Mountains in the Mist

After two lovely weeks on Zanzibar, arriving back in Dar es Salaam was an assault on our senses.

The crossing had been a little rough and we were feeling slightly sea sick. As we disembarked, the port was heaving with people – taxi drivers trying to grab our bags and hustle us into their waiting cars. Traffic, people and noise everywhere.

Fortunately the driver that had taken us to the port two weeks ago was waiting to take us back to our hotel and he pushed us through the crowds safely into his taxi.

The hotel manager, Stephen, welcomed us back and checked us into the same room. We winced slightly and reminded him that we had asked for an internal room because of the noise but sadly he said they were all full.

Henry had been waiting patiently for our return for two very wet weeks and when we opened him up we were not at all surprised to find that he was growing a lovely new crop of mould inside – inevitable after such a long time closed up in this weather. I ran up to the restaurant on the top floor of the hotel and they kindly gave me a large cup of vinegar. We spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning him up and washing out our grimy water containers.

By the end of the day we were pouring with sweat and absolutely exhausted but Henry was looking lovely.

We went to the bar across the road that had kept us awake all night last time we were here to see whether they offered food. They did and they were pleased to see tourists in their midst. We ordered chicken and chips, received goat and chips, got mine changed to chicken and regretted it! The service was very attentive with water jugs brought multiple times for us to wash our hands. The manager practically kidnapped James, insisting that he went to look at their rooms so we could stay with them next time we were in town – he came back with a grimace having become a bit of a hit with the ladies in reception!

That night we discovered that the loud music two weeks ago had not been because of Eid, it was just because it´s Dar es Salaam. It somehow didn´t seem as bad this time, maybe because we were expecting it or maybe just because we had had such a relaxing couple of weeks that it didn´t seem to matter so much.

We were keen to get out of the city as quickly as possible but Henry´s temporary import permit (TIP) had expired whilst we were on Zanzibar and our top priority was to get it renewed. Stephen from the hotel advised us where the nearest Tanzanian Revenue Authority (TRA) building was and assured us that the police would be fine if we happened to get stopped at a checkpoint on the way. He told us to give them his number if they gave us any trouble and he would speak to them.

We headed off first thing in the morning, planning to drive the ten minutes to the TRA, spend half an hour getting the permit sorted, drive another ten minutes back to the posh shopping mall for food and beer then head straight out of Dar to a town on the coast further north. We should only need to be in the city for another couple of hours at most before leaving the chaos behind us.

But of course Africa doesn´t work like that! We arrived at the TRA offices only to be greeted by confused faces and blank stares. Eventually someone got the manager who spoke good English and understood exactly what we needed. But they didn´t do it at that office apparently. The only place that could issue a new TIP for a foreign car was the head office and that was all the way through the heart of the city back to the south – the route that took us 2.5 hours the last two times we did it.

Our hearts sank, we pleaded with him to be wrong and find somewhere else we could go but he was certain. He looked at us with sympathy but assured us the traffic at that time of day would be fine.

With leaden hearts and stones in our shoes we walked back to Henry and set the sat nav for the southern part of the city.

To our amazement and delight the TRA manager had been right. It only took us half an hour to get to the office! But when we got there it took another hour in the blistering heat walking up and down flights of stairs, asking anyone we could find and eventually having to go across the road to a completely different building before we got it sorted.

After three hours we finally spun out of the seething traffic and scrum of Dar towards the peace and quiet of the coast.

As always, the rain was causing havoc as we tried to drive the flooded roads

We eventually arrived in the small town of Bagamoyo where there are very pretty historic buildings and a lovely coastline. We had chosen a campsite on the side of a lodge which looked lovely from the photos. When we arrived it was indeed gorgeous and a welcome relief from the noise and grime of the city

There were no campsite ablutions so they offered campers the key to a chalet to use the toilet and shower but our chalet was miles away. It was also pouring down with rain and there was no undercover area, no kitchen and no water on the campsite.

That night we walked backwards and forwards from Henry to the chalet carrying our stove, gas, cooking equipment, food, washing up equipment and numerous other things just so that we could cook dinner under the porch and keep dry. It was not a relaxing evening.

We had intended to stay for two nights and see the historic town on the day in between. But this campsite was totally impractical so they gave us our second night´s fee back and our town visit was cancelled.

The next morning we took a slow drive through the beautiful town and regretted not being able to stay for a proper visit. Instead we headed to the Kaole Ruins slightly further down the coast.

The entrance fee included a guide and he first took us to an enormous baobab tree which we walked around in a clockwise direction – every turn apparently adding a year to your life

We then wandered around the ruins themselves, hearing all about the local history and some of the people who are buried there

We finished at the mangrove swamps that used to be a busy port, reclaimed by nature many decades ago and now home to crabs of all shapes and sizes

It was a short tour but we enjoyed it.

We were lucky it was short though as our next stop was some six hours away and we were pleased to be leaving early.

Most of the drive was easy enough on smooth tar roads but it seemed very, very long.

Enroute we were surprised to see some of the local residents

The groups of school children walking home looked very smart in their uniforms

And the views were absolutely spectacular

We were in the Uzumbara Mountains and they are fabulous

They are also, as you would expect, high up! And with the altitude came cool air that was a very welcome relief from the heat and humidity of the city.

The last 35km were on wet mud roads through the mountains

Our campsite used to be well known and well regarded but in the last few years, since the German owners went back to Germany, it has become a little run down. The staff were very friendly and helpful and the menu looked appetising

But the grass on the campsite was long and overgrown and the ablutions were rather old and dirty

When we first arrived the manager warned us about the Seafu ants – also know as Safari ants or Fire ants, they won the prize for the worst ants in the world and terrorised me and my fellow volunteers when I was on my research project in Tanzania 20 years ago. She told us to be very careful not to drop any food whilst we were cooking as they would swarm. A warning we took very, very seriously.

It had been raining for most of the day but by early evening it dried up. We cooked prawns in the dark unaware that this would be the last few dry moments we were to have for four very soggy days and five even soggier nights.

That night the rain started and it didn´t stop. We had arranged for a guided walk into the mountains for the next day but there was no way we were going anywhere in this so instead we settled in for a day of admin and blog-writing

We looked out over the mountains and watched in despair as they quickly vanished from view

The next day the walk was postponed again as the rain continued to pound down. There was little shelter here, I trained each morning under cover of a small porch in front of the chalets but it was not big enough to keep the rain out and I ended up drenched every day

For four days we were never dry. Our clothes were wet, our shoes were wet, our towels were wet. My gym kit was wringing wet. Even my hair never dried. Water poured down the insides of our roof canvas and pooled on every flat surface inside Henry.

We were miserable.

Tino, Liza and Liano arrived two days after us and cheered us up for a short time – having not seen them for at least three weeks

A German couple also arrived who said they were very pleased to meet us, having been driving through southern Africa for just over two months apparently without seeing any other travellers to talk to. But these two were not enjoying their African adventure and had decided to cut their six month trip in half and head back to Europe as soon as possible. We didn´t find we had much in common with them.

We ate fabulous pizza and drank spicey masala tea

We worked on our tax year end and sorted photos. And still it rained. Every day our walk was delayed until the next day – a triumph of hope over experience.

We started staying in bed until 8am or later as there was no reason to get up. We sat in Henry every evening watching the laptop, staring mutely out of the windows as the rain lashed against the glass.

Even the wildlife was taking refuge wherever they could

It was absolutely relentless.

And then, after four days and five nights, it stopped. Just like that, as if someone had turned off a tap. That morning we climbed out of Henry hesitantly expecting another sudden downpour any moment but nothing came. As I was doing my training under the small porch I watched the dark grey clouds slowly drift away, become fluffy and white then burn off entirely leaving a beautiful blue sky

I consulted the weather app that had become my firm friend over the last few months and went through every day for the next ten days. The forecast was the same every day….0mm rain. Could it be true? Had the last four days been the swan song of the wet season? Our walking guide was sure it was so, the weather app suggested it was true. But we couldn´t quite bring ourselves to believe it.

The rains had started for us in Malawi some five months ago and had been relentless ever since. The dry season had become a dim and distant dream that we could only pine for. But now, after all this time and all this water, Africa had pivoted on a coin – as it is so good at doing – and without warning we had finally, finally made it – the cooler, dry winter was here. I felt as though I was going to cry.

Our walking guide arrived with a huge smile on his face and off we went on a three hour hike up the mountains to a view point over the valley

It was lovely but we had climbed a little higher into what was left of the clouds so we couldn´t see very far

As we walked our guide spotted a chameleon sitting in the branch of a tree, how he saw it we had no idea

But only minutes later he found another one looking even more impressive in his camouflage

We arrived at a lodge on the top of the mountain where we found a puppy who was very pleased to see us

The lodge was closed and there was no-one around. The puppy looked thin and hungry. We had nothing for him, we were concerned

Our guide called the woman who was supposed to be looking after the place and she said she thought someone else was there feeding the puppy. When she found out he had been left alone she made her way straight there with food for him.

If nothing else, our walk that day had saved a life…

On the way back we stopped at a local pepper farm where we bought so many peppers we could hardly carry them all back

Our guide made a bag out of his unused rain coat for them all. They turned out to be the best and freshest peppers we had ever bought and lasted us weeks

But by this time I was regretting my choice of socks, having chosen slightly thicker ones as they were the only dry ones I had. They were rubbing on my foot and I ended up with a very nasty sore that made the rest of the walk very painful and took over a month to heal.

The way back to the campsite was pretty much a sheer drop down the mountain and to make matters worse it was thick, slippery mud. I´m no good at going downhill at the best of times and it took all James´ strength and patience to stop me careering down the mountainside! He was so sure-footed our guide asked whether he was a rock climber.

We passed through a number of villages

And, as usual, developed a small fan base amongst the local children!

By the time we arrived back we were both exhausted – but happy to finally have had some time out and about exploring.

In the morning there was something that looked like a dead leaf curled up on our side table. James poked it and eight legs uncurled into a huge spider which he quickly deposited on the grass well away from me. An hour or so later I was stretching on my mat before training and another huge spider ran towards my face before veering off at the last minute to make his home under the small table next to me where he stayed watching me until I had finished. And as I was rolling my mat up I saw a dried up stick on it so brushed it off only to find it too uncurled into a large spider and ran away.

It was definitely time to go!

We packed up, said our goodbyes and headed off on a five hour drive to the foot of the highest mountain in Africa – we were going to see Kilimanjaro.

A road circles Kilimanjaro, part of which is in Kenya so unless you want to battle with two border posts and swap in and out of two countries it´s not possible to drive all the way around. Our plan was to camp to the east of the mountain for a couple of nights then drive anti-clockwise to the west side and camp there for another two nights. We had no plans to actually climb it – a 5 day hike for $2,500 per person was not at the top of our to-do list! But spending some time looking at the awe-inspiring snow-covered peaks definitely was.

As we drove along we saw fields and fields of pineapples making me muse on just how abundant this part of the world is

For weeks I had been eating my own body weight in avacadoes, bananas, passion fruit, pineapples and many other fruit and vegetables fresh from the ground, sold on the side of the road by local villagers. Life here was good, healthy, lush and plentiful. It was paradise

We arrived at the Coffee Tree campsite late that afternoon, followed by two locals on a motorbike. When we pulled up at the gate they jump off and one of them busied himself welcoming us and opening the gate for us. He directed us where to park and introduced himself as David. Before we could sign in, find the toilets or do anything else he was dragging me out of the gates and down the road to a restaurant where he said we must book our dinner. I followed him for a few paces then thought better of it, telling him we would be cooking for ourselves and returning to the campsite against fierce protests from him.

And I´m glad I did as no sooner had I got back than a lovely lady appeared with a signing-in book and welcomed us to the campsite. She glared at David and told him to leave, telling me to ignore him as he was not connected with the campsite but was just trying to make some money from us.

This campsite was a complete and welcome change from our soggy and run down campsite at the Uzumbara Mountains. It was clean and crisp with neatly mown grass, clean ablutions, no bugs and three or four different under cover areas where we could sit or cook. It was like a breath of fresh air – no doubt helped by the continuing clear and dry weather and the warming sun on our backs.

The only thing missing was a mountain! We were only about 5km away from Kilimanjaro but it was nowhere to be seen. Strangely, there is a point at which you are too close to a mountain and regardless of how absolutely huge it is, you just can´t see it.

So we satisfied ourselves with a walk down to the local hotel – possibly the same place David had been trying to drag us to earlier! – for chicken and chips and had a peaceful and dry night in lovely surroundings. The next day we got all our washing done and hung out to dry. We then set sail for the busy town of Moshi where we found a rare, large supermarket and an Airtel store to top up with data before heading to the Maisha Khalisi eco lodge which was reputed to have the best views of Kilimanjaro in the area.

When we arrived we were completely taken aback by the place. The owners had been constructing it for four years since the start of COVID and it was remarkable

We were shown around and told all about the sustainable features built in to the design – solar power, rain water harvesting, recycled materials.

The showers were not quite finished so we were given the keys to one of the lovely rooms to use the toilet and shower for the duration of our stay.

The owner spends a lot of time in Germany and the UK and spoke perfect English. He was also very knowledgeable about the local area and gave us lots of good advice.

We settled in to the restaurant area on soft, comfortable sofas, had a very healthy lunch of samosas, onion rings and banana chips and waited

This place may have theoretically had a perfect view of Kilimanjaro but so far we had no way of knowing. We were high up and the mountain was even higher. Between us at it were lots of clouds

After a couple of hours I was busy chatting to my Mum on the phone when there was a buzz of excitement from the balcony above us. One of the guests called me from the top of the stairs urging me to come up. I excused myself from my call promising to call Mum back, grabbed my camera and ran up the stairs.

The sight that met me at the top took my breath away

We all watched, transfixed as the setting sun cast changing shadows across the peak

The spectacle lasted about half an hour before the clouds rolled back in but we were happy. We ordered an amazing fish and chicken for dinner and went to bed excited to see what the morning would bring

Sadly it brought nothing but more clouds. We spent the day hand washing our chair covers, fighting with our bank who had stopped an important payment and reading, all the time glancing up at where the mountain ought to be but seeing nothing but a sea of white sky.

That evening I went up to the balcony to check on things and met a Polish backpacker who was also staring out at the clouds. We chatted for a short time but James had started cooking dinner so I had to go back down and pull my weight. My new friend promised to call us if the clouds parted. All through our meal we kept looking up at him but he just shook his head and gave us the thumbs down until darkness came.

I was up at 5am the next morning and before starting my training I headed back up to the balcony. As I mounted the last step I smiled a broad smile – there she was!

After taking a couple of photos just to be sure I ran back downstairs and dragged James out of bed. We went back up together to admire the view and watched for the next few minutes until the clouds slowly rolled back in and she was gone

There is something magical about all this. If the mountain had been on display all the time it would have been a bit of an anticlimax after a while – anything worthwhile is always hard to come by! We had been at this wonderful place for two days and seen Kilimanjaro twice during that time. She remains shrouded in beautiful mystery and will stay that way forever in our memories