Week 33 - Jun. 23rd - 29th
day 225 - Nairobi to Isiolo
day 226 - Isiolo to Samburu Game Reserve, game driving
day 227 - Samburu to Marsabit
day 228 - day in Marsabit
day 229 - day in Marsabit - crater walk
day 230 - Marsabit to Moyale
day 231 - Moyale to Yabello
Week 34 - Jun. 30th - Jul. 6th
day 232 - day in Yabello - Phill's birthday!
day 233 - Yabello to Awasa
day 234 - day in Awasa
day 235 - Awasa to Addis Ababa
day 236 - day in Addis Ababa
day 237 - day in Addis Ababa
day 238 - day in Addis Ababa
Who'd have thunk it?
Well it happened! I never thought it would. I didn't think it even could. I speculated that it was highly likely that all hell would freeze over before it happened, that the entire universe would come to its natural end an implode in on itself before the event in question was even remotely likely to happen. The fact was that this event was an unlikely occurrence is the main deduction that you could infer from what I'm trying to say here.I watched a game of football and I liked it! Got excited about it, tensed up when things were about to go wrong, jumped up and down and ran around yelling like a madman when the team I was supporting scored. I got completely caught up in all of the excitement and even would go as far as to say that on every conceivable level I was well and truly emotionally invested in the game. Of course any readers who don't know me very well (I'm being quite audacious in my assumption that there ARE in fact any readers of this blog who don't know me very well, in actual fact it would be quite egotistical to even make the tiniest assumption that anybody other than my parents and grandmother is even remotely interested in reading this blog) are probably thinking 'so what? What on earth is so significant about that?! You're a British bloke, who the hell has even heard of a guy from the UK who ISN'T a fanatical, monomaniacal football obsessed nut?'
That would be a good question from any readers who would ask that question if they actually existed but probably wouldn't ask that because they don't exist and probably wouldn't bother asking if they did. But I've never liked football. I've always found it boring. Soul destroyingly boring in fact. I'd always maintained that if it came to a choice between watching a game of football or spending 6 consecutive months, 24/7, reading, studying and memorising a book dedicated to stray shopping trolleys of North America until I'm able to remember the make, year and serial number of every shopping cart ever manufactured then it would be an easy decision, I'd put my phone (which I don't have) on hold and lock myself in my room (which I also don't have as I'm currently homeless) for the next six months and get ready to swot. Incidentally the book does exist (click on the above left picture if you don't believe me) although I haven't actually read it due to the fact that if I'm given the choice of picking between two things I am thoroughly likely to hate then I invariably go for neither. I'm just like that I guess.And the people that do know about my extreme disdain for the time-tested team sport, close friends and family, would probably be less surprised if I were to admit to being a child molester. I'm not suggesting that my immediate family is assuming that I have a propensity towards kiddy-fiddling, or if they have then they're been good enough to keep it quiet so as not to offend me, I'm just trying to point out that I always really really really disliked football.
Of course the above paragraphs are just an excruciatingly, unnecessarily verbose way of saying something that could be put far more succinctly, namely that I've always found football bloody boring, until recently. It's not that I hadn't tried to get into the game on rare occasions. I'd tried going to an actual game and I've tried watching footy on TV but have never been able to force my utterly disinterested brain to actually give a flying fornication about the teams that were playing. That changed when I was sitting on a street corner in Awasa, Ethiopia, watching the match between Ghana and Uruguay on a television screen the size of a bus, surrounded by hundreds upon hundreds of enthusiastic, hopeful locals who, like almost a billion other Africans, were not looking upon Ghana as the representatives of their sovereign nation but of their entire continent. Because Africa really is a continent that likes to stick together. You've never ever heard an American or Canadian say 'I'm proud to be a North American' and I can't imagine a countryman or woman of any European nation supporting another team for the glory and splendour of the European Union. But here in Africa the entire landmass had come together to support their metaphorical brothers and sisters, all differences forgotten, all cross cultural barriers put out of mind, this was Africa playing for the world cup. And I thought that was just beautiful.
So I wanted to see an African team do well in the world cup. Non necessarily win, to be realistic, but at least to make it to the semi-finals or even the final perhaps, because no African team had ever made it past the 2nd round. The fact that Africa was hosting the World Cup would have made an achievement like this especially sweet. And the frenzied ebullience of the crowd was just heart warming, after all we weren't even in Ghana, we were in Ethiopia, but that didn't matter any more, we were in Africa. I had no doubt that this excitement was being repeated in thousands of bars, street corners, parks, private homes and open air movie theatres all over the continent. And I wanted to be a part of that exhilarating celebration.Those that saw the game or recall the score will know what happened of course. Ghana scored a sensational goal in the last 20 seconds of the first half and the vociferous jubilation from the crowd was a sight and sound to behold. The 2nd half was one hell of a show and after an equalising goal from Uruguay the game went into extra time. Roughly 30 seconds from the end of the game Ghana almost had a repeat of their first half triumph, they nearly scored a goal that would have gone through and won them the game had it not been for the foul committed by a less than scrupulous Uruguayan player who deflected the goal-bound ball with his hands. Fortunately this was noticed by the referee and he was sent off and a penalty kick was awarded to Ghana. But the shot hit the cross bar and the game went into penalty kicks. Ghana lost, fair enough, but to have victory snatched at such a crucial moment, and to come so close was just crushing. When the final Uruguayan goal hit the back of the net the whole crowd turned round and left without even so much as a whisper, all utterly crestfallen, myself included. What a crying shame.
And so my brief flirtation with football had ended with utter inefficacy of the highest magnitude. It's ironic to think that if I was a regular football fan I would actually be totally familiar with disappointment due to the fact that I would be either a supporter of England or Scotland. But I'm not and England's defeat in the latest world cup failed to initiate even the tiniest pang of regret in me, as did Scotland's utterly predictable failure to even qualify in the first place.
Once again I've gotten ahead of myself, if we keep things in order then we've yet to leave Kenya or even Nairobi at the moment. And in doing so we were introduced to something that we had been expecting for quite a long time but never really knew what to expect: a new truck!
Farewell to an old friend
The end of the so called 'Milk Run' and the start of the Nairobi to Cairo trip marked the start of many changes. We were losing some people: Chris, Emma, Lena and Pete 'Toms' left the truck, leaving the ideal amount of room for our four new joiners, Kirsty and Hannah from England and Claire and Mick, a married couple from Australia who had already done two other African Trails trips before. Lena and Emma had apparently had enough and they left the truck despite the fact that there was plenty of time left on their trip, Emma was booked all the way through to Cairo and Lena all the way to the end of the journey in Istanbul. But I guess the lure of civilisation, hot showers and Starbucks proved to alluring to resist. Jeremy also left the truck in Nairobi but his plan was to continue along by himself on the very route that the truck was taking. Some of the group joked that we would find him on the roadside, begging desperately for a lift, he would have to prove them wrong on that one!But the biggest change of all was the acquisition of a new truck. We had been anticipating this for a while now and were not quite sure what to think. I know it's foolish to get attached to inanimate objects but the old truck had been our rugged, trusty and faithful means of conveyance for more than 7 months now, not to mention it had been our home. So it was with an air of regret that we inspected and scrutinised the brand new truck as it rounded the corner and parked itself next to the old one. It didn't take long to find fault in the new truck. First of all the damn thing needed repairs and we were delayed by two more days while the necessary work was completed. The electrics were also sadly inadequate, the sound system didn't work and, much to the deep and lasting consternation Phil who was not unable to charge his iPod or use his computer, no electrical sockets for charging electronic equipment.
Worse still, there was considerably less storage space than the old one and not only that but the equipment lockers were arranged in a way that made stacking our kitchen supplies convoluted and awkward. The space under our seats, which before could hold all of our luggage, now merely held a tiny fraction of what it did before. The rest of our luggage had to be stowed under the truck like in a coach, making it impossible to access our stuff when in mid drive. The most amusing flaw in the new truck was that Gavin had to shut us in and let us out when closing and opening the back door. It wasn't long before necessity forced Gav to re-think that little blunder and we were soon able to control the door ourselves instead of being prisoners on our own overland truck!
Eventually the truck was ready for departure and we were off, waving a fond farewell to the old gal.
Just like old times!
It didn't take long before the roads, which had been of almost consistently good quality throughout the whole of the 'Milk Run' degenerated into roads so awful that they were almost reminiscent of Angola. After overnighting at the town of Isiolo we came to our first stop of the new trip segment and our last ever game drive on the entire trip: Samburu Game Reserve. This drive was included in the trip and the park was home to several species and sub species of animal that we hadn't seen before. The gerenuk, a kind of long necked antelope, was abundant in large numbers and the sight of them standing up on their hind legs, using their long necks to reach food that other species of antelope couldn't hope to reach was an intriguing spectacle. We also came across the rare and endangered Rothschild giraffe and the less ubiquitous Grevy's Zebra. Though the differences weren't obvious to the uninitiated, they were easily noticed by the discerning eye of this amateur nature photographer.After the game drive we camped at a local Samburu village where we were treated to local music and dance by the Samburu people, dressed up in their elegant and beautiful apparel. The next day we drove all day on truly awful roads to reach the town of Marsabit. Incidentally the truck broke down several times! Now it really was like being in West Africa again! Marsabit was a very rustic backwater town that was far from the beaten track for tourists and for the first time since reaching Namibia we found ourselves once again the only white folk in town. A scenic walk to a nearby crater was an entertaining diversion for half a day but for the rest of the time we were content to chill out in this sedate little town, and drink beer of course. After that it was another long drive to reach the border town of Moyale where we spent the night before crossing the border the next day.
The Visa MASTER!
For a while we were quite worried that we wouldn't actually even be able to get into Ethiopia at all. We had tried to get visas from Nairobi and also from Kampala but alas to no avail. It turned out that getting into the country was rather difficult due to the political turmoil caused by the elections in the country. Our last hope was to entrust all of our passports to Summer and have her fly all the way to Zimbabwe where we had heard a fairly good tip-off that others were successful in obtaining their Ethiopian visas. Apparently we would all need to be there in person but we had high hopes for the skilled negotiating skills of our intrepid guide Summer and so our fate was all in her hands as she left the country with our passports!We shouldn't have doubted Summer for a second. It was tense for a little moment when Gav didn't hear anything from her for a couple of days but eventually a not so subtle text message was posted to Gav's phone with the line 'your girlfriend is the visa MASTER!'. It wasn't too difficult to figure out what had happened. So we had left Nairobi with a shiny new Ethiopian visa each and now we were at the border town of Moyale, ready to cross.
It was a relatively uneventful crossing and we were all quite glad to have made it considering after all the problems with obtaining the visas in the first place. We carried on to the small town of Yabello where we spent a couple of nights. It was Phil's birthday and the less said about that the better (I have relatively little memory of it so that's why I can't comment). The next stop was Awasa, a very pleasant town on the edge of a lake which was the spot I enjoyed my aforementioned brief flirtation with the world of football. After that we were on our way again towards the capital of the nation.
We soon found ourselves on the outskirts of Addis Ababa and we began our slow drive into town to find our hotel, ready to make an attempt at getting our Sudanese and Egyptian visas. Well, to put it more accurately: Gav and Summer would be getting the visas, we would be sitting around doing whatever the hell we felt like!
Addis Ahoy
We arrived in Addis Ababa in the early afternoon, taking several hours to penetrate the heavy plodding traffic and make our way to the heart of the sprawling, polluted and smog-contaminated capital. We found our way to our hotel which turned out to be a pleasant establishment and settled in for what would likely be many days. We were also reunited with 'Mac' and 'Jezza'. Mac had left the truck due to complications that led to him being unable to obtain an Ethiopian visa and therefore flew into Addis (you can get them right away at the airport). Jeremy was also waiting there, ready to leave and with his Egyptian and Sudanese visa in hand and showing no signs of needing a lift from the truck!I took a quick look around the local area, scoping out cheap places to eat, and to drink of course. Though messy, downtrodden and convoluted, Addis still seemed like an exciting city. I would likely have all week to explore this seething metropolis while we waited for our visas, so for now this was just a quick reconnaissance mission around the immediate area near the hotel. Besides, after a hefty late lunch at the hotel I found myself almost unable to move and so didn't go far.
Later that night I decided to venture outside into Addis once again to have another look around and check out the nightlife. I'd heard that some of the others were going out for a drink, after all it was Saturday night, but I hadn't encountered anybody all evening. So I ambulated forth from the hotel and was shortly accosted by a rasta-haired local who attempted to beguile me with one of the most hilariously audacious scams I'd heard in all of Africa so far. It started off fairly innocuously, almost efficaciously in fact and the gentleman in question called me over, asked if I was looking for my friends who were with 'white rasta man' and said he knew where they were. This certainly didn't seem like a totally inconceivable claim and for several reasons. First of all this man had seen the truck come in and all of us disembark, along with Scotty and Ziggy who both have big Rastafarian hairstyles (especially Ziggy) and tend to stand out. Not only that but 'Zig' and the others were looking to purchase some pot and it seemed reasonable to postulate that they had spoken to him about that.
At any rate, I was told that he knew where to find my friends and soon we were off down the road. About 30 seconds later, and I literally mean 30 seconds later, we came to the entrance of a small restaurant where the others were purported to be. The first of the flagrantly impetuous requests that would follow was a demand for 100 birr. Now I don't recall seeing any mirrors in the local vicinity and thus was unable to fully ascertain what the expression upon my face was at the time of this brazen solicitation but I'm quite sure that it would have been not entirely dissimilar to the countenance of a poorly educated high-school cheerleader who had just been asked to explain Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle of theoretical physics in no less than thirty thousand words.
'ONE HUNDRED BIRR?' I couldn't help but laugh at the same time as shout when I delivered my riposte 'FOR THIRTY SECONDS OF SERVICES???'
I could not even begin to elucidate my abhorrence at this heinous suggestion! Let me explain. First of all there are too many hawkers, scam artists and taxi drivers who always blow their chances at a successful sale/swindle/fare by making requests that are so egregiously greedy that most potential victims simply laugh and walk off, as has happened countless times with many of my fellow travelers. This one was no exception! Secondly I should clarify that 100 birr is roughly 5 British pounds which would be quite a kingly sum for the aforementioned 30 seconds of servitude. Think about it: 5 quid for every half-minute is 10 per minute and consequently an hourly wage of 600 pounds ($1000). I continued:
'If I earned 100 birr per half-minute I would be driving a fucking Ferrari!' I blurted out, still trying not to laugh some more.
'Which this guy would probably steal!' I silently concluded in my head.
The charlatan wasn't at all dissuaded. He continued:
'Aah no but running is an expensive business! There are people who run for 100 metre and they get million of birr!'
The look of utter stupefaction on may face was, again I speculate, exacerbated to an absurd degree. I had to pause for a moment to establish whether or not this was reality or some fevered hallucination.
'You're talking about professional athletes who make more in an hour than I do in a whole YEAR!!!' (I resisted the desire to add fifty more exclamation marks to the end of that quotation) 'I'm going to go in and see if my friends really are there and if they are you get 10 birr. And I think that's more than reasonable.'
10 birr would have been reasonable, it's more than the price of a couple of beers or a small meal in Ethiopia and in case you've forgotten: 30 SECONDS! I wandered into the restaurant, had a thorough look around which didn't take long and, to my complete and total lack of amazement, found nobody I knew.
'Umm...my friends are not in there. There isn't a single white person in there.'
If I was the sort of person who was easily riled his reply would probably have made my head explode:
'Ohhh...we just wanted to test you to make sure you give us money, then we take you to actual place!'
Chuckling heartily I mockingly thanked him for his help and wandered off. Luckily I always find these sort of misadventures enormously entertaining and certainly not worth losing my cool over.
Besides, we would be in Addis for a while now, waiting for our visas so why not enjoy everything that it can throw at us for the time being?
The old truck (left) & the new one (right)
camping with the tribes in Samburu
Paige, Katey and Ziggy (right to left) help Phil (left)get drunk on his birthday!
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