Beth and I have been struggling with Lariam since we started taking it a few months ago. It started with nightmares. The first one that we knew was a product of this anti-malarial joy was an all too realistic dream about rich people on safari being served live baby animals. They calmly cut into them with sharp knives, skinning them alive as they baa’ed and moo’ed helplessly, while I crumbled to a screaming and hysterical mess on the ground. Beth shook me awake as I cried out in my sleep. Oh, but it gets worse. (more…)
We dragged ourselves out of bed at 5am for one of those ever-pleasant early-morning buses. We were told that we couldn’t buy tickets the day before so we needed to get there early to secure a seat. We crept out to the taxi we had ordered the night before, and zoomed to the bus station as the sun came up.
As we waited in the bus station, an older American gentleman in pleated khakis began talking to us about Africa. He taught African Studies at University of South Carolina, and since Dallas was an African Studies major at Madison, there were points of commonality. He asked us each in turn, in a patronizing professor-ish way, what we were up to, what we did before we left and what we were going to do when we returned. (more…)
While we were settling in to the hostel in Kampala, I realized my iPod was missing. I had been listening to it on the bus, and while both Lauren and I remember me getting it ready to be packed away, it was nowhere to be found.
‘I’ve left it on the bus,’ I realized in horror. Not only had I lost an expensive gift from Lauren and my parents, now I would have no music to listen to for the next six months.
Lauren and I tried calling the Scandanavian Bus phone number, but we couldn’t get through. Lauren wanted to take a cab back into the city to ask see if it had been turned in, but I was sure it was stolen by now and didn’t want to waste more money on expensive taxis. (more…)
Many travelers we had come across in Africa were reading “The Dark Star Safari” by Paul Theroux, his tale of traveling from Cairo to Cape Town overland. It had first been suggested to by Matt in Qatar, and our friend Sam had given us his copy in Zanzibar. Beth and I took turns reading it, each expressing our annoyance in turn. Where was he going that he was seeing all these “broken, crumbling, dilapidated” cities? Had things changed so much in the five years since he’d written the book? (more…)
In the morning, trusty Ally was waiting for us to get off the ferry with his taxi. We had texted him earlier, asking him to join us for breakfast before we headed off to the bus station. He also had made our bus reservations for us.
At Chefs Pride, Ally ended up treating us to breakfast, despite us trying to pay for his. (This man can be more stubborn than Lauren – impressive.) He then drove us to the bus station where we were catching a bus to Arusha for a night stopover before our trip to Kampala. (more…)
Lauren: We jumped on the good ol’ Flying Horse, and settled in for our 3-hour ride across the bay. Impressed that we had made it through the touts unscathed, we celebrated with a Fanta and waited for the boat to leave. Shortly after pulling away from the dock, we began to rock and Beth prayed that her Dramamine would kick in. Then we really started rocking and I thought I might lose it. I walked down to get some fresh air, and returned to find a green Beth, sweating and taking deep breaths, staring feverishly at the ceiling. I grabbed 2 plastic bags, wrapped the straps of our bags around my legs and forced myself to sleep. (more…)
We returned to Dar es Salaam, once again, Zanzibar bound. Marjona tried in vain to change her flight so that she could stay a bit longer and be with Mukada for his birthday. Unfortunately, British Air wouldn’t budge, insisting that she would have to buy a new ticket entirely and lose her original flight (and money). Due to our limited number of remaining days and Mukada’s wish to remain close to Dar because his mother was ill, we decided to bag the Zanzibar idea and head to Bagamoyo, a beach town North of Dar, instead.
And this way, Mukada told us, we could go to a fancy wedding planned for Saturday night with him and his friends. (more…)
The next morning, we ran into our Aussie friends from Zanzibar, Dave and Kerri. They had just returned the night before from trekking up Mt. Kiliminjaro. They told us a crazy story about their 6-day hike up and down the mountain. Kerri’s knees started hurting her on the way down, and she started to show signs of altitude sickness. She had to be carried on the shoulders of some porters and then trucked down to a lower altitude (while Dave carried the bags the porters were carrying). Because of the altitude, her lips and eyes had swollen up. She looked like she’d been in a fight.
We had never been planning to actually trek all the way up Mt. Kiliminjaro, but that sealed the deal. We wanted to see the mountain, but seeing it from a distance would be good enough.
Pablo and Richard (from Nature African Safari) had recommended a guy named Olais. We’d have to take a minibus to Moshi, an hour away. He’d pick us up from the bus station and we could arrange a day trip to see Mt Kili with him. (more…)
We woke up to find ourselves damp, dirty — and worse, late. Under the down sleeping bags, I couldn’t hear the beeping of my watch alarm. Pablo had told us that the best time to spot cats is early in the morning, and we wanted to be in Ngorongoro crater by 7am — when it opens. But it was already 6am.
I woke up Marjona and Lauren and the three of us started scrambling to get packed and out of the tent — without bumping the sides, which were covered in condensation.
