Relaxing beach holidays are boring so when I found out we were spending four days in Zanzibar I wasn’t particularly charged with enthusiasm.   The plan was to spend a couple of days in Stone Town and two days at the North Beach.  Wasting no time, I googled Stone Town and was relieved to find out that the place had an interesting history.

Stown Town did not disappoint.  Exploring the narrow and windy streets can often by a hazardous experience, especially when you have to force yourself against a wall to ensure that you don’t get side swiped by a passing vehicle.  Nevertheless Stown Town was a breath of fresh air filled with exotic food, trinkets, good coffee and the best coconut bread I have ever sampled.

It was a treat walking around the night markets, there were stalls and stalls of  mouthwatering food including an array of kebabs, fish, bread, chocolate and banana pancakes and exotic fruits.  When you travel around Africa you have to learn to lower your hygiene standards, Zanzibar was no exception.  Market sellers were  holding up fish with grotty and slimy hands whilst smoking.  You might prefer to call it multitasking? No matter, you can not expect to wonder around the night market without indulging your taste buds.    The chocolate and banana pancakes are highly recommended but I would watch out for the entrepreneurial sellers.

We decided to try some of the gourmet fish kebabs, the market seller avoided our question of ‘how much’ like the plague.  Instead he  talked about up-sizing our fish kebabs with a coconut drink and fried bananas.  Naturally I was curious and wanted to see where this scenario was going so we  sat down on the finest plastic chairs and tables and watched Mr Entrepreneur fuss around us.    We didn’t actually care about the cost but we thought it would be fun to ask him about the price again and this time he muttered something US$2.00 each.   There were a few more people on our table with confused faces, it seemed that everyone was paying a different price for the same meal.  I am not really sure what he based this criteria on but our $2.00 meal turned into a $10.00 meal and our coconut drink turned into a coke.  The bottle of coke arrived with its top loose so you can appreciate why we gave that one a miss.   I paused before I bit into my fish kebab but soon dismissed my thoughts, what’s a trip to Africa without the expectation of  food poisoning?  Happy to report the kebab was delicious and  there was no hint of food poisoning (on this occasion).

You can ‘feel’ the history when you walk through the streets of Zanzibar, its not hard  imagine the Arabs trading aromatic spices or the great Sultan leading an indulgent life with his harem. Despite years passing  there is an eerie sense of suffering as you tour the hub of the slave market.    You can’t help but wonder how much the slaves suffered in their cramped concrete holding bays.

The carved doors of Stone Town are fascinating, ornately decorated with intricate carvings they stand out amongst the cold stone houses.    I met an interesting character during my wonders through Stone Town – a ginger cat who enjoyed people watching from his prison like window bars.

Don’t expect to get a drink if you are visiting Zanzibar during New Year.  We went to a few bars on New Years Eve, at the first bar we waited half an hour at an empty bar while five staff all working furiously at cutting lemon slices.  At the second bar we waited patiently in line for a drink, after half an hour we turned it into a game to see how long it would take before we were served.  One and half hours later we reached the bar only to be told had they had run out of everything including warm beer. It was only 11pm.  No matter, we were sticking to our no fuss holiday rules.

What can I tell you about my two days on the North Beach in Zanzibar?  Well,  I was really sick on the first day with a high fever and temperature.  Malaria vaguely crossed my mind but I felt much better the next day so that was off the list of possible contagious diseases.   It was time to check out what all the fuss was about, how  nice can a tropical beach really be?  Warm Indian ocean, sinking toes into soft white sand and swimming in the stunning blue water. Who wants to relax  by the beach and do nothing on a holiday?

OK OK I admit, it was wonderful to spend a day on the the North Beach I hope you are you happy now!  However I do have my limits which is why I kept running away from the  women offering me massages.  It was nice to soak up the sun’s rays after roughing it in tents and spider infested A frame thatches.  Our Kilimanjaro climb was looming so it was a good idea to enjoy this while it lasted.

I was also tempted by the offer of seafood and luscious creamy pineapple drinks.  Dining was a real hoot for us.  Every time we ordered something off the menu we were told it wasn’t available.  We learnt very quickly to ask ‘do you have this’ instead of ‘can I please have’.

I could never spend two weeks relaxing on beach but spending a couple of days in North Beach Zanzibar hit the spot.

When we were planning our trip to Africa Julian was keen to climb Mount Kilimanjaro.  I had been exposed to trekking  but no altitude trekking so I was feeling anxious.  My natural hypochondrical instincts led me to google altitude statistics including acute mountain sickness and death rates on Kilimanjaro.  Julian, the more sensible one, directed my research to a more positive study which focused on good tour operators.

Our goal was to make it to the summit- Uhuru peak at 5895m, 5.895 km or 19340.316ft to be precise.

This only meant one thing – choosing a reputable tour company with good stats.  From the four or five routes available we chose the Shira route which allows for extra acclimatisation days and is deserted of any other climbers.  Finally we wanted to ensure the porters were not exploited. So taking this all into account we went with the African Walking Company through ATR (Africa Travel Resources).

Altitude will be a different experience for everyone and there is no way you know how you will react to it until you get up there.  Julian and I trained like maniacs thinking that fitness was going to make a difference.  Ultimately fitness is useful (for mental and physical purposes)  but it certainly has nothing to do with altitude sickness.  Julian is fitter than me and got sick while I got off ASFF (altitude sickness free- fantastic!).  Ironically I was the one worried about altitude sickness.  Altitude sickness does not discriminate between neurotics and fit people!

Even though I did not suffer altitude sickness I had my own personal demons to deal with such as the unbearably cold weather.  The cold weather was my enemy and we battled day and night.  In order to minimise altitude symptoms I was drinking between 4-5 litres a day.  I topped this up with a precautionary dose of Diamox on the fourth day so my badder worked overtime.  Instead of toilet stops every 45 minutes I stopped every 20 minutes.  The night was the worst, having to wake up and make my way to the toilet was excruciating, the cold made it painful to breathe.

I used every item of warm clothing I had on me, especially at night.  We  hired our sleeping bags  and I learnt a valuable lesson about sleeping bags not fitted to your body.  They are not nice and cosy like an over-sized doona.  Heat was escaping left right and centre and it was during the night that I found myself jealous that Julian had altitude problems, the high altitude made him extremely sleepy and he would crash as soon as we went to bed and would stay in the same position for the entire night. Thankfully I received a good tip from one of our fellow climbers. I wore less layers during the night (apparently sleeping in too many layers contributes to sweating and thus getting cold) so instead I shoved clothing around my neck to stop the heat escaping from my sleeping bag.   Wrapping my down jacket around my feet also helped and hey presto the nights were now bearable.

At high altitude normal and relatively simple activities become painful and drawn out.  I could have sworn I was rolling up a sheet of  semi-dry cement instead my sleeping bag each morning.  At a couple of campsites our toilets were located on hilly and rocky ground.  It would take no longer than two minutes to reach the toilets from our tent but at high altitude this task compared to running 100 metres at full speed.  By the time I would reach the toilet I would be huffing and puffing like the big bad wolf.

Our guides new best.  On the first day we were shown the snail pace walk that we were expected to keep for the next seven days.  We all thought it was hilarious until we realised that this was they key to acclimatisation and reaching the summit.  This is why the 10 people in our group all reached the summit including Bill, the 67 year old inspiration.

I found it amusing that Stratton, one of our guides was explaining how they use the stretcher that I spied on the side of the path during the second last day of our trip . ‘We use this to carry people to the bottom of the  mountain, then the ambulance comes and takes them to the hospital’,  Stratton explained.  Somehow his words didn’t fit my mental picture.  Remote mountain + Africa + sick does does not equal ambulance or hospital!

Our guides had a warped sense of humour, they enjoyed mind games and  torture.  Often we would ask how far we were from our next camp site and they would say ‘not long to go now’, but they would never give us a straight answer.  ‘Not long to go’ ranged anywhere from 10 minutes to 3 hours.  One day we were so exhausted after a days climbing to higher altitude,  Vivianno who was the best at delivering these forms of torture told us we had 1 hour to go. You can imagine the relief when we saw our welcoming tents a few minutes later!

Every morning our journey started an hour before the porters but it wouldn’t take long before they overtook us.  Here I was walking like a snail with my little macpac weighing no more than 6kg when the porters would fly past us each carrying up to 25 kilos worth of  stuff.  You could tell the newer porters, they had buckets of sweat  pouring down their faces and were forced to carry the awkward stuff.  We thought it would be nice to greet them warmly with ‘Jambo’, the Swahili word for hello.  Their responses were always very friendly but occasionally their eyes didn’t carry the same message,  it was more like, ‘I am carrying your portable toilet on my head and all you can manage  is Jambo!’

Some days were better than others but the worst days were the acclimatisation days.  On the fourth day after walking for hours we reached our campsite at 4200m.  Unfortunately this day was also to include an acclimatisation walk to 4500m.  This wasn’t an attractive option, we were cold, wet and most of us had pounding headaches.  To top it all off it was snowing and windy and all of us collapsed in our tents feeling pretty certain that our guides were going to call the walk off.  No such luck.  Within 30 minutes through the flapping walls of our tents, the voices of your guides could be heard calling us to wake up. This is a snapshot of hell I thought to myself.

As I found out later these acclimatisation walks were nothing compared to the summit ascent but our guides new something we didn’t.  In addition to acclimatisation these walks also prepared us mentally for the challenge ahead.

The Summit Ascent

Feeling nervous and anxious on summit eve,  Julian and I were were keen to film some pre-summit interviews.  Unfortunately I was feeling tired and grumpy because we arrived at base camp quite late in the afternoon and had to sleep early in preparation for a midnight ascent.  The last thing I wanted to do was interview people.  I was cold, tired and nervous but had to feign enthusiasm.  Ah the life of a wanna be journalist.

Miraculously I slept from 6pm until 11pm.  After waking,  I had that not quite right with the world feeling. We all sat in our mess tents, our usually talkative group was strangely quiet. I wondered what people were thinking but I didn’t need to be a mind reader to figure it out.  I psyched myself as I walked out of the tent into the windy and snowy blackness, my headlamp my only friend.  Even though the intense wind chill was penetrating through my 5 top layers and 3 bottom layers I was mesmerized by the light in the distance.   Other groups were a couple of  hours ahead and the mountain was lit up like a Christmas tree with  little beacons of lighting bobbing up and down.  Perhaps it was the altitude but it was beginning to feel a lot like Christmas!

A blizzard hit us and reality hit me.  We were going to have to climb this thing in a blizzard.  I asked one of our guides if this was normal, apparently not- gee great.  Coming from Australia I had never been exposed to much snow and a blizzard was a new concept for me.  It felt like a thousand hot needles were stinging my face as we trudged up that mountain.   I couldn’t even cover my face with my balaclava because my breathing felt restricted in the thin air.  It became worse as we zig-zaged up that mountain, the more we climbed the harder it became to breathe.  The wind knocked me off balance and  I couldn’t get a sense of height, all I knew was that it was really steep. I developed a  creative side walk to try and block some of those stinging needles from hitting my face directly.   On and on we climbed,  hour after hour concentrating on keeping one foot in front of the other.  What a prankster that Mount Kilimanajaro is, it loves to make you think you are nearly there but it only presents you with false ridge lines.

Something happens to the body when faced with extreme physical challenge, your capacity to feel pain is reduced and the body runs on auto pilot as the mind goes somewhere it doesn’t hurt. I must have been in some of sort trance because I remember being hurled back into reality by people singing.  It was our guides, they must have sensed our spirits were frozen in little ice cube holders so they were singing in Swahili.  Listening to people singing in their own language is a stunning , especially when they sing with passion.  This was even more  impressive because these guys could actually carry a tune.  What an experience, trudging up Mount Kilimanjaro at 4am in a blizzard listening to 4 African guides singing.  This experience was even memorable than making it to  Uhuru peak.

There are two main reasons why you begin your ascent at midnight, firstly the weather is supposed to be better earlier, and secondly if you leave early, you can make it to the summit in time to see the sunrise.  We didn’t experience either.  The average group reach Uhuru Peak in 6- 7 hours it took us 9 hours.  Nevertheless the sunrise a couple of hours from the top was still a breathtaking experience, especially in  post-blizzard conditions.  The sky was filled with brilliant orange rays and  we could see the darkness of space through the thin atmosphere.   For a couple of minutes the pain and exhaustion was forgotten.

The spell was broken when our guides told us we had to keep moving because we had an hour to go until we reached the first peak, Stella point.  I could clearly see the top so I thought  the guides were joking  as usual.  I waited for the ‘I am only joking’ but it never came.  That good old prankster Mount Kilimanjaro again.  Although Stella point was in sight it was an illusion, the mountain was at its steepest and the ground below filled with snow so the dragging of the feet continued.

After an enduring eight hour trek we finally reached Stella point at 5685m. Feeling depleted I was adamant that I was not going to continue to Uhuru peak.  Yep this was good enough for me.  Thank god our guides knew that I was going to regret this and after they assessed us we were all told to keep going…. apparently if you are not vomiting, delirious or bleeding from the ears you have to continue.

It was a relatively easy walk from Stella Point to Uhuru Peak.  I was so grateful that our guides encouraged us to keep going.   People have all sorts of strange experiences on top of Uhuru peak, these vary from person to person.  For me the snow kept changing colour from pink to red to orange.  It could have been the fact that I wasn’t wearing my sunglasses, it could have been  the way the atmosphere filters the light at higher altitude or simply put  perhaps I was just punch-drunk from the altitude.

I have heard rumours that the view from Uhuru peak is spectacular,  but for us visibility was so poor that we couldn’t see beyond 5 metres.  We didn’t care.  We hugged and we danced and we sang as we stood in front of that famous sign.  We  stood where hundreds had stood before and hundreds will stand again.

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I had nothing left in my tank for the trip down.  In some ways it was worse than the climb up.  I wished I was Monkey and had a magic cloud that I could call upon to fly me back down.  Every step was a living nightmare and the mountain was covered with snow for most of the way down so scree running was not an option. Often my eyes were closing so I had to stop and rest every 20 minutes.  3 hours later at base camp you would have thought the nightmare had ended.  Not a chance!

After an hours rest, we had to move onto the next campsite at a lower altitude.  I thought Julian was dead because I couldn’t wake him up and when he woke up he would just fall into a slumber again!  It took three hours to walk to our next campsite but it was very much worth it,  we felt energized at lower altitude.

We calculated that we had been walking for 15 hours since our summit ascent began at midnight.  Not a bad effort!

Isn’t it crazy how we walk for seven nights, climb a mountain in inhospitable conditions just to reach  the summit only to have to come back down again after 10 minutes?   Why do we do these things?   You might think that its simply about climbing a mountain but its so much more than that.  It’s personal journey.  It’s about stripping back all the layers that years of complex western society has wrapped around us – its about being simple.  How often do we feel invigorated and stimulated by a physical and mental challenge?  I know I wasted 35 years of my life, how many have you wasted?

We all need to step things up in life, to push ourselves to grow and develop, so whats the next adventure?

10 top tips for climbing Kilimanjaro

1. The right gear is the difference between being moderately uncomfortable and being extremely uncomfortable.

2.  Don’t be tight,  if you are going to pay for this opportunity you might as well fork out and  pay for a reputable tour operator and extra days for acclimatisation.  Do your research.

3.  If you want to rush to the top of the summit enter a race instead.

4.  Listen to and respect your guides.  Share your snacks with them along the way.

5. If you make it to Stella Point and you are exhausted but not bleeding from you orifices.  KEEP GOING.  The path leading to Uhuru Peak is not steep and relatively easy compared to the last 6-8 hours!

6.  Never leave your extra baggage the porters carry unlocked, unfortunately you can never trust a porter – even  if you are with a reputable company.  Sad fact but true.

7.  In saying that tip your porters well, they have a tough job and a much tougher life than you or me no matter how relative you think this is.

8.  Your porters will fill up your bottles with hot water at night in preparation for the next day.  Stick them in your sleeping bags at night, they make great hot water bottles.

9. Drink lots of water no matter how hard you might find it.  You will often need to stop to let porters go past so its a good time to have a drink.  Remind others to drink as well.

10.  The right attitude will make all the difference, a cliche I know but its an important cliche.  Our head guide always reminded us to think positively.  In the words of Passian our head guide – its a piece of cake!

View the Kilimanjaro Videos by clicking the link:

• Kilimanjaro – Shira Route Toilet Tour
• Kilimanjaro – Karanga Valley Barranco Wall (Kissing Rock)
• Kilimanjaro – Summit Ascent Uhuru Peak
• Kilimanjaro – Porters song & Stretcher Interview
• Kilimanjaro – Shira Route Credits

When I was a kid I wanted to do lots of things when I grew up, some things were not so realistic, I can see that now. How on earth can a little girl who is now a 5.7″ women become a jockey? Well other dreams are realistic and one of my dreams was to travel to the Serengeti.

I was so excited about spending 3 days in the Serengeti that I am sure my partner Julian was thinking about throwing me to a pack of lions.

Our driver Moshi picked us up in a squeaky clean four x four which by the end of the trip became so dirty that I could barely recognise it. On the way to the National Park I visualised all the Serengeti documentaries I had seen and then I started to become anxious. What if the reality didn’t fit with my dream? What if we didn’t see any animals? What if I didn’t see my cliche giraffe eating from an acacia tree? I decided not to set my expectations too high, I had heard that not everyone gets the chance to see the big five named so for their ferociousness- the Leopard, Elephant, Buffalo, Lion and Rhino. Unfortunately my Golden Retriever Gypsy just missed out being one of the big five.

I saw two unexpected things- we passed a couple of Massi (nomadic tribe) and did a double take. Usually the Massi are walking along by the side of road, working in the fields you know the usual nomadic day to day stuff. These two Massi had decided to have a morning break and were ‘going for it’ by the side of the road. I guess Massi aren’t to worried about lions then.

I had expected to see a couple of live animals at least in the first instance, instead our driver slowed the vehicle, in an instant a pungent smell hit our nostrils. It was a dead giraffe with vultures pecking away at its neck and back. For some reason I wasn’t horrified, I realised this was nature, this was life and this was the food chain. I took in all the details … even the splattered white bird droppings on its fallen neck.

The Serengeti heat was intensifying and we poked our heads through the roof of the four x four, I could see miles and miles of Serengeti plains and that’s when I spotted my giraffe eating from an acacia tree. A cliche come true.  (OK its not exactly an acacia tree but close enough!)

As we drove deeper and deeper into the Serengeti my smile widened further than I thought possible. My heart skipped a beat when I heard Moshi say ‘Lions’. There she was perched lazily on her rock looking a little bored, not overly interested in us but at the same time watchful. She was marked with battle scars and flies swarmed around her mouth.  She was beautiful.

On the way to our first camp site a family of baboons were sprinting along (from what?), a large flock of beautiful birds were nesting in trees and then I saw my second cliche- the silhouette of a giraffe eating from an acacia tree at sunset. What magnificent orange hues the mighty Serengeti sunset surrenders to its visitors.

At our campsite we all pitched or tents very close to other tents as if somehow that would provide a sense of comfort in the unfenced campsite. There is nothing like falling asleep to the sound of cackling hyenas and the sound of roaring lions. I have heard that lions are more frightened of humans than we are of them. Still the sign saying ‘Please do not leave the campsite -animals may attack’ did not provide much comfort.

At the next campsite, Julian came into the tent one evening after going to the toilet, casually announcing that he saw an elephant peering at him from behind a bush! That night we heard un-human footsteps outside our tent along with some strange un-human like noises….. in the morning we found that our water bottles we had left outside during the night had been ‘explored’ by whatever unidentified beast was outside. We all took turns to guess what might have been out there and agreed that it would be much more exciting to say that it was a lion.

Another outstanding experience was our ‘interaction’ with an male elephant. A herd of elephants were crossing the ‘road’ so we stopped quite close to them, the baby elephant was the last to cross… all of a sudden we heard a loud trumpet noise coming from our side and we turned around to see big daddy staring us front on with ears flapping furiously… this is elephant for…..Right now, that’s enough move on before I loose my patience! During the plane trip to Africa I read a wonderful book called Whatever you do, Don’t run. There was a great tip about elephants charging. Apparently when an elephant mock charges his trunk is loose but if he serious about charging his trunk is tucked away safely. ‘Moshi’ I cried, ‘the trunk is tucked’, the tunk is trunked (say this over an over and see what comes our of you mouth then!) Moshi had no idea what the word ‘tucked’ or ‘trunked’ meant but he knew the Eli meant business so he put his foot down on the accelerator and off we went. Someone once asked me why I just don’t go to a zoo to see African animals. ‘Are you mad’, I responded ‘I would much rather prefer to be charged by an elephant thanks’.

There is another side to elephants than furious ear flapping and being ‘trunked’. We saw another herd of elephants munching on some tree bark. Moshi turned the jeep off, it was incredibly peaceful and all we could here was the sound of these wonderful ancient beasts munching on their tree bark.

The animals were most active in the the Ngorongoro Crater. Zebra’s were frolicking and rolling around on their backs, hundreds of flamingos lining the water and transforming it into a pink shimmering sheet, lions walking stealthy towards a drinking hole and two elephants twisting their trunks around each other in play. We spotted two black rhino (thank god for the binoculars) and witnessed a kill courtesy of Mr Jackal and Mrs Flamingo.

I noticed the Wilderbeest and Zebra were hanging around together at the water hole and thought it was odd. Moshi explained that this is for protection . A zebra will go for a drink and make a certain noise to advise his fellow Zebras that all is well on the predator front. The Wilderbeest recognise this noise and is reassures them its safe. What a team!

I was torn between feelings of sadness and amazement at our next encounter. Moshi spotted three lionesses in the distance by the time we reached them two vehicles were there. We could see in the distance that the lionesses were trying to make their way to a drinking hole. Unfortunately our vehicles were blocking their path. By the time the lionesses reached us there were 24 vehicles blocking their path. I could sense the lionesses were pretty calm about the whole blockade, they would walk, casually stop to check things out and maneuver there way until the were forced to weave in and out between the vehicles. The lionesses were so close to our vehicle, Moshi had been able to somehow precisely line up our vehicle at the point where they needed to cross before all the other 20 vehicles arrived. If I had stretched my arm out I would have been able to touch them. Was this normal for the lionesses? Where they used to weaving around vehicles? I couldn’t be sure.

We were very lucky to see a Leopard, unlike lazy lions, leopards are hard to ‘spot’ in the Serengeti (oh I do enjoy puns) and if spotted they usually don’t like to hang around for long. The first time we saw one I only got to see the tip of its tail while its was slinking away in the long grass, the next day though we were rewarded for an entire 10 seconds when our driver got wind that a leopard was nearby. He put his foot down on the accelerator, dust flying all around us until we reached the tree where the leopard was been dozing. As soon as we arrived the leopard bolted down the tree, I had my binoculars so I was able to see him whilst Julian took three quick snaps of the leopard descending from the tree before his spots disappeared into the long grass again.

I love taking photos however the more I travel the better I have learnt to appreciate the moment rather than capturing that moment on film.  Sometimes we get so carried away with taking that perfect shot that we forget to experience what is front of us.  Breathe the moment don’t freeze the moment.

For 3 days in the Serengeti I actually thought of nothing except for the thrill of animal spotting. It’s one of those rare moments in life when you feel totally free and there is not a problem in the world. Travelling in a jeep for hours and hours, is a bumpy and uncomfortable experience , not to mention you get really really dusty and internally bruised but you don’t care because you have the Serengeti wind in your hair and you feel privileged to have been allowed entry into this mighty animal kingdom.

Roaming through Johannesburg, Zambia, Malawi, Tanzania and Zanzibar was a clarifying experience. You can Google to your hearts content, or talk to other people who have travelled through Africa but at the end of the day your experience will be truly unique – your little piece of meaning and magic to remember. No amount of pictures you have in an album can ever capture this magic.

Six years ago you couldn’t get me to travel anywhere without western standard luxuries. Yep I was one of ‘those’ gals who wouldn’t dare go without a shower, hairdryer or clean clothing for a day. Age and travelling have two things in common- they are both great clarifies. The older you get the more you are prepared to let go of the superficial things in life. The more you travel the more ridiculous these superficial things seem.

So lets rewind the clock a few years to explain how I got to this point. When I met Julian my partner we both wanted to travel. Julian was more adventurous than I was but he slowly worked his plan.  Initially he planned relatively safe holiday destinations, first came New Zealand with an introduction to hiking at the Milford Track.  I guess it was my naivety that made me agreeable but somehow he talked me into quad biking and white water rafting. After a near death experience involving me, a quad and a wheelie (good movie title) I decided that holidays were much more exciting when there was an element of adventure and danger.  After spending 7 days walking the Overland Track in Tasmania and experiencing car sized possums trying to break into my tent at night, I was now prepared to take on the next adventure- destination Africa 2007/2008.

Q. How do you know you are in Africa?

A. When you see baboons on the road instead of kangaroos.

Q.  How do you really really know you are in Africa?

A.  When you see a sign that says “Do things the right way and not the corrupt way”.

The three most memorable moments for me during my trip in Africa in no particular order. Getting dusty driving through the Serengeti Plains, reaching the summit of Mount Kilimanjaro in a blizzard and nearly going to prison in Malawi on Christmas day. I will speak about my Serengeti and Kilimanjaro adventures in a different post but the experience of thinking you are going to prison in Malawi goes something like this.

Mr Malawi Official

We stopped at the Malawi border to have our passports stamped. We were told to take off our sunglasses and hats and behave.  There was tension in the air as everyone lined up and waited. I had that same feeling as I usually do when I line up at the airport to get my bags checked at security; its guilt and I don’t have anything to feel guilty about!  Mr Malawi Official wearing his red beret eyeballed me looked down at my passport and eyeballed me again. He continued with this strategy for a while. He was clearly enjoying his power trip and warming into his role as he explained that according to our passport, we should have left Zambia a day before. Word of advice, don’t start your sentence with ‘Woopsie’. Julian and I tried to explain that it wasn’t our fault but it was like trying to convince a devil worshiper that god is great. Mr Malawi Official was clearly up for best actor as he explained how serious this offence was and threw the word ‘prison’ in his sentence for good measure. I was torn between a couple of way outs. Bribery was the first option. I had witnessed first hand that African Officials don’t actually care about money as much as magazines. If you carry a copy of Cleo, Women’s Weekly or TV week, a magazine is a worth its weight in gold.  (I guess they are not familiar with the corrupt sign). Secondly I thought about putting on the water works, but figured that my acting skills would never fool Mr Malawi Official. After some further consideration, Mr Malawi Official decided that he was going to let us off.  His reason was that it was ho ho ho Christmas but I wondered if he couldn’t be bothered with the paperwork.

The Feathered Ball

Exciting things seemed to happen at borders.  During our stop at the Tanzania border I noticed a child was holding something small and feathery.  Being the curious gal I am, I got a little closer to get a better look and saw that the child was holding a dead bird. At first I thought he was trying to sell the bird for money but then I realised he was doing this for his own amusement. He was trying to either entertain or scare off tourists. I watched as he threw the little dead body up in the air catching it in one hand over and over again like he was throwing a ball. I wondered how he had killed his little feathered ball.

The Mooning

During one of our nights in Livingstone we took a cruise on the Zambezi.  A group of teenage tourists were on the boat.  We expected to see wildlife but we didn’t expect to see it in human form.  The group of tourists were drunk and loud.  At first it didn’t bother me, let them have fun and all.  Then I started to feel uncomfortable when the staff on the boat began to serve some snacks consisting of stale bread and stale chips.  They were doing their best to provide an entertaining and peaceful cruise on the mighty Zambezi and the rowdy behaviour was making them uncomfortable. The drunks were turning up the noise levels than I realised why I felt uncomfortable.  It was actually disrespectful to the African people.  The final straw came when the boat was docking and the group decided to moon in front of crowds of people waiting for the next cruise.  I was appalled and embarrassed.   Perhaps there is a time and a place for mooning but it should be left behind in your own country (pardon the pun).  This was clearly disrespectful to local culture.

The little Malawi Boy

I am going to be honest about how I felt when I walked through a village in Malawi. The first thing that hit me was an intense smell, sort of like a cross between sewerage and rotting meat, the smell was overpowering and made me dry-retch. I was soon confronted by the sight of dirty snotty nosed and sick children.

I was an emotional wreck and felt heart broken and repulsed at the same time. Bare-foot and dirty children were fighting to hold my hand and I was worried about catching something. I know it sounds horrible but that was my initial response. We always fear the unknown. I never really knew what that meant until I was exposed to the unknown. I mentally slapped myself and then looked down to see this beautiful little African boy looking up at me with big malaria diseased eyes. I instantly fell in love with my little Malawi boy. He couldn’t speak a word of English but it didn’t matter because all he wanted to do was hold my hand and look up at me every so often with his shy smile and big brown eyes. He held my hand and with his other he clutched his prized possession – my plastic water bottle. Would he live past 30? It would be unlikely in Malawi.

The Crocodile and the Chicks

One day we had a bit of chuckle, Julian and I took a tour on the Zambezi River in an old tin dinghy through crocodile and hippo infested waters. Our guide explained that crocodiles were located every 100 meters. I looked down at my life jacket and wondered why I was wearing it. If our rusty dingy sank I was in no danger of death by drowning. I would be killed by a hungry croc or an territorial hippo instead! To prove my point we stopped near a tree as I admired a flock of birds. I followed the guides finger as he pointed to the water. Two little snouts and eyes were peaking just above the surface. The crocs were patiently waiting for a chick to fall into the water. An opportune moment!

Mr Smooth

What’s a trip to Africa without the touts. It’s nothing in particularly until you meet a character who calls himself Mr Smooth. Mr Smooth was by far my favourite tout. Prior to my trip in Africa I had boned up on the literature that advised against tourists giving money or pens because it encourages people to beg.

I found this to be quite true but I was not prepared for being asked for my shoes or the shirt off my back! Mr Smooth was  true to his name impressing me with his knowledge of Australia, he knew more about Australian politics than I did and was able to rattle off a list of Prime Ministers since 1966. I could see Julian in the background smirking at my naivety. Mr Smooth obviously made every efforts to learn about all countries not just Australia in the hope he would eventually score a pair of shoes.

African people are very shy, I found it really hard to get hard to get to know the real African. I wondered about the people that were friendly, were they genuinely friendly or were they being friendly in order to get a shirt or a pair of shoes? Africans perceive tourists as being rich, why wouldn’t they after all we visited a hospital in Malawi that had equipment from the 1960s and a school that had New Zealand hand me down books from the 1950s.

Three Growling Jacks

There are lots of rabid dogs in Africa and I was a little nervous because that was one booster I decided not to bother with. Its hard for me to stay away from animals so I was relieved to find that at each campsite there was one rabid free camp dog.   At one particular camp site, three Jack Russles literally owned and ran the place. They were the friendliest little creatures and sat on our laps as we sat and watched the stars one night.  The silence was broken when one of the little jacks growled, the other two followed lead and then there were off barking and growling into the night.   We thought they had spotted a possum, oops wrong country, lets say a monkey.  We were mistaken, they had spotted the care taker and this tense relationship played out like circus act.  The jacks began to pull at the care taker’s trousers, one jack at one leg, two at the other growling as seriously as a jack could. We could hear the care taker  (mostly likely swearing) yelling at the dogs and trying to desperately  kick them off.  We called them back and they immediately returned, wagging tails, smiley faces, jumping on our laps as if nothing had happened.   We found out later that care taker turnover  at this campsite was high.

The Fishing Dogs

This brings me to dog story number 2.   At Kande Beach in Malawi there were a couple of campsite dogs playing around on the beach one evening.   I noticed them slip into the water so naturally I thought they were going for an evening dip but things didn’t look quite right  when they started a frenzied nose diving session.  I was puzzled by this behaviour until Julian pointed out that they were catching their dinner.  My dog’s dinner comes in a bowl so I watched fascinated by this state of affairs.  One paddled the other one nose dived, they took it turns and so it continued.  I wish I could tell you that they caught a couple of fine fish but unfortunately the dogs gave up…. after an hour.

No matter where you are in the world – your mum will always find you.

Prior to leaving Africa I did what all good daughters do for their neurotic and anxious mothers, I gave her a detailed itinerary.  When the riots in Kenya broke out Julian and I were not exposed to any immediate danger because we had planned to make our last stop in Tanzania.  If my mum had bothered to read the itinerary she would have known this but of course she became as frenzied as the nose diving pooches at Kande beach.    We had been travelling on an overland truck and during the long days of travel the only way that our tour guides could communicate  was by noting passing through the front cabin hatch.  I was dozing when it happened.  A note was being  passed from person to person until it reached me.  A light tap on the shoulder and there it was, a note under my nose which read.  “Katherine, you need to phone your mum at next possible place.  She’s phoned our central office and is worried about the Kenya thing – Wants to know if you are still alive”. Good old mums – they always find a way!

I fell in love with Africa for all sorts of unusual reasons. Call me nuts but I loved spending nights in small bamboo huts infested with lizards and spiders. I loved going to the post office and seeing chickens running around in front of the door. I even loved being hassled by touts, yes its all true!

Africa was indeed an intensely eye opening adventure. I experienced a small piece of life in Africa and it will remain with me forever. Once you get the spirit of Africa into your blood in never leaves you.

I was preparing for a light hearted post about my travel and film making adventures but something else came up and I am compelled to write about it.

I consider myself a pretty social and good natured person, however I a feel trapped when invited to traditional rituals including weddings, christenings, baby showers – you name it, I usually despise it.

There are a number of reasons for this, firstly my precious weekend has been imposed on, secondly I feel an obligation to conform and attend these rituals, finally I struggle when it comes to conversing with group of people I have nothing in common with. You know the conversion is doomed when someone starts talking about the weather.

I attended the baby shower of a cousin’s friend. I guess it was doomed to fail because I am not a mum or planning on being a mum so I have nothing in common with women that are at this stage of their lives.

I started to feel strange when people arrived and I failed to engage in any conversation. People I once knew felt like complete strangers to me. I stood in a circle with three women, two obviously pregnant, the other had no sign of a bump (lets call her ‘No Sign’).  I could sense that a classic Seinfeld moment was looming.  The two women were comparing stomachs when No Sign patted the two distended stomachs then began to pat her own stomach.  Naturally I assumed she was pregnant and said, ‘Ah do we have three expectant mums here?’.  The three women instantly shot me a look of distaste, No Sign looked mortified as the expected Seinfeld moment unfolded before me.  I wanted to desperately explain to No Sign that she didn’t look pregnant but that I assumed she was because she was patting her stomach.  But sometimes in life for some reason it’s just better to walk away with the Seinfeld moment intact.

Gradually I melted into my chair staring at my shoes and praying for a natural disaster to strike. I barely spoke two words for the entire four hours and when I did it was only in forced and faked responses (usually about the weather).

Slowly I started to become invisible to others, no one spoke to me because I am sure they sensed that I was having a social melt down.

I over heard the grandmother to be ask if the presents should be opened now or should they serve cake and tea first. For god’s sakes, open the presents NOW open them NOW so I can leave soon after. Thank god my mind control skills worked because the presents were opened first.

Whilst everyone went goo goo and gaa gaa over baby teethers and baby jump suits I kept sneaking glances at the clock wondering how this compared to Chinese water torture.

Finally the last of the wrapping paper was whisked away, my opportunity presented itself so I made my move to the door swiftly and executed it beautifully like a skillful ninja.

On the drive home I felt shattered. Usually I can blend in when I attend a ritual but not today.

Perhaps this is time when the mum to be and I will no longer keep in touch because are at different roads. Maybe I should decline future invites to such rituals. Ah but I know myself to well and my personality is just not that way inclined! One thing is clear, when you are not completing the same passage of rites as your friends, then its time to find a new tribe.

My partner is from New Zealand. Teasing each other with our pronunciation is one of our favourite past times. Julian thinks that the words ‘here’ and ‘there’ rhyme. His logic for this is that the Beatles came up with the song ‘Here, there and everywhere ‘ (bless his little cotton socks). In Julian’s defence this song title does in fact rhyme. However what Julian fails to understand is that this is because ‘there’ and ‘where’ are the two rhyming words in this sentence.

A reasonable person like myself would conclude that if you remove the word ‘where’ out of the sentence, the words ‘here’ and ‘there’ do not actually rhyme.

So if you thought I was a fan of the Beatles then you were wrong – I am just a person that likes to pick on my partner’s pronunciation and give him no opportunity to defend himself.

Good, now that I have that off my chest and you all know that I am officially insane I can move onto the business side of blogging.