coniseur.

After a few kilometres the road begins to bend around the growing mountain range in front of us. The ridges dusted in brown bare rock and sparse scrub. Behind these rising hills are the true Andean mountains. Some where in there is Aconcagua, The highest mountain in South America, but even the ones we can see are over six thousand metres, snow and glaciar capped. We turn off the route to Chile and after a series of twists and turns the climbing wall appears, named El Salto.

Federico, Bec and I strap on our climbing harnesses and squeeze into our climbing shoes. The shoes are as uncomfortable as ever. Probably worse than I remember. Within minutes we are ready to go. Federico leads and I belay. It seems like only seconds have ticked by and he is at the top, setting up the anchor. Before I know it and before I am completely ready he is down and I am tied in and taking my first tentative steps. The rock is good, grippy. This is not too bad. Today should be a good day, which it definatley becomes. I concentrate, the holds are good and I complete the series of moves fast, probably a bit too fast, but it flows. I have no worries about the height and so far the exposure is fine. I reach the top. Becs turn next, she completes it easy.

We are doing alright seeing that we climbed once in Bariloche and then our best estimate is about nine months ago. My arms feel like jelly writing this though. We each topped out a few more climbs, then Federico offered me the opportunity to lead a pitch. Before my brain had the time to think my mouth had opened and said, "yes please!". My brain is catching up and saying, "What did you do that for. You have trouble walking along a flat pavement!" Then before my brain had a chance to do anything except rant, my hand takes the rope ties in and my legs walk to the bottom of the pitch with rope trailing behind. So I am committed.

The first quick draw, or anchor point, is miles away. So after what seems like an externity I reach it and clip in. There that feels better. I progress, placing one foot then the other moving around the vertical rock face, pausing to look around the arete searching for the next hand hold. Writing it down makes it sound so easy, but I was scared stiff and fear was thumping away in my mind. I did it though and topped out after about four or five anchors.

I smile like a kid in a sweetie shop for the next hour or so. I have completed my second lead climb. Yah for me.

We continued to climb until we could climb no more, which did not take too long. Lets face it only another couple of climbs or so. We did work a tougher problem though; many, many times with great instruction from Federico. By now the strength in our arms was mostly gone, so we decided to try another wall next to the abandoned railway line and the raging brown river. Unfortunatley we were so kanckered that our climbing did not eventuate to much here. Shame!

So yeah that was about it. Federico dropped us back oof at the hostal and we slipped out for dinner. We are now back at the hostal resting our weary, aching limbs and smiling over the success of our penultimate day in Argentina.

Here is my techy footnote. The climnbs were graded around 6b French system so 19 Australian system and between E1 and E2 British system. There you go lots of numbers and letters, but do they really mean anything!

And some additional. On the radio in the clapped out Ford I heard more Phil Collins. This time it was Just Give Me one More Night. The 1980s live on for ever.

Knee friction in Pucon, Chile. Plus the importance of sock height

nick_earl — Tue, 17 Mar 2009 00:34:00 GMT

We are in Mendoza, Argentina. Since the last blog we have travelled north from Bariloche. The weather is warm to really hot, the sky is blue and we are tired, but enjoying ourselves. So here goes, a couple of extracts and a day in Pucon.

24th February - Campamento SAC, Near Bariloche.

Here´s the part about knee friction. Knee friction, this is a mid thirties thing and I am embracing it. It is not pain related, but the fact that at mid thirty you get extra friction across the top of your knees requiring you to hoist your trousers up over your knees before sitting down. Otherwise your extra sticky knees grab hold of your trousers and you get a tight uncomfortable feeling from your bum to your knee. So there you go, knee friction.

5th March - Bus to Pucon and staying at Etnico a relic from the 1908s.

With a cup of tea in hand here goes. Aren´t patio doors very 1980s. They were in England anyway. Everyone went through a phase of knocking a giant holes in the back of their houses to fit the patio door. Well from a 1980s wrap around sofa I can look through one and see volcano Villarrica, a bloody enormous lump of rock at 2847 metres high. Still active too, plus lots of snow on the slopes.

I think more amazing than the amazing volcano is a humming bird also outside the 1980s patio doors flying or hovering from flower to flower on the fuschia bush. Bec spotted him or her, incredible bird.

Back to the volcano, it is pretty big as I said before and has a classic volcano shape, almost a pyramid with the top chopped off. It is cloud free and I think you can see smoke coming out of the top, not huge amounts, but it is definately smoking.

Today started with an early start to catch the six am bus. Lucky for us the lady who runs Hosteria Las Lucarnas got up and fed us hot crossiants and cakes and watered us with tea. Not a bad start. The bus station was only a short walk away, so we strolled along finding our bus, depositing our packs and locating our seats. The highlight of the journey was seeing volcano Lanin, massive at 3776 metres, from the border post in Argentina whilst waiting ot get an exit stamp. Volcano Villarrica is big, but Lanin just kind of dwarfs it. The pass where the road goes through is 1207 metres high, so the volcano towers above for another 2569 metres (if I have got my sums correct).

After getting through a relaxed Chile customs, covered in warning signs about not bringing food in, but then not bothering to check, just a token x-ray, we headed to Pucon. The road swept down through the forest of monkey puzzle trees, Aracaria in Spanish or Pehuen trees in the local tongue or just conifers (sorry getting all excited about my trees). The forest really did change over the pass, the western side a lot wetter and greener than the steppes of Argentina.

It is difficult to write well enough to convey how much I love the forest and the natural environment. I always have, it is me. It is excellent. Before I go all green and start gushing over habitat destruction I´ll stop.

I can hear Chile radio in the background, let´s call it Pucon FM. Well it goes with the house, it is very 1980s. So far it would seem South Americas are very fond of Genesis and Phil Collins, and to confirm we are back in the 1980s they just played the theme tune from Beveley Hills Cop. What can you say.

So back to the plan, we jumped off the bus and headed for our chosen hostel, Etnico. A kind of eco hostel, well that´s what the advertising says. They do a bit of recycling and keep the 1980s going. So in effect we are recycling, Phill Collins and the house. The bathroom is something else, lets just say you enter through a door which looks like part of the wardrobe and is mirrored with brown edging.

After dropping our stuff we decided to head out for lunch, opting for the Arabian cafe. Not at all Chile, but great food. I even had some vegetables, they were vines leaves, but for moment I am calling vine leaves a vegetable. So far food has been very much the same (on our small budget) with little choice other than meat and chips. With a strong absence of vegetable matter. Now we are back in Chile the food options have already improved and vegetables are back on the table, so to speak.

Well that is about it. Now it is time to decide what to do. More climbing, trek the enormous volcano outside the 1980s patio doors, kayak and so on. It will be hard to make a decision.

25th February - Campamento SAC

The importance of sock height. This is all to do with knee friction. So on going to sit down you hoist the old tweeds over you knees and sit. This results in exposed shin skin between the top of you wrinkly socks and the bottom of your trousers. To overcome this mid thirties dress sense error you need to pull those socks up to at least mid calf level. Obiviously dependent on the energy you put into your trouser hoist.

I´ll be thirty six in a month from today, so it is time to think about these things.

Chile to the left, Argentina to the right, we are going north

nick_earl — Sat, 21 Feb 2009 08:39:00 GMT

We are in Bariloche, Argentina. Smack bang in the middle of the Patagonian Andes. We arrived here the day before yesterday after taking a two day bus up ´Ruta 40´. Next is more trekking, this time a high level traverse in Nahuel Huapi national park. Below is the second day of the Fitz Roy trek west of El Chalten and day one of the ´Ruta 40´ trip.

16th February - Fitz Roy towers and the return to El Chalten

We are back at the hostel in El Chalten, tired, but well fed. I had enormous piece of breaded beef with an equally enormous pile of chips. Bec had an omlette and huge pile of chips.

Today we left the tent roughly 9.45am and headed towards Rio Blanco and the start of the 450 metre climb up to the glacial lake and hopefully views of Fitz Roy and the surrounding spires. When I first got out of bed the crazy spires were peeking through the clouds, but by the time we left the cloud was in. It had clagged over. We decided to go anyway and with minimal gear, one pack with cameras, food and waterproofs, we set off into increasingly worsening weather.

We crossed the Rio Blanco by ricketty log bridge and had a brief stop in the shelter at the climbers campsite before continuing up the ridge track. The track follows the ever steepening ridge, becoming a series of switch backs, before eventually reaching a crest, diverting left around an old terminal moraine. This is where we stopped as the sleet was horizontal and the cold quite intense. We took shelter behind a boulder, gaining some protection from the weather, took a few snaps of the gloom, ate a museli bar and some chocolate before calling it quits and quickly making our escape. Unfortunatley the towers were hidden in the mist and the views were, well, crappy.

As we descended you could almost feel it warming up as we passed many trekkers going in the opposite direction. I think it was clagged in for the day, no real chance of seeing the spires. The horizontal sleet was replaced by horizontal rain and after not too long we reached the shelter at Campamento Blanco, relatively comfy. So after a few more snacks inside us, we decided to find the tent, strike it and get going. So with tent struck we hurriedly packed up as our hands became numb and slow.

The return trip was quite pleasant as the sun sort of poked through the clouds occaisonally and the rain become vertical and eventually eased off and stopped.

So that was about it really, our second trek completed. Not great weather, some stunning views, light packs and a tent with a floor that kind of leaks. It had its ups and downs, but overall I enjoyed it. Fingers crossed for better weather on the next one.

17th February - Ruta 40 to Perito Moreno

So yes today, well last night, was extremely crap. There was a big, fat, snoring monster in our room who kept me awake the whole night. Bec got some sleep, but I got none, zip.

We gave up trying to sleep at 6.30am and decided to get dressed and have some breakfast. I went to the toilet, only to get stuck in the bog. The door would not open from the inside. So after five minutes of hammering on the door, the cleaning lady let me in, well, out.

Breakfast was not bad, it was actually quite good. A small improvement to the day. The bus came, but all the windows were covered in dirt and the driver/conductor was too lazy to clean them. So the Patagonian scenary was completely missed as we could not see out unless you sort of stood up and looked down the bus and out the front window. The only other means of viewing the scenary were obtained at the toilet breaks. These were polluted with the evidence of humans in the forms of rusting tin shacks and rubbish.

So all in all not the day I expected. The plus side came later in the day. We expected to be sleeping in a dorm that night, at Hotel Belgrano, but we had our own room (our first since Buenos Aires), they even provided towels and shampoo and soap. We also had a good feed of chicken schnitzel and salad and chips, with a coke to cheer us up. Fingers crossed they clean the windows for tomorrow.

That will do, time to murder the person running up and down upstairs banging on the floor.

Torres del Paine at 5:30am

nick_earl — Sat, 7 Feb 2009 05:43:00 GMT

Here is the second diary entry for today. It is day five out of ten of our trek around Torres del Paine and an exta bit called the ´Q´.

31st January - Day 5, Sighting the Towers at 5:30am, plus Campamento Torres to Hosteria Las Torres

We have just added up the distances for the ´Q´ and it is huge at 134km! That was a bit unexpected and so far we have covered 73km. Over halfway and on the home straight, well sort of, albeit a long one.

Today we got up at 4:10am ready to see the sunshine on the towers. We got dressed, packed sleeping bags, thermarests, the stove, some gas, a packet of soup, lots of snacks including chocolate, scroggin, museli bars and sweets, waterproofs and our water bottles with pear flavoured water. By 4:40am we had completed our bodily functions and were off, with head torches over beanies. We expected the climb to take 45minutes, so just in time to see the sun hit the towers and make them shine brilliant red.

I´m in front and it is at this point I realise my head torch batteries are rubbish as all I can see is my shadow illuminated by Bec´s head torch. So in the dim light of my torch I start to pick a way up the immense boulder field, which stretches from the edge of the beech forested campsite right to the mirador in front of the towers a good distance above us. It is a scramble on all fours and mostly in my own shadow. Of course I could of changed the batteries, but that would have been easy! Part way up Bec takes the lead and eases my not so bright torch situation. Spotting each guide pole or ´comfort marker´ and heading for it we ascend and the towers grow in the dim early morning light.

At this point I realise our water bottles are full of pear flavoured water and there won´t be a stream at the top. So unless we want pumpkin soup with pear water, soup is off. We didn´t try it, we were that desperate for soup. It could wait.

So we reach the top of the boulder field and cross over and down to find a spot out of the terrific Patagonian wind (strong, gusty and comes from no-where). Bec found a spot so we quickly inflated our sleeping mats, removed shoes and hopped into our sleeping bags with beanies pulled down over our ears and gloves firmly on.

I noticed on the way up looking over my shoulder, the approach of the sun, indicated by intense red clouds just showing between the overlapping ridges.

Whilst we are waiting for the sun, we munch on scroggin and a couple of museli bars, plus ready the tripod for the blast of much anticipated colour. As it starts to lighten up, it becomes clear that the three towers, south, central and north, are free of cloud cover and awesome to see. Jagged is not an extreme enough word. They rise menacingly towards the sky with not a rounded edge in sight. They seem to sit on another massive buttress of rock that dives into a grey glacial lake at a crazily steep angle. Snow and ice is all around with hanging glaciers and snow fields all in view.

We hunker down in our sleeping bags contemplating our mistake with the soup and pear water depending on our point of view. It is definately getting light. The towers should turn red any minute now. We wait some more, it gets lighter, we take lots of photos and dawn and day arrive, but alas the towers do not turn red. We are not treated to a spectacular exhibition of colour. Our luck has run out, the sun has been beaten by the southern Patagonian weather and can´t break through the cloud cover behind us.

We decide to call it quits and head back to camp. We pack up and continue down to Hosteria Las Torres our next camp for the ´Q´ circuit. So we are now down the valley writing around a small fire, much looking forward to an early sleep. Five more days to go.

Don´t cry for me Argentina

nick_earl — Sat, 7 Feb 2009 05:02:00 GMT

We are in Puerto Natales, southern Chile. Way down south, nearly as far as you can go without getting wet feet or getting a boat to a cold place called Antartica or something like that.

So what have we been up to? The answer is heaps. Due to a flight in the wrong place the first couple of weeks in Brazil, Argentina and Chile flew past at incredible speed. It was like being part of the Amazing Race TV show. Things are starting to slow down a bit now though. We are resting or kicking back as Bec likes to call it after completing the ´Q´. A gruelling ten day trek around Torres del Paine covering a whopping 134km. We must be a little crazy.

So here are a couple of diary entries. The first from Argentina. We went to see a tango show in Buenos Aires.

20th Janauary - BA city tour and the Tango show!

Today we spent the morning trying to figure out how to get cash out of an ATM. Not really a hard task you might imagine, but with our limited Spanish it took a few attempts. So after numerous attempts at various banks we succeeded! Mostly by guess work, using an unknown network and pressing buttons in a random order and hey presto some cash appears.

So armed with a few pesos we booked ourselves in to see a Tango show tonight, but first after lunch we joined a city tour to see a bit more of BA. I guess we would have done this independently, but unfortunately our Amazing Race style if travel doesn´t allow this and it is go go go until we hit El Calafate and crash.

We were proper tourists today each with a name tag so we could be herded like sheep. It was enjoyable though and we got to see lots including a drive by around the city, the central square surrounding by parliment, the cathedral and early colonial stuff. Then to the football stadium of Boca and hence Maradonna and finaly a hippy, arty, dockside part of town with rainbow coloured buildings and Maradonna impersonators. So I feel I have seen a teeny bit of BA, enough to appreciate it. Cities aren´t me, but I see the attraction.

Here is the slight aside for today. Bec and I were talking about famous people from our own countries that would be known worldwide. For sporting people Australia had loads, for Britain we came up with Beckham, Botham and Eddie the Eagle.

Ok, the Tango show. It was almost a Mel Brooks type production. All it needed was a movable glass staircase and a giant swan made of ice gliding along a stream surrounded by emerging human flowers. It did have horses prancing through dry ice, a stage that rotated and even went up and down. Plus there was another part of the stage, which dropped from the ceiling. Not literally, more of a controlled descent. Then there was the dancers, the band, the singer and from my uninformed perspective a mexican style panpipe number all singing and puffing in tune. The show was overall excellent and the tango dancing impressive, how no-one got a kick in the goolies I´ll never know. There were legs and more importantly pointy shoes everywhere, flying in all directions.

The show was housed in an ornate building, we sat on a raised platform overlooking the stage. It was quite glamourous, we even had our best backpacking clothes on for the occaison. They were clean too. On each table was an oversize wine glass filled with rose petals floating on water. See, quite glamourous.

The costumes changes were lightning fast and sparkly and revealing to the extreme. Not that I minded. We got a bit tired when it was just singing and the band over doing it a bit with their accordians, but by this time it was way past our bed time, being 12:30am and weariness had well and truly set in.

The show ended with a fantastic rendition of don´t cry for me Argentina, with flags and glitter everywhere. It must be a nightmare to clear up. So we arrived back at the hostel about 1:00am, hopped into bed a quick as we could for our 5:00am start to the domestic airport.

Mountain biking in Morocco with only one gear

nick_earl — Sat, 20 Dec 2008 22:58:00 GMT

We are in Morocco, it is really chilly. There is snow in the mountains and ice on the road. This will probably be the last journal entry for Africa. Next is a break in England and back into the thick of it in South America, Brazil to be precise! Need to start practicing our Spanish.

Here is a couple of diary entries about sausages and mountain bikes.

13th December - Essaouira to Marrakech, plus Hassans Sausages

Yes the Hassan sausage stand in the square in Marrakech. We toured the square looking for a good cheap eat, fending off touts for the more expensive stands, plus having a freshly squeezed orange juice at a stand laden with oranges. I guess it was once a horse drawn cart, but now is one of the many oj stands, with a pile of oranges behind glass and a friendly Moroccan demanding your attention and hence his oj rather than his almost identical neighbour.

We decided upon the packed and smokey Hassan sausage stand. The flames and smoke por out of a central grill surrounded by grubby waiters in once-were-white uniforms in turn surrounded by a square of tables and bench seating. The cobbles of the square are covere in a layer of grime, mostly sausage grease from the cooking and spilt food. We patiently wait for a space to appearin the seating and head straight for it. Two lots of eight sausages are order with freshly cut tomatoes, the sauce, and a chunk of reasonably fresh bread.

So the stainless steel table is wiped clean with a damp rag and two squares of fish and chip shop paper is put in front of us to act as place mat and plate. Round flat bread is served. A saucer of tomato sauce is poured. The string of sausages is being cooked now. There is much shouting and gesticulation from the waiters gathered around the grill, as flames appear from the grill. We are enveloped in smoke, that is quickly carried away on the winter breeze traversing the square. The sausages arrived and are separated from each other by scissors. We rip bread, make a cavity with thumb, insert sausage, dip in tomato sauce and eat. This continues until the sausages are gone and bread is devoured. We pay our way, stand up and let the next eager waiting customers sit and enjoy the experience.

We are back in Marrakech having travelled by CTM bus and walked to Hotel Essaouira. We were both dead thirsty, so quickly headed out for oj. This time we are on hte first floor and have purchased the necessary bog roll and toothpaste!

18th December - Cycling the Todra Gorge

Tonight we have both had the best showers in Morocco! It only took 12 days to get a piping hot shower, really super hot! Bec came back smiling and so did I.

As for today we hired a couple of mountain bikes and headed fro Todra Gorge, 15km away. Unfortunately the bikes were complete crap. both with only one working gear, semi inflated tyres and rubbish brakes, plus one was really quite small. Putting their crapness aside we cycled along through an unending series of switchbacks or hairpins. The as-the-crow-flies distance was probably only about 5km. We spent most of the time zigging ledft and zagging right with little forward direction.

A complete aside I hate this blood French keyboard, it is driving me nuts! Various lettters are swapped around like the q and the a and who know how to get an apostrophe!

Back to the story. After a couple of hours we find a decent lunch spot just outside the gorge itself, in some partial shade on probably the only patch of grass south of the High Atlas, which in itself was about 1 metre square. Lunch was bread, triangle cheese, vegemite and bananas with water to drink. After lunch we climbed back aboard our tired, but so far trusty steads and entered the gorge, which is vert tall and narrow with a river and road running through it. All quite spectacular and great to see it after getting there under our own steam. We managed to avoid most of the sellers and their terrible attempt at conversation, "hi, where you from, Australia? Ah Kangaroo! Buy my carpet!" Not really riveting.

We sat in the sun and looked at the climbing walls surrounding us eating more bread, enjoying the scenary and relative peace. We had one friendly tout who wanted to swap my shirt for a carpet. He called my shirt "romantic". I would say nearly all Moroccan men dont know the meaning of the word! Anyway I would not look good in a carpet. We also had another tout ride up on his horse, declare himself a nomad and demand we pay for a horse ride to feed his family. Odd chap. THere was a long pause as we thought how to say "no we dont want to feed your family" without sounding too rude. Bec did a good job, I kept quiet.

So after all that we rode back to town to buy chocolate. Mission completed we ate the chocolate and went back to the friendly restaurant we found last night. We had two plates of beans, chips and bread (the amount of bread we consume is just crazy), finished off we mint tea. Not bad for 2.77 Australian each.

So that is it. Happy Christmas, dont eat too much. See you in England in a few days or Australia in six months.

Camel plus desert equals a sore bum

nick_earl — Mon, 1 Dec 2008 21:36:00 GMT

At the moment we are in Houmt Souq, Jerba, Tunisia. It is colder than I expected, but the sky is blue and we are smiling. Here is our latest adventure, a brief camel trip to the Sahara.

26th November - Back from the Sahara, Douz

We are back from the Sahara after a great overnight trip into the desert by camel. We set out or were picked up from the hotel by taxi at about 3.30 in the afternoon and were dropped off at the edge of town and hence the edge of the Sahara. Our guide and three camels were waiting for us. After a few minutes of loading up the camels with gear, food and us, we set off.

Camel riding is not comfortable and sitting on the edge of the bed in the hotel room writing this journal entry is not comfortable either. Not because of the bed, because the sit bones in my pelvis are bruised! I am sure I will recover, but ouch it hurts.

Our plan was to head 15km into the desert, camp the night and return the following day.

Before I write more I have to say the trip was excellent. We really enjoyed ourselves being in it so to speak, camping under the stars and cooking in the fire, literally.

So we set off with Nasser, the guide, in the lead, Bec second and me third and last with the camels are tied together to stop break aways and splinter groups. The town almost immediately disappears, with just camel footprints and the odd four wheel drive track denoting human habitation, plus the usual plastic bottle or broken brick. Soon the town and rubbish has gone and a glance over my shoulder just reveals sand dunes and gnarly bushes. We are in the Sahara good and proper. The sand is fairly pale, not the bright orange stuff of Namibia, which feels like a long time ago. The landscape is just a great dune sea with very few features, no real valleys or hills, just those created by the dunes themselves. Not a place to get lost in. If we keep going where would we end up? Eventually we would hit the Grand Erg Oriental where the massive sand dunes are and the next town? It sems Lonely Planet would suggest Agadez, an anicent trading town in Niger; a ver long war away, with nothing in between, but desert. The Sahara desert.

Back to the trip. After a couple of hours of bouncing, lurching and bobbing along we reach our campsite. A sheltered spot next to a slightly larger sand dune acting as a 2 metre high wind break.

We gather wood, many of the scrappy bushes are dead and hence available to burn. the camels are unloaded and with front legs tied loosely together are free to roam albeit a short distance. Camels are grumpy, their reputation is correct. There is a lot of whining, snorting and being stubborn. Plus Bec's camel kept trying to brush her off by going through the bigger bushes rather than around them.

So with wood collected we set about chopping vegetables for dinner, a one pot dinner cooked over the fire with vegies and sheep or goat (not sure which) stewing away with a pan of couscous heating through on top.

With the fire burning bright the sun set we tucked into dinner sitting around the bowl armed with spoon each. The vegie, unkown meat mix with couscouswas was tasty and after we had had our fill the lead camel got to polish off the rest. We sat around the small fire for the rest of the evening listening to Nasser play the tomtom and sing. We had a go and confirmed we have little or no rythum. I think I have anit-rythum, the complete inability to string two beats together. The singing and drumming was infectious though and thoroughly enjoyable. Whilst all the hoo har was going on a desert mouse came from who nows where and took a peak at the fire not more than six inches from Bec.

So with the fire down low we set up our bedding under the stars. A couple of mats, our thermarests, two blankets each and our sleeping bags. We both decided not to bother changing into our pjs, so we removed our shoes and jumpers, constructed our pillows (puffa stuffed inside our jumpers). Once in and zipped up with beanies on we could relax and admire the stars. With a clear sky and not too much sand in the air we could see a phenomenal amount of stars. Over the period of the night as the earth revolved I spotted cassiopea, the north star and ursa minor, the plough and orion. Plus you could clearly see the planets, venus for sure, the milky way and a satellite tracking across the sky.

Roughly at 5am a smiling face, Bec, woke me up to see the sun creep above the horizon and we both spotted a shotting star in the pre-dawn light.

At 7.30am we unzipped and laced up our boots, pulled on our jumpers, adjusted our beanies, zipped up our jackets and went to do our ablutions. The desert and Tunisia has been very cold, much more so than expected. We have been rugged up most of the time.

Nasser started on breakfast as we kept the morning fire going. Breakfast was damper, a flat bread cooked in the embers of the fire. Plus tea. The bread was needed on a man-made bump in the sand covered by a hessian sack, a sort of natural rolling pin. It was flattened out to a big round centimetre thick piece of dough. Then the fire was cleared to expose the coals and the damper placed into the heart of the fire and covered back over. After about ten minutes it was turned and after another ten it was ready. The damper was dug out of the fire and whipped clean with the corner of a blanket. Breakfast was ready. The damper was excellent and even better with soft cheese.

So post breakfast we saddled up the camels and rolled up our bedding, packed it, and made the trip back to Douz. Wow what a great trip, just our sort of thing.

Tea in a Brazilian Coffee shop in Alexandria

nick_earl — Wed, 12 Nov 2008 23:21:00 GMT

We are in Alexandria on the Mediterranean Sea. Here's a few extracts from the diary for Egypt.

29th October - The Cairo Taxi

We hailed a cab, painted roughly black and white with standard array of dents, and did the normal haggling, messing around, going from one taxi to another, until price was agreed.

So we chuck our packs on the roof as the boot doesn't open and climb in the back. Taxi drivers use one of three makes of car: Peugoet 504s, Fiat 128s and eastern block Ladas. We choose the eastern block Lada, a quality notor with styling of a brick. All these cars, I would have thought, would have been scrapped years ago, but no, they were just sent to Egypt.

So our taxi driver merges into the ridiculous traffic and assumes standard position, leaning on the horn. I notice the safety features of our eastern block Lada, an oversize comedy rear view mirror and some beads hanging from the mirror. I feel much safer now.

The driver notices Bec is coughing and kindly asks if she would like the window open. Not via remote electric control, but by passing the window winder handle to us in the back. Bec declines.

We crawl along, honking away, progressing at snails pace up 26th Of July Street aiming for the nile. Eventually we reach the bridge and the traffic eases enough so that our driver can select 2nd gear. Lane markings don't mean much here and I don't think there are any. It is amazing how many eastern block Ladas fit side-by-side in what looks like a two lane street.

I'm sure our left hand indicator was flashing the whole way, but it was invisible to our driver as the instruments, speedo, indicators, etc, were covered by the tassles of his dashboard carpet.

A point to note is that most drivers of which 90% are taxis, like to drive with no lights on or their lights have been removed and replaced by flashing decorative lights, the sort you would put on the Christmas tree in December. So we twinkle along the streets. I find it ia bit scary, our driver seems to enjoy himself.

1st November - Aswan to Luxor by train

...Oh and I am a clutz or just clumsy. Yesterday in the Nubian museum I nearly fell through a glass panel into a prehistoric grave! I managed not to by sheer luck. Then today I fell of a kerb and I am always trying to get myself run over. I am only 35. If I make it to 70 I will be a broken man or just extremely embrassed. I need de-clutzing injections or something...

8th November - White Desert National Park

We are hanging around like a bad smell waiting for the night bus to Cairo to turn up. Unfortunately it doesn't arrive for 2 hours 45 minutes. We are sat in the oasis restaurant (El Wada) letting dinner go down and munching on bread and dip, more chewing than munching.

The highlight for today was a three hour safari in the White Desert National Park, 30km north of Farafra Oasis. The desert is difficult to describe in words and I think my pictures do the job.

Basically in amongst the endless sea of sand stretching from the Nile to Marrakech in Morocco, also known as the Sahara Desert, are incredible rock formations of limestone and chalk carved by the elements over a very long period of time. The limestone was an anicent sea bed created about 80,000,000 years ago. Our guide gave Bec some shells he found on the floor. So these shells were around in the cretaceous period. Dinosaur shells! Cool.

So we drive around the formations taking pictures and admiring as we went. Stopping here and there to try to absorb the wonder.

Then after a few hours we found a suitable spot to see the sun go down and drove back to Farafra. With the lights off as is the want of the Egyption driver. Don't ask why, you won't understand. A highlight of the western desert and Egypt, the White Desert, not driving with no lights on.

So fingers crossed the night bus is smooth sailing tonight. Then another bus to Alex and hopefully we can find a place of calm amongst the chaos. That will do. I've past ten minutes. Only 2 hours 35 minutes to go! Ho hum.

9th November - Bus to Cairo, Train to Alex

We are in Alex! Not on the plan, not in the desert, not Cairo. Somewhere completely different. We had had enough of the two horse desert town Farafra and bailed, taking the night bus to Cairo and catching an early train to Alex.

We have checked into the Union Hotel and have spruced ourselves up with a shower and hair wash. Next stop lunch and a wander along the corniche alongside the Mediterranean Sea.

The bus journey was fairly uneventful and surprisingly arrived early, by about 1 hour 15 mintues. We started the journey at the very back of the bus in a couple of really cramped and hot seats. I think the engine was below our feet and the exhaust pipe next to Bec's head. After a couple of hours we reached Bawiti, the main town of the next oasis, where numerous people got off, giving us an opportunity to jump one row forward. This was much better and surrounded by friendly Egyptions we caught a couple of hours sleep, plus watched Tomb Raider on the TV.

So we arrive in Cairo at 4:45am and head for Ramses train station, plus a bakery for breakfast. We purchase our train ticket without any problems, which was a first (apart from the sleeper train), found our allocated seats with ease in carriage number 9, 2nd class and settled down for some interrupted shut eye.

This morning we went to the Brazilian coffee shop in Alex for tea. Yes I know it doesn't quite work, but hey it was good tea. Plus brownie and crossiant. Then we headed back to the Union Hotel. We also checked out the Acropole Hotel, but the piles of rubble in the hallway didn't bode well and we stuck with the Union.

So that's it for the moment. We head back to Cairo in a couple of days and then fly to Tunisia.

Four Yorkshire Men Discussing African Bus Travel

nick_earl — Sat, 25 Oct 2008 18:57:00 GMT

Here is the second journal entry for the day. My take on bus travel in Africa. Check out Monty Pythons original four Yorkshire men sketch for my inspiration.

17th October - Eldoret to Kembu campsite (Kenya)

Another traveling day, slightly easier than yesterday, a minibus to Nakuru and a minibus to Kenana farm, the location of Kembu campsite. Not a bad spot, almost looks like the English countryside with fields dotted with trees and Fresian cows, plus a slight whiff of cow poo. Ah, lovely.

I can best sum up Africa bus travel by adapting the Monty Python four Yorkshire men sketch. So here goes. Get your Yorkshire accent warmed up.

Four Yorkshire Men Discussing African Bus Travel

1st Yorkshire man: I remember the days on the bus from Dar es Salaam to Arusha when you could get hot cup of Africa tea.

2nd Yorkshire man: You were lucky, on the bus from Livingstone to Kafue all we got was water.

3rd Yorkshire man: Was it cold?

2nd Yorkshire man: Aye.

3rd Yorkshire man: You were lucky, on the bus from Kigali to Kampala we got warm water collected from back of petrol station.

4th Yorkshire man: Luxury! We used to have two bums to one seat on the minibus from Malaba to Eldoret.

1st Yorkshire man: You were lucky! All we had was head rest to sit on.

2nd Yorkshire man: Head rest! Bloody luxury. We had plastic barrel and muzungus knees as back rest.

3rd Yorkshire man: Muzungus knees as back rest?

2nd Yorkshire man: Aye.

3rd Yorkshire man: Bloody luxury. If we were lucky we'd get plank of wood wedged between seats.

4th Yorkshire man: Was wood smooth?

3rd Yorkshire man: Aye, it was.

1st Yorkshire man: Luxury, we'd be lucky to get seat, often had to stand bent double.

2nd Yorkshire man: You were lucky we would often have to sit beneath said standing passenger breathing in armpit smell.

3rd Yorkshire man: We fitted 30 people in a minibus from Sipi Falls to Tororo with only 14 seats.

1st Yorkshire man: All luxury! We were so crammed on bus from Mwanza to Benacco we had to climb out window!

4th Yorkshire man: Was the window glass?

1st Yorkshire man: Aye, glass.

4th Yorkshire man: Luxury, on the minibus from Tororo to Malaba the windows were made of cling film.

2nd Yorkshire man: You were lucky, our minibus had chickens pecking at your heals.

3rd Yorkshire man: Alive chickens?

2nd Yorkshire man: Aye.

3rd Yorkshire man: Luxury! Our bus to Benacco had dead fish flapping against side of bus.

All Yorkshire men: And you tell this to people back home and they won't believe you! Luxury!!

What can I say, apart from it is all true.

Nutella and Banana Chipatis

nick_earl — Sat, 25 Oct 2008 18:14:00 GMT

We have arrived in Egypt! Our first flight in nearly four months. Anyway here are a couple of journal entries to keep you going.

12th October - Nile River Explorers Campsite, Jinja

How do I describe today! Well this morning Bec and I went for a walk primarily heading for a lookout over Bujagali Falls. Anyway it doesn't matter where we thought we were going as we never got there.

So we leave the NRE campsite and head out through the village past the chipati stalls and boda bodas. We head in the direction of the 'Soft Power' sponsored arts centre. The road almost immediately reduces to a three foot wide path, for pedestrians and bicycles. On either side of the path are huts with mud walls covering a wooden frame and either tin or thatched roof. Surrounding the houses are banana trees, pea and coffee plants plus jack fruit and and pawpaw trees. Also I can see maize growing too. After a short while we past the arts centre and picked up our first escorts, a couple of boys playing with an old car tyre. Within a few more steps a dozen or so more children joined all fighting to hold the muzungus hands. So with at least fifteen children in tow we continued through the village guessing the direction of the waterfalls at each intersection of dirt paths. I think the ages of our new friends must have been from 2 to 12 years old. Some were brothers and sisters and all we good friends each taking turn to hold the muzungus hands. I managed to arrange my six so that we spanned the path with bigger ones on the outside holding hands with the next biggest, who held hands with the smallest, who held on to me.

They understood some swahili and we quickly exhausted our vocabulary on them. Their english was excellent.

Every-so-often the children would swap places and Bec's lots would exchange with my lot, obviously to check out the differences between muzungus. Eventually I broke free of my clan and had a go at rolling the tyre down the path. I could hear a scream of excitement from behind me and a lot of pattering of feet as they chased after me.

We also let them try on our sunglasses. The look on their faces was priceless. Sheer wonder. You have to remember these pretty much have nothing apart from family and the clothes they are wearing. Some of them don't even have that, one unfortunate lad I was talking to had lost both parents and was really an orphan. I think he was about twelve years old. He didn't go to school as he probably lived on his own or with his siblings and had to grow food on his parents plot of land. I let him hold my hand and gave a comforting squeeze. I didn't know what else to do. His parents probably died from malaria or AIDS.

One other lad had trousers on that were way too big and even with a knot in the waist band he still had to hold them up with one hand all the time.

They were a happy bunch though with some occaisonal tears as one would get run over by the tyre or step on something sharp, probably accacia thorn. Eventually we decided to go back as we were a couple of villages away from where our contingent lived and the smallest one looked very tired. Bec and I took turns carrying her back to the village. On our arrival back at the village I don't think the mum was too pleased that her daughter had strayed so far or was gone for so long, but she was home safe and sound. We left our troop of new friends by the village water pump and departed around the corner behind the banana trees to frantic waving and cheerful goodbyes.

With smiles on our faces we returned to the campsite for a refreshing drink (coke - were are addicted to it) before heading back out to a local restaurant. We sat in the tin roofed hut with mud floor and wooden planking for walls and sat on a home made bench probably made of an old pallet. We choose matooke, green bananas and maize sort of mashed together, and a bean sauce. It was really tasty and the huge portion cost about 1500USh or $1.08 Australian or 43p.

We also have been trying chipatis with various fillings such as omlette with tomatoes, cabbage (which I am surprisingly fond of) and avocado or sweeter versions like bananas and local honey. All very tasty and even cheaper at 100USh or 83c Australian or 30p. I think we are going back for chipatis for dinner and desert! They do a banana and nutella version.

As for us how are we shaping up? Not bad, some days are better than others, overall it is a fantastic brilliant experience. On the gear front, apart from our continual conversations on what we will leave behind in the UK and my increasing lost list, everything is holding together. The tent seems to vary in size, but is generally too small, our sleeping bags too hot and sun screen costs and arm and a leg!

Volcanos in the Mist

nick_earl — Fri, 3 Oct 2008 00:07:00 GMT

Bec and I are in Kigali the capital of Rwanda. We have just got back from climbing Mt Bisoke (extinct volcano at 3711m high) and gorilla treking in Volcano National Park northern Rwanda.

You'll have to excuse spelling mistakes. I am using a french keyboard, I think, and the keys aren't where you expect them to be.

So the entry I have picked is our climb up Mt Bisoke. Here goes:

30th September - Musanze to Kinigi, Mt Bisoke and Volcanos in the Mist.

Mr Francis arrived prompt at 6am and we set off for the ORTPN office, Kinigi in his battered, but functioning Toyota pickup. Mr Francis was a nice chap apart from thinking I was an Aussie. We talked about eucalypt trees that were lining the road and the size of the average peasant family, up to ten.

We arrived at the ORTPN office and a well oiled tourist machine swung into place. We were ushered into the office, asked for our permits and then swept outside and helped ourselves to tea, not too much as we wanted to minimise our pee output. After a brief spell of amusing ourselves by looking at the biege clad Americans, almost all identical in appearance sporting new boots, biege trousers, biege safari jackets (with numerous pockets) and biege hats, we met our guide and the first briefing began. Fidel was his name. Interesting choice by his parents I thought. Anyway the three of us (we left the Americans behind) climb into Mr Francis' Toyota and we drive, well mostly bounce, our way to the start of the climb/trek near the base of Mt Bisoke.

Slight aside, the men carry everything on their trusty bicycles, the women carry everything on their heads, from massive sacks of potatoes to logs that I would struggle to lift, to hoes for toiling the fields to umbrellas. Well, where else would you put it?

Even further aside, tonight we have to deal with more African plumbing. Hot water is not easy to come by here. The hot tap in the sink just coughs and gurgles like the exhaust of an old jalopy, with not a jot of hot water or any water in sight. So, we move on to the shower, after a couple of atempts and the tap coming off in my hand, fixed by my trusty leatherman, we had a rattling of pipes and a spurt of luke warm water, well cold water with the chill taken off. This spurt continues and with pipes rattling we strip off clothes quick smart and wash like we have never washed before.

Back to Mt Bisoke, but first we have just been dive bombed by a large flying insect. Bec has ducked under the covers and ordered the insect to be removed. I have deposited it outside. Daft creature, the insect that is, not Bec. Bec's feet are also freezing.

Yes, we arrive at the base of the climb and are given a walking stick each and set off looking for a couple of armed escorts. We soon find them and one strides out in front and one steps in behind, protecting us from the sea of irish potatoes, which surrounds us.

The landscape, albeit a cultivated human influenced one is quite beautiful, for want of a better word, with potatoes as far as the eye can see topped with white and purple flowers. I can also spy maize and onions growing amongst other things.

We crosss into the park, which is surrounded by a dry stone wall, not through a gate or suitable entrance, but a partly collapsed piece of wall, obviously the official entrance. From no where, arrived by teleport I presume, a porter appears brandishing a large machette. He becomes part of the support crew helping Bec on the large muddy steps or simply dragging her along until she manages to let go of his hand and step in a fresh buffalo pat. It was very fresh and I was lucky not to be wear some on my sweaty, but otherwise clean t-shirt. I guess buffalo pat is the correct term, as in cow pat. Bec would call it a buffalo pattie, but I think that is all wrong.

We pass the turn off to Dian Fossy's and Digit's grave at 2967 metres high. We take a right turn and head up the steeper gradient to the summit at 3711 metres.

Bec has just reminded me that our porter didn't actually carry anything. So not a porter in the strictest sense of the job title. All he did apart from drag Bec through wild animal poo was to cut down a couple of small sticks with his machette on the way up the hill.

After 2 hours and 40 minutes we arrive, much sooner than expected, but we are grateful. We sat on a lovely bench and ate our lunch, sharing our biscuits with the crew of four! The guide, Fidel Castro, his army of two and the pseudo porter. There is a sign at the top of the volcano, not declaring height above sea level or stating that you are looking across a border at the Congo and to the right is Uganda, but announcing 'do not swim in the lake'. Not really my first thought on reaching the misty and cool 3711 metre peak. Not that we could actually see the crater lake in the mist. It did appear eventually and a few photos were taken. Before things got too chilly we headed for Mr Francis and his battered, but functioning Toyota, roughly 1200 metres below.

The walking sticks helped alot on the way down, as we slid and wobbled through the mud and roots. We completed the climb in roughly 5 hours.

Tonight we are staying at the Kinigi Guest House with its interesting plumbing and outstanding waitress service. Bec and I were hungry after our climb and decided to eat at 5.30pm. We asked for the menu and set about deciding what to have. We made up our minds and waited for the waitress to return to take our order. After about 15 minutes I went to find her, only to find out that it was buffet night and no other food was being served! Plus the buffet was at 8pm! Well what can you say. So we didn't eat our own arms off we started on tomorrows lunch biscuits. We also met a nice couple, one from RSA, Sheldon, and one from Brazil, Chris. They were fun and we happily discussed American dress sense until dinner at 8pm sharp.

Bec is asleep and now it is my turn too. Gorillas tomorrow, yippee!

So that was it. In a couple of days we leave the lovely Rwanda and cross over into Uganda.

The Serengeti and Ngorongoro Conservation Area

nick_earl — Fri, 19 Sep 2008 21:12:00 GMT

We are back in Arusha after a 10 day jaunt to the Serengeti and Ngorongoro Conservation Area. Plus an epic trip up Volcano Lengai, a whopping 2878metre above sea level. The volcano is active, last erupted in April and scared me silly.

The diary extract this time is roughly Day 7 of our safari heading to Lake Natron, a giant soda lake containing thousands of flamingos.

16th September Lake Natron

This morning after breakfast we headed for Lake Natron, a huge soda (alkaline/salt) lake which crosses the Tanzania-Kenya border. We parked the 4WD at the edge of the wet season extremity of the lake and continued across the scorched and cracked earth on foot, heading for the flamingos, greater and lesser, busy feeding in the shallow waters. They are mostly after shrimp. Our guide said they filter over twenty gallons of water per day. They nest on the few rock islands dotted across the lake, giving them safe passage from hyaenas in the wet/breeding season. We climbed one of the rock islands to get a better view of the lake flamingos and distant Lengai volcano.

After contemplating the world we descended our perch and headed back to the truck, jumping across a number of small streams feeding the giant lake. In the distance we noticed many Maasi women and young girls surrounding the safari truck. As we neared their intentions became apparent. They we armed to the teeth with trinkets and kabash water bottles and porcupine quills, all for sale. Bec and I made a bee line for the door, but failed miserably. Bec got pinned to the side of the Landcrusier and I was starting to get swept away. I looked up to see Bec covered in bracelets and struggling to sound "Hapana asante!" convincingly. I was fairing no better and was busy removing bracelets and saying no thankyou to the countless hands trying to place lions teeth necklaces around my neck and give me horn shaped Maasi water bottles. I made a bid for the door and escaped with my wallet unaffected or no lighter. Bec backed in after me, with a groovy bracelet, which cost 500TSh. Our driver asked Bec to shut the door, but the opposite happened as five Maasi women all climbed in, one of them pushing me out of my seat. Our driver sensing the battle was lost allowed two more women in the front seat, only to find another five clinging to the drivers side of the truck.

They wanted a lift back to their boma/village. So we obilged and bounced along the road trying not to loose any of the passengers or spike any with accacia thorns. The journey was extremely noisy with much chattering and demanding to the driver, go this way, not that way, going on. Bec and I laughed all the way back. So we eventually drop them off and they allow us to take a photo for free. Hopefully I'll post the picture sometime.

This afternoon we are off for a short walk to the waterfall, for a swim and cool down, plus resting before the ascent of volcano Lengai.

So that was the entry for the 16th September. I am extremely tired after the volcano climb. It took 10 hours and 25 minutes and was bloody hard. Pretty much straight up a 45-50 degree slope for 6 hours until the top was reached. We started just after midnight.

Tomorrow we leave Arusha and head for Mwanza on the shore of Lake Victoria, heading for Rwanda. I forgot to add the Serengeti was brilliant.

The bus to Chipata - Jackie Chan rules the road

nick_earl — Sat, 30 Aug 2008 02:24:00 GMT

Bec and I are in Dar es Salaam, Tanzania. We have travelled here by the Tazara train, covering 1860km in 46 hours.

It rained last night and this morning. We got caught in it this morning and had to shelter under a leaky umbrella, then the rest of the day warm and soggy.

Here's the entry for today. It is our bus trip to Chipata on the 19th August. After Chipata we travelled to Suth Luangwa national park, but that is another story.

Today we have watched countless Jackie Chan movies, well three actually, on the bus from Lusaka to Chipata. Jackie has been fighting evil villians, corrupt CIA and racing cars, all for our amusement.

So, the bus trip. We leapt out of bed at 4:45am and packed and cooked breakfast for our prearranged 5:30am taxi, which unfortunately didn't turn up. So we started walking and not before long there was the familiar beep of a car horn, signalling a taxi available for hire. I stick my hand out and the taxi, which I think wasn't a taxi and just someone driving along, was hailed. We were deposited in the chaos of the bus station and did some fine haggling to keep the cost of our baggage low, from 60,000K to 10,000K.

We climb aboard and wait for 6 o'clock to arrive, our official departure time. 6 o'clock comes and goes. We have forgotten Africa time! Unlike the blue family buses of Livingstone this one is subject to Africa time. At 7:30am we depart the still chaotic bus station. With people, paying passengers, being pushed and pulled by eager men in their blue company jacket and trousers, each wanting the one customer on their bus. Human beings don't divide by 2 easily.

Within 2 minutes the preacher is handed the microphone and we are treated to a surmon, whever we like it or not. Eventually the amens and halleujahs cease and everone is blessed, in his own words, 'we bless the passengers, we bless the conductor and we even bless the driver'. Lucky us, the driver on the other hand seemed like an after thought. I'm thinking this could be a tough 6 hours, but I am saved, as we drop him off before too long and pick up some more passengers.

Bec and I are in the front seats on the left hand side and in front of us is the driver and at least 6 other people, sitting on the engine cover, the conductors seat and just standing. This is Africa travel.

Back to the bus station. Whilst waiting for the bus to leave, every man and his dog, aunt and cousin comes on the bus and trys to sell you something. This usually, or always, consists of sunglasses, watches, talktime for your mobile, shoes for your right foot (who knows where you get the left one from), lollies and bananas. Oh, we did see a guy selling toothpaste, goes well with the lollies. Yesterday we saw a guy selling cotton reels, probably not the best entrepeneaur, but who knows, perhaps he has an edge on the market we have yet to see.

So back on the bus again. I'm sure there is about 300 people on this bus. Every-so-often there is a happy bush request and a ridiculous amount of people get off the bus and then five minutes later squeeze back on. Plus eveyone has to put their lollies, right shoes and toothpaste somewhere too. This bus is cavernous.

The road was slightly better tha the road from Livingstone to Lusaka. That road for the 1st 80km is shocking and the bus drives in the dirt as it is smoother than the collection of potholes and patches of tarmac.

So the bus has bounced along in the dirt and through the potholes for the best part of the day arriving in Chipata roughly 8 hours later.

After haggling at the bus station for a taxi to Dean's Hill View Camp we jump in for 10,000K. I was firm and they came to my price! Nick the ruthless haggler.

The campsite is as the name suggests on the side of the hill with a view of the town. The tent is up, the showers are really hot, so Bec tells me, and dinner is cooked and eaten, pasta and pesto. The campsite is grassy, but a bit hard. I am thankfull for the quality of the MSR tent pegs. Easy to bash in with a lump of rock.

And before I forget, one of the Jackie Chan movies was in Spanish, such an amusing day.

And another thing, at one of the bus stations we noticed that the police station and the toilet was through the same door. Convenience I guess? Perhaps the police used one of the cubicles with a desk setup over the cistern. We shall never know.

Well that's it for now. Tomorrow we head to Zanzibar.

Leopard Sighted!

nick_earl — Sun, 17 Aug 2008 20:03:00 GMT

Bec and I are now in Lusaka. Since leaving Livingstone we travelled to the Zambesi River near Chirundu and went on a three day two night canoe trip, staying at the fantastic Zambesi Breezes campsite the night before. The steak and chips were excellent.

Our next destination is South Luangwa national park, a long way east of Lusaka. We are now hoping to spot cheetah. There's no pleasing some people.

Here is the leopard sighting extract from the diary.

15th August - Leopard Sighted!

This morning over breakfast one of guides leonard spotted a leopard drinking on the far bank. Packing the boats sped up a notch and we then hurriedly climbed aboard. After a quick paddle across the river and up stream of leonards sighting we turned and drifted downstream. Nothing was sighted to start with, then Bec and I saw the leopard, shiloutted (sorry about the spelling) against the skyline and between two bushes. It was the briefest of glimses, but it definately was a leopard. The gait and tail were so characteristic they could not be mistaken.

That really ended the canoeing and we unloaded the boats a short way downstream. This was the start of a long and bumpy four wheel drive ride back to Zambesi Breezes. It was a great trip, yes another great adventure.

Dr Livingstone I presume

nick_earl — Sat, 9 Aug 2008 19:34:00 GMT

We are in Livingstone. The Gecko's tour has finished and we are on our own and enjoying ourselves. The next thing on the horizon is a 3 day 2 night canoeing trip on the Lower Zambesi starting on the 13th August. Spotting hippos and crocs along the way.

Here is yesterdays diary entry:

August 8th, start of the olympics

Bec and I are in complex and vitally important dinner discussions, our choices are eat at the backpackers, Jolly Boys, for 50,000ZK, or head out to the 48hour bar and restaurant for a lonely planet price of 2USD or next door at Shambas for 1USD, or cook our own, rice bolognaise purchased from the OK Supermarket. I think the cheapest option will win. With the lonely planet being typically inaccurate it could go any way. Oh the excitment! No it is ok, we have had a very relaxing day.

This morning we walked to the Livingstone museum where we learnt about human prehistory, village life under the influence of western society (slowly degenerating into poverty), natural history and Zambia's recent political history and the struggle for independence plus Dr David Livingstone.

Over the past few weeks we have seen plenty of lions, but seeing one up close in the natural history section you realise how big they are. They are really really big. Its head would be about the same height as my chest. I know I am short, but I am not that short. To see a lion of pride of lions making the kill would be impressive. I know it sounds blood thirsty, but that is nature and as a part of nature it would be great to witness. All snarling and gnashing of teeth.

Zambia's colonial history and post colonial history is very similar to many other African countries. Starting at colonisation by white europeans, for example Cecil John Rhodes and the British South Africa Company. Bec said earlier, "Africans are very optemistic people", I would have to agree, they certainly are. Then followed by racisim, exploitation, fight for independence and the troubled start of multi-party democracy. Zamiba became independent and part of the commonwealth in 1964 and really only became a true democracy in 1999-2001. Very recent.

The museum was very enjoyable and it was our museum legs that meant we had to stop looking and reading.

We ate at Limpo's in the end. It was the cheapest, tasty too.