Tag Archives: Hikes

Ethiopia Part IV: Tigray – where Churches are the Cherry not the Cake

08 Thursday Mar 2018

Posted by in Africa, Ethiopia

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Views over Tigray

We had only driven out of Axum for about 90 minutes – I was laying spread out across one of the bench seats, taking advantage of our massive luxurious van for just the two of us – when Mike told me to get up and look out of the window.  This is what I saw.

Scenery right out of Axum

The geography in this area of Ethiopia is astounding.  A huge pink and orange rock escarpment with towering sandstone cliffs and mountains that are reminiscent of Utah, Arizona’s Monument Valley, North Western Australia and Namibia to mention a few similar places.  This is all just wonderful – BUT!  They sold me this trip to see CHURCHES??????!!!!

It blows my mind that the tour company who markets this particular route only focuses on the historic churches that we would get to see.  No mention is made of the views, or the trekking opportunities.  All that was said was that a few of the churches on day two required a little bit of clambering to get to.  This was a huge understatement, both in scope and in practical terms.

Mike ascending the vertical wall at Debre Damo

I had agreed to make our first stop the monastery of Debre Damo – which only allowed for male visitors.  In fact, the monks only allowed male cows, chickens, donkeys and any other livestock they needed for their purposes to be provided for their day to day needs.  I’m guessing female cows would be just too much of a powerful temptation for them, living all alone at the top of a monolithic mountain?

The fun part of visiting this monastery is that it involved a near vertical 15 m rock climb where the priest assists the person climbing via a rope around the waist.  Mike is a little afraid of heights, so I was super proud of him for wanting to give this a go.  Plus, I wanted everything documented on camera in case something funny or super embarrassing happened to him on the way up or down.

Fortunately for me, I got both.

Enjoy this wonderful video footage of Mike being aided down the rock, and toward the end, not even being allowed to place his feet to steady himself: https://youtu.be/xWNVzRtlYG8

After a nice lunch, our next stop was located at the end of another stunning drive through the magnificent countryside, and according to the guidebook, one of the most scenic roads in the country.  There was a complex of 3 churches called the Teka Tesray cluster, but we’d been advised to just visit the most beautiful – Medhane Alem.  As we approached the trailhead (because, yes, you have to hike to each of these churches as they’ve been built literally into the rock/mountain) we were swarmed by a bunch of kids wanting to make some quick birr to show us the way.  We chose one competent looking enough chap and we made our way through the late afternoon sun up the steep sandstone cliffs to the church – which was about 30 minutes away.

Beautiful Medhane Alem

What made this particular location a little unique was that we were surrounded by a beautiful variety of cacti, eucalyptus trees, and green, rolling hills.  It reminded me of a fragrant late afternoon in Tuscany – except without the olive trees.  We entered the gated entrance with its standard issue crowd of elderly shawled folk who seemed to “live” at the church and beg for money.  We were told to remove our shoes and make our way through the dirty and rocky garden area leading to the white rock-hewn church – and I just couldn’t understand why they didn’t just let us remove our shoes at the doorway – thereby ensuring we didn’t bring the dirt and dust inside the church with us.  I asked this of our guide and was informed that the rocky path was already “holy land” which appeared to be more important than whether or not it was clean.

Artwork inside Medhane Alem

The inside of this 6th century church was very cool and carved out in one giant piece, consisting of 4 inter connected rooms containing mosaics, remnants of religious artwork depicting the angels and the apostles, and of course, the holy of holies that contained a replica of the Ark of the Covenant, in line with Ethiopian Orthodox teachings.

As usual, the outside and surrounding scenery was more fascinating to me than the inside of the church, where it was hard for me to not be preoccupied with how old the carpet was and how many thousands of dirty feet had walked here since it was last replaced.

Having said that, the feat of work this represented and the age of the church itself was pretty staggering.  I think when you’re dealing with architecture this ancient, it is really hard for a layman to determine the actual talent that may or may not be involved in its creation, based purely on its age.

As with many of these very very old churches – the guides often claimed that the only explanation for their creation at a time when technology was so limited was that they were made with the assistance of the angels.  These explanations are given entirely with a straight face, I might add.

Making our way back to the van as the sun was setting was rather magical and I managed to get some nice sunset shots.  Why is it we never tire of a beautiful sunset?

Pretty sunset as we descend from Medhane Alem

That night we stayed in a small town called Hawzen.  It took visiting four hotels before Mike and I found one with an available room that had hot water in the bathroom – the Habesha Hotel.  We soon headed out in search of a restaurant our driver had recommended, and when we did finally find it – it turned out it was only serving fasting food.  It’s funny to me how excited the restaurant staff are to tell us that their menu doesn’t contain any dairy, meat or animal fat of any kind – but it’s clearly because they don’t realize that hearing such news is an instant disappointment for me.

I settled on ordering some vegetable soup and beer.  And eating some rice off of Mike’s plate, of course.

Our second day in Tigray was definitely the highlight.  This is in spite of the horrendous hassle we had to overcome in locating a scout for each of the two churches we hiked to – you can read about the first instant in my former post here.  Despite this, it was easily my favorite day of the entire trip – perhaps since the scenery, degree of difficulty, and the steep ledges we had to scramble over to reach these churches built on top of mountains was altogether unexpected.

Stunning landscapes and beauty of Ethiopia

Our first visit was to a church called Abuna Yemal, which, funnily enough – was featured in a BBC article about the priest having what was claimed the “most difficult commute in the world.”  The route was a tough scramble, possibly a technical enough route that a harness and rope would be called for were it in the States – but I certainly enjoyed the adrenaline rush that came from trying to find foot and hand holds (and doing so in the midst of yelling at the bunch of super annoying men, dressed in SUITS I might add, to shut the hell up as they threw out constant muttered directives of how and where I should climb, assuming I was a complete idiot who’d never scrambled before.)

Me, ascending sans rope to the Rock Hewn church of Abuna Yemal

I was, however, filled with more than adrenaline when one of these douche bags (who expect tips even though you never asked for help, in fact, when you had actively told them to go away multiple times) actually down climbed right over the top of me and stood on my hand.  I screamed at him, in a terrified rage, for committing the ultimate rock climbing faux pas – though I’m not sure he really gave a shit.

It did end up being totally worth it – and the views from the teeny tiny ledge that led to the church were stupendous.  Hopefully you can get some idea from these pictures.

Sitting on a ledge near the church

Again, the church was a nice cherry to find at the top of this climb, but the journey was reward enough in itself.

This first church was about 3 hours return, and it was well past lunchtime by the time we got back to the van.  I cursed not having known about the number of hours we’d be hiking today, and I cursed our guides/drivers for not telling us to pack a lunch with us to help fuel us for the afternoon’s venture out to Maryam Kokor – which was going to take us another 3 arduous hours to climb and return from.  Luckily, Mike had some chocolate in his pack and Sneetchi gave us some bananas…so we managed fairly well despite our outputs.  It’s just that this was clearly not the first time this company had brought tourists to these places – so why can’t they advise this ahead of time?  SMH.

Not so happy priest at Abuna Yemal with ancient text inscribed on goat skin

The approach to Maryam Kokor was very different, as was our lovely and QUIET scout whom our driver had been kind enough to arrange for us to have after the nightmare we’d experienced at Abuna Yemal.  There were sections of tunnel-like through paths of rocks with giant sandstone walls rising up either side of us.  Then there were sections where we had to clamber on hands and feet on well-trodden and eroded “steps” up the pink cliffs.

Views were out of this world and I include some pictures here.

There were two small churches to visit at the top of the mountain, and the first had separate entrances for men and women.  It looked rather like Medhane Alem inside, though the artwork was far better preserved.  The second much smaller church had just one room with a mural going in a circle across all four walls – but we had to navigate a narrow ledge where the wind threatened to pick us up and throw us up and over the edge where we’d fall several thousand feet to the valley below.  I include some pictures and videos of this exhilarating hike here.

Hanging out on ledges

I felt extremely satisfied and physically spent by the time we made it back to the van.  Here is a link to the video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4EGFHA4FemY  Not just that – I was rather hungry, but we opted to grab avocado smoothies and make our way to Mekele since it was already 4:30pm in the afternoon – and we would be leaving for our 4 day/3-night trip to the Danakil Depression the very next day – and probably at early o’clock.

Maryam Kokor

We visited our tour agency on arrival in Mekele to pay for our trip – but alas, the credit card machine wasn’t working (shocking, I know.)  So Sneetchi dropped us at a nice hotel (which was a little expensive, but well worth the little bit of luxury we felt we deserved) where we got a SEMI-SUITE, which was essentially a room with an adjoining living area.  More importantly, the restaurant served burgers and fries which we joyfully washed down with large beers and toasted our incredible two day adventure visiting historical churches…I mean, trekking through some of the best scenery I’ve experienced yet on the Dark Continent.

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Ethiopia Part II: No Pain, No Gain in the Simiens

02 Friday Mar 2018

Posted by in Africa, Ethiopia

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The beautiful Simien Mountains

Our flight and arrival in Addis went without a hitch and the visa process was pretty straightforward also.  We chose to stay the night at Lobelia Hotel as it was close to the airport and we’d have to leave at an ungodly hour to catch our domestic flight in the morning to Gonder – where we would begin our Historical Northern Tour of Ethiopia.

After checking in and getting some soup for our tummies, I was ready for an early night when I noticed that the hotel had a sauna and a steam room! I later discovered that this is a trend in moderate to nicer hotels in Ethiopia – and it was one I took advantage of at any given opportunity.  This was my first and it helped with my cough immensely.  In the end, I had that cough for about six weeks on and off…it has finally cleared up, as of about a week ago.  I can’t tell you how relieved I am not to have to take antibiotics and be able to sleep through the night without waking Mike up with a coughing fit.

The next morning began rather badly.  As we arrived at the domestic terminal, Mike put his iPhone in another person’s “security box” as his had already gone through and he’d just that moment realized it was still in his pocket as he needed to pass through the body scanner.  Once through, he waited for it to “reappear” on the other side.

It never did.

I was, meanwhile, trying to check both our bags onto the flight and save time.  When Mike wasn’t showing up I went back to find him distressed and searching for his phone.  I cursed myself for not having been there at that moment, as doubtless someone had grabbed it and it might have been possible to spot them if it was done soon enough.  Security was useless, assuring us that they would check the CCTV cameras etc.  I kept asking “how on earth is that going to help?  You won’t know the identity of the person who you see took the phone!”  Besides, I’m pretty sure that it was a member of the x-ray machine team that took it.  We put a message on his phone to indicate it was lost and to contact my number, but unfortunately, Mike hadn’t connected it to the wifi of the domestic terminal yet – so whomever had taken it, wouldn’t see the message.  Moreover, a stolen iPhone might as well be a stolen brick – without the password, there’s no way to get into it.

What a waste.  It was Mike’s baby too – so I felt super bad for him.

Shopping in Gonder

Our flight was only about 45 minutes and we landed in Gonder, taking a hotel shuttle to the AG – chosen because it had my initials!  Mike then discovered that his camera viewing screen was broken and his day had just gotten worse, poor guy.  The hotel was actually quite nice and we soon passed out since we’d barely slept the night before.

Gonder and the day and a half we spent there turned out to be rather arduous.  Other than being the former capital of the country and full of amazing history such as the palace of Emperor Fasilades who founded the city in 1636 – it is already at an elevation of 2133 m and being quite hilly, was a physical test just to walk around and get errands ran before starting our 4 day trek to the Simien mountains.

We had to find a tour company that we could trust and was leaving in the next day or two (NOT an easy task), buy warm jackets as the temperatures at night would be below freezing, find warm hats/gloves, buy some Acetazolamide (altitude medication), buy hiking boots, buy more malaria pills for me as I was almost out, get SIM cards for our phones, and other odds and ends.  It ended up taking us almost all of our free time to accomplish these tasks, and at almost one hour prior to closing – we finally got in a cab to go visit the Royal Palace – feeling it would be too awful to not visit this UNESCO world heritage site before leaving in the am for Debark.

The Royal Palace was quite impressive, especially the castle that was actually intact.  Since we were so late, we failed to find a guide, and had to satisfy our historical curiosities by reading about each building on Lonely Planet – promising ourselves we would do more earnest research later.  Getting back to our room, we had to pack our overnight bags and combine what we were leaving into my suitcase and try to get an early night.

Fasilada’s Palace, Gonder

The next morning, we were picked up nice and early and informed that we would be getting a private tour as the Korean couple they had paired us with had never actually trekked before and our tour operator was concerned that we would leave them in the dust.  Poor Mike just looked at me and I told him that I was sorry he’d had no one else to talk to for the next 3 nights.

On arrival at park headquarters, however, we came across a lovely Polish girl, Kamila, who was looking to hire a scout and share transportation with someone to the trailhead and back from Chennek.  I told her that I’d be happy to let her share our scout and transport – but she’d have to arrange it with Tedele – our “charming” tour operator.  In the end, she paid him $50 for transport and the use of our scout – and as it turned out, she ended up having the exact same trip that we did, except for the fact that she’d brought her own tent.  We didn’t mind, per se, but she sure lucked out with getting fed at every meal – our cooks even baked her a cake on the last day of the hike for her birthday!  I was glad that Mike would have someone new to talk to – and goodness, did they ever hit it off!  They talked a lot on the trail, which was fine with me, because as many of you know, hiking in the mountains is about the only time that I’m relatively quiet – it’s my form of church.

Our first sighting of a group of Gelada monkeys – walking from Buyit Ras to Sankaber

That day the hike was short and relatively easy, though the temperatures were much higher than I had expected.  Since they were only going to feed us plain bread and bananas for lunch, I asked to stop at the Simien Lodge where I managed to finagle some ham and cheese for our rolls – which made them greatly improved.

That evening, we set up tents and got on a few layers before heading out to a viewing point to watch the sunset.  Everything about camp reminded me of Kilimanjaro – especially the little bowl of hot water they’d put out to do washing before dinner.  Already, many of the hikers at camp were feeling sick and had symptoms of AMS.  Thankfully I felt ok – at least, I did at that moment.

Dinner was very abundant, and just like on Kili, they had already fed us with popcorn and cookies so I wasn’t exactly hungry, but that didn’t stop me from pigging out.  It was lovely and warm in the cook tent, especially when they lit a nice wooden fire which we sat around with tea after dinner.

Start of Day 2 – heading to Geech

I was feeling a bit too full but fine right after dinner and was soon snugly wrapped up in my sleeping bag within a sleeping bag.  I found that I just couldn’t get comfortable and my stomach was rumbling a bit, but I put it down to having overeaten.  Around 11:30 at night, I suddenly felt bile rise in my mouth and I knew I had seconds before I was going to barf over everything in the tent, including Mike.  In those few seconds, I managed to locate my headlamp, unzip my sleeping bags, unzip the tent and stick my head out far enough that when the contents of my stomach emptied out, it was just inches from the tarp under our tent.  Feeling somewhat relieved, I crawled back inside, thinking that I would immediately feel better and be able to fall asleep.

Not so.

I started feeling nauseous and the pain in my stomach was only getting worse.  The hours crawled by slowly and I was soon writhing in agony.  Soon enough, I realized I needed the bathroom and I struggled to walk down to the outhouse because I was also starting to feel feverish and weak.  I won’t go into too much detail about what happened next – but my travel partner Mike the next day best described it as my body mandating a total body evacuation.  I sipped some water on return to my tent, believing that by now, at 3am, the worst had to be over.

I was wrong.  The next thing that happened was one of the most embarrassing and dehumanizing moments of my life.  I shat my pants, and I realized that I was too sick to be able to walk back to the outhouse without help.  I lay there crying and woke up Mike telling him what had happened through gulped tears.  God bless him, he got up and helped me walk back down the hill to the nasty nasty hole in the ground that was the outhouse.

I’m not sure how I still had that much still left inside me, and furthermore I don’t know from where I found the strength to also change my clothes while having to balance on alternating feet in my shoes.  But Mike stayed the whole time and got me some mango juice to sip on once we were back in the tent.

It was 5am and feeling horrifically weak and sorry for myself, I managed to fall asleep.

After only a few hours’ of rest, it was time for us to awaken and head out for our 5-6 hour hike to the next camp.  I didn’t think I’d be able to make it – I felt so lousy.  Problem was, Mike was insisting on accompanying me if I decided to head back to Debark and wait my illness out.   I kept telling him that I wanted him to go on and enjoy the trip without me.  He refused.

Riding the horse after being sick all night

So, – I made a decision to try and walk for the first 90 minutes at which point our guide, Gashaw, informed me that we would be crossing the main road, and if I was still too sick to continue, I would be able to arrange transport from there.

And so, in pain, nauseated and very weak – I started to put one foot in front of the other.  It was pretty bad and required all my concentration.  After the first hour, the pain eased a little bit, and in another 30 mins I found out why – my period had just started.  Oh great – exactly what I needed on top of my nasty bug, I had horrible cramps that I’d mistaken for aftermath of the night before.

At least I was feeling a little stronger, but that didn’t stop me from taking advantage of an offer of a horse ride the rest of the way to camp when we came across a boy with a horse offering rides to presumably feeble tourists who didn’t want to go uphill.  Though it really went against the grain for me to “give up” like that – I reasoned that if I took it easier that day, I just might have the strength to finish the rest of the hike that was two more days and lots more elevation gain – up to Mt Bwahit which was at 4437 M.

Our beautiful campsite at Geech

The views on arrival at our campsite that afternoon were so welcome.  It was a beautiful high altitude plain of grass, open and flat but surrounded by cliffs in all directions.   Thought it was only 4pm, I was feeling utterly spent and happily crawled into my sleeping bag and slept for three hours before I was told dinner was ready.  I also learned that the others had gone on a short hike from camp to watch the sunset and had been stampeded by a larger group of gorgeous gelada monkeys (granted we had seen them several times during the day – but this was a very up, close and personal encounter) as they tried to get past the humans to the cliffs where they would rest for the night inside caves.  I was glad I had chosen to rest and regain strength, but disappointed not to have witnessed this spectacle first hand.

Luckily, Mike was able to capture the event on video and I include it here for your viewing pleasure.

That night in Geech was particularly cold.  I got up around 10pm to take a pee, and for the second night, I noticed our 64-year old scout – a delightfully cheerful though non-English speaking man – sitting out in the open air wearing nothing more than his shirt, thin jacket and a tarp for warmth.  I literally feared for his life and was so worried that I ended up taking the extra jacket that I’d bought in Gonder and went over to where he was keeping watch and offered it to him.  At first he motioned with his hand, “Anita…no, no, it ok!” but then I forcibly unwrapped him from his tarp and put his arms inside the jacket, the hood up over his head and zipped him all the way up.  To my delight, it fit him perfectly (it is very disturbing that the men I come into contact with here seem to all have a body shape and size that would mean I could share my wardrobe with them!)  From that point on, he wore my jacket most of the day, removing it only in the heat of midday – and even then, leaving the detachable hood on his head like the coolest dude ever.  I loved Nursie…he said almost nothing, but was always smiling, saying my name, and saying “Good, good Anita! Strong!”

I gave him the jacket to keep on the last day of the trip.

Nursie – our fearless but chilled scout who kept watch over us

The altitude and remnants of my illness had destroyed my appetite and I forced myself to have a little soup and bread most nights, got porridge in me for the morning and snacked lightly during the day.   As such, I found myself having lost much of the weight I’d gained during my time in West Africa – so being sick and this high up did have some positive consequences.

The third day’s hike was pretty tough – about 8 hours of walking, and I was proud that I managed it – despite still vacating most of what I was eating along the way.  One time I went to pee and found that I peed out of my butt instead without warning.  I felt bad because one is supposed to dig a deep hole to avoid the almost extinct Ethiopian wolves from accidentally ingesting your feces and suffering fatal consequences.  Incidentally, the beetroots I’d managed to eat the night before had turned my product a violent pink color.  I looked for a giant rock to, at the very least, cover up the evidence that I’d failed to “leave no trace”, only to accidentally drop it from a height that caused everything to spatter raspberry colored shit over the entire surrounding area, including my shoes and trekking poles.  I had to use up some of my precious drinking water to rectify the situation, and be on my way – now precariously behind the rest of the group and getting slower as the afternoon wore on.

Looking back, it is still quite a funny story – and I am so proud of myself for not giving up and for pressing on.

More Geladas

As a sidenote to all this talk of excrement (my apologies, dear readers) – the scenery we were passing through was pretty immense and spectacular, despite the fact that it was rather brown given the time of year and it being the dry season.  Much of the wide expanse of ridges below us reminded me of a lighter colored south rim of the Grand Canyon.  Once we’d made it to Imet Gogo – all the suffering was made worthwhile by the incredible views we got to enjoy from this high point.  Unfortunately, this is the typical turnaround point for all the folks who choose to do the 2 night/3 day itinerary.  I found, however, that it was the scenery and the ability to walk along a long ridgeline the rest of the afternoon before descending to Chennek and our 3rd camp night – to be the highlight of the whole trek.

On the descent to Chennek, Mike and I spotted our one far away Ibex, which made us happy – though we were hoping to spot more the next day.  On arrival at camp, we were happy to note that there was a cold water well with a pump where we could take an ice-cold bucket shower.  We took it in turns to pump water for one another, hastily, as the sun was setting and it would soon be cold both by water and air temperature.

3rd day on the way to Chennek

At Imet Gogo

I took another early night as I was very spent, forcing myself to eat a little food.  The group had quite a rowdy dance/singalong by the fire that night, and I tried so hard to enjoy it for as long as I could, then grabbing my hot water bottle and bidding all a good night.

Singalong around the campfire

The next day was an optional day hike to the summit of Bwahit – the second highest mountain in Ethiopia.  Though I had told myself I didn’t really have to summit – I don’t easily give up, and despite having another bout of diarrhea, I proudly made the summit – albeit much more slowly than the rest of the team.  I felt an amazing sense of accomplishment, especially after noting several of the members of other groups on the mountain turning around, tired or deterred by the extreme altitude.

I made it!

Celebrating the summit of Mt. Bwahit

After some celebratory summit shots, I was happy to point my feet downhill for the last time.  We loaded back into 4 x 4’s and were treated to a nice sunny field picnic lunch on the way back where Kamila was presented with a birthday cake made for her by our cook, Messy.

I was relieved when we got to Debark, and though very pissed off at having another drama just getting our bags back (which I talked about in the last article) – was so happy to finally find ourselves in a room at the Hotel Sona resting a bit before going out for dinner.  Unfortunately, the room we found (that Kamila shared since it was a family room with four beds and adjoining rooms) was on the 4th floor of the hotel that didn’t have an elevator – so you can imagine how it felt going up and down those stairs with luggage after the day we’d had.  To add insult to injury, the water was shut off for a few hours but we finally were able to take a restorative lukewarm shower.

Men getting it on, I mean “dancing”, on the dancefloor in Debark

We had agreed to meet up with Messy and Gashaw for dinner, and they took us to a bar where we started with beer.  Everyone was up and dancing (shoulder dancing, that is – my first introduction into this uniqe and rather strange custom of dance that doesn’t include much in the way of hip or lower body movement.)   Funny thing is – it took 30 minutes after we’d ordered food for the waiter to come over and tell us that they were out of food!

Turns out this was the last night before lent and 55 days of fasting for Ethiopians.  So finding food was going to be difficult.  We finally left and went to another bar where more guys were dancing (only with other guys and in an alarmingly intense manner) and I was able to order some injera with veggies and minced meat.  I ate a little and then made my apologies and headed back to our hotel.

It was only a few blocks, but I still managed to get harassed multiple times on the way back.  I was so not in the mood and needed my bed.

What a memory-filled trek it had been.  Proud and happy that I finished what I had started.  It really reminded me how much physical suffering is and can be mind-over-matter.  I pushed myself, hard.  And I had made it!

Ghana Part V: Going it Solo from Ho to Hohoe in a Tro Tro

04 Sunday Feb 2018

Posted by in Africa, Ghana

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These places do exist

The first section of our independent journey took us to the mountainous region of Lake Volta, close to the border with Togo. Since the area has a bit of altitude, we were promised some cooler breezes, which would be oh so welcome after Accra.

First, we had to use the services of the Dragoman “fixer” (essentially a local guy who can arrange things that are difficult/get shit done) to go straight to the Burkina Fasso embassy to arrange for my visa, and have them understand that it would be ok for Isaac to pick the passport back up for us that Friday and bring it to the airport in time for us to fly to Mole.

I was amazed at just how quickly the process went. I paid my $100, filled in a form, and we were out of there in under 15 minutes. Mike was perturbed and assured me that other things would definitely prove to be more difficult, moving forward. Haha!

For this section of the journey we would be utilizing many different forms of public transport. To date we have used Tro-Tros (basically a minivan that leaves a starting point once it is full, and that means full in the African sense of the word; literally not a cubic square inch of air that doesn’t contain a person, animal or cargo; and is quite inexpensive and probably the most popular form of public transportation) Buses, Motorcycles (that put our large pieces of luggage on the handlebars between their arms as they drive) Motorcycle drawn “motorcart”, car taxis, bicycles, and our two feet.  It has actually been a lot easier in certain sections than I was expecting and it was more difficult in others.

Taking Moto to Biakpa

On this journey to the tiny village of Biapka, near Amedzofe, we took a Tro Tro, or minibus and it was quite cramped and stiflingly hot inside the vehicle. I was also cursing myself for bringing a small day pack and my travel purse which sat heavy on my lap. We were heading to Akosombo in the hopes of making it there by 3pm to take a tour of the dam there that creates Lake Volta. Unfortunately, it became clear that we weren’t gonna make it by then, and so we got off the Tro Tro at the next intersection and boarded a different one headed to Hohoe and the accommodation we were planning on staying at for 3 nights – Mountain Paradise lodge.

One of the main difficulties with public transport in this region of the world is needing to plan around bladder issues/maintenance. There are very few public toilets and most guys just get off the tro tro at a transfer stop and just pee against a wall. With hundreds of people around, such a location does not make it easy to pee as a woman. As such, we would typically limit our liquid intake during the day and try to rehydrate at night. It is all part of the experience that locals suffer through every day, so I’m not gonna complain about it.

By the times we reached the crossroads where we would try to get a taxi to Biakpa, it was getting close to sunset. Luckily there were two moto drivers there waiting (possibly notified of our arrival by our hotel manager, Tony) to pick us up.

It will be one of the highlights of my trip in West Africa, remembering that cool breeze flowing over my sweat-drenched body as I held on to the back of my motorcycle driver, as we winded up the mountain road through beautiful lush green scenery as the sun was setting.

Cool breeze as we wind through the mountain roads

The view on arrival was jaw-droppingly beautiful. Our hotel was situated on a cliff overlooking the valley below with a curtain vista of mountains surrounding the location. The hotel bar/restaurant was perched on the edge, and our room enjoyed a pretty verandah with potted plants and a few fearful kitties roaming around. It was peaceful, and more importantly, the temperature was refreshingly cool.

The staff at this accommodation were some of the most client-service focused we’d come across. The coffee was local and NOT Nescafe (win!) the food freshly prepared and delicious and there was plenty of information about the surrounding attractions and transportation options.

Our first day started off lazily with breakfast and obligatory post-breakfast nap. We then headed out on a long hike through the village of Biapka where we were told we could find a local to show us the “route” through the forest to the village of Amedzofe from where we could climb the second highest peak in Ghana, Mt. Gemi. Unfortunately, we came across a young lad who said he knew exactly where said path was, but after taking us to it for about 15 minutes and pointing in a direction saying we only needed to go straight, we found ourselves in need of a machete as the trail became impassable for vegetation.

Heading out on a hike to Mt. Gemi and Amedzofe

The young lad had clearly led us astray and we weren’t exactly sure of his motivation. Was it to earn the few Cd’s we gave him? Was he embarrassed that he didn’t really know the way? Or was it the classic African “I don’t know the answer to this white person’s question so I’ll just tell them something because I want to be helpful and that is clearly better than telling them that I don’t know, even if it means they will get completely lost.”

This happens all the time.

It ended up being quite funny and definitely adds to the story overall, I think. We came across what looked like a deadly Green Mamba snake that had a beautiful blue head and green body sitting bolt upright on the trail. We gave it a wide berth and escaped what would inevitably be a much bigger diversion to our day had one of us been bitten.

Getting back into town we thought it safer to stick to the road, and soon we were picked up by a motorbike who had been told to look for “two white people walking to Amedzofe”. TIA.

The driver was very sweet, but his bike was less than powerful and struggled to carry the three of us up the steep road to Amedzofe without stalling every few hundred meters. Eventually, we made it to the village which was very charming.

After registering for the hike to Mt. Gemi, and purchasing some popcorn on the side of the road, we made the climb to the summit where sat a large metal cross, clearly signifying something that wasn’t explained.

While beautiful, the surrounding scenery was obscured by thick harmattan air quality, but we were enjoying finally getting some cardio after weeks and weeks of mostly sitting on a truck.

At the summit of Mt. Gemi

Heading back to town, we stopped at a family’s home to purchase some home produced honey and then to the local village bar where we bought two large ice-cold beers to celebrate the afternoon’s exertions.

We became a point of focus and people greeted us as they walked by, and we sat happily watching the village afternoon pass by complete with wandering chickens, goats, shoeless children and curious local folk.

Cold beer after a hot hike = happiness

A man called Frank, wearing a Givenchy Paris t-shirt with the American flag on it, stopped to make conversation and we were soon engaged in an interesting discussion about homosexuality. Apparently, he was curious about how gay people integrate into society in America, and how we felt about them in general.

Being a strong Christian, he shared the belief system of many Ghanaians in that he felt homosexuality a “sin” and a “choice” that men made that shouldn’t be permitted by society. He seemed somewhat open, however, after I pointed out to him that being gay was as much a choice as his being black or our being white.

That seemed to get him thinking, which made me happy.

Frank

Since we were connecting, Frank offered to take us to a waterfall once we had finished our beer. We were delighted and accepted his generous offer.

The hike was steep going down to the falls, and one had to hold onto a bunch of ropes that had been constructed alongside the trail. We were having a lot of fun, playing Michael Jackson songs upon learning that he was Frank’s favorite US artist.

The waterfall was pretty, but it was mostly the magic of connecting with a local, combined with the chance to explore the outdoors again that was putting a big smile on my face, making me know for sure that I had made the right decision to travel with Mike.

Upon our return to Mountain Paradise, we learned that one of the staff members had successfully been able to procure some much-yearned for weed for Mike and I to enjoy. Neither Mike nor I had much in the way of experience of rolling a joint, and unfortunately, the pot had arrived packaged in lovely little brown paper parcels, but no rolling paper.

Ofe Falls in Amedzofe with Frank

What ensued was hilarious as King, the member of staff wickedly helping us commit this crime, took pages from his math homework book and rolled us a home-created joint. We took photos as the written fractions burnt away as we happily smoked and laughed at the scenario. Who knew you could roll a joint with exercise notebook paper?

It felt so good to be stoned again. And dinner was extra delicious;-)

Smoking King’s Math Homework

The next day we left on motorcycle early to visit the Monkey sanctuary in Tafi Atome, a 20 minute ride away. Though totally wild, these Mona monkeys are habituated to the villagers and will come and eat bananas directly from your hands, climbing all over you in the process.

I was glad I had chosen to wear long sleeves!

It was a unique, up and close wildlife experience, even if a little disconcerting when multiple individuals jumped up on you at the same time to grab banana.

Our driver took us to the local market afterwards where we happily drank some fresh coconut water and bought a pineapple for “dessert” later. After taking lots of pictures, we were ready to head back to the lodge for a siesta.

Mike and I with the Mona monkeys in Tafi Atome

Later on we took another hike to a local waterfall. Since we had to walk on the road to the trailhead, we laughed as Felix, our motorcycle driver with the weaker bike from the day before, spotted us and pulled over to drive us to said trailhead for free. We were becoming known by the locals.

The waterfall was well worth the steep hike and as was becoming normal in this region, we were the only people there as we jumped in for a refreshing swim. With some wise planning, I had brought a large beer with me which we sank into the runoff to cool while we swam.

Cold beer. Waterfall. Beautiful hike. Solitude. Amazing.

I absolutely loved my time in this region. I would highly recommend it to anyone else coming to Ghana. It has such a slower pace of life than Accra or other cities. That evening, we enjoyed another well-deserved joint and giggled through dinner. As exhaustion and a pot-induced haze sank in, we settled in the lodge garden for some of the pineapple that we’d set out to enjoy as dessert.

Inexplicably, we lost the pineapple and couldn’t stop laughing as we shone our headlamps on the ground by our feet wondering where it could possibly have rolled off to?

Lost pineapple. Newly-found joy.

The Drakensburg Mountains: Visiting The Amphitheater and The Kingdom of Lesotho

10 Wednesday Jun 2015

Posted by in Africa, Lesotho, South Africa

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At the Amphitheater Escarpment

At the Amphitheater Escarpment

I was well and truly ready for a day of rest on the bus as my body was spent from two days of hill climbing and I was well and truly hacking up a storm. We headed back up in the shuttle to Mthata where we managed to scramble a quick lunch before piling on the Baz Bus for my penultimate stop in South Africa – The Amphitheater Lodge in the Northern Drakensburg mountains.

Drakensburg literally means “Mountains of Dragons” and they are one of the oldest mountain ranges in the world. As we arrived at The Amphitheater Lodge, we couldn’t help but be impressed by the stunning “Amphitheater” of mountains that formed the backdrop to one of the nicest looking lodges I’ve stayed at on this trip.

The Grain Silo Dorms of Amphitheater Lodge

The Grain Silo Dorms of Amphitheater Lodge

That’s not to say that the hotel stay itself was great – the staff were some of the rudest, strange people I’ve ever come across while traveling. For example – we bought a bottle of white wine on our arrival (the four Baz Bus peeps – Lea, Yarrick, and Amy were together again and I was glad of it because the place was kinda empty) and asked if we could keep it in the fridge behind the bar to keep it cold. Returning a half hour later to get a refill, one of the owners behind the bar bluntly told us “Yar, I don’t know where your wine is – you’ll have to go find the bartender” – despite the fact that she was behind the bar, we didn’t know where the bartender was, and she didn’t even make a single effort to look in any of the fridges! The food in the restaurant is a three course “set menu” and when we asked if we could please just buy some dessert we were told “No, you can’t.” ?!!! This is just a few examples of many I could share that would explain some of the Trip Advisor comments we’d read. So, if you go here, know this: the place is stunningly beautiful, but the service is horrendous.

The four of us enjoyed a relaxing afternoon and elected to make our own dinners that night before retiring in our converted-grain-silo dorm room. The following day, we had elected to go on the famed Amphitheater hike to the 2nd highest waterfall in the world – Tugela Falls.

Starting out on our hike to Amphitheater Escarpment

Starting out on our hike to Amphitheater Escarpment

As it turned out, the waterfall was most definitely not the main attraction of the trip. In fact the waterfall was running almost dry at this time of year, and even at full flow, the hike gets you to a vantage point at the top of the falls, so you can’t really appreciate seeing it cascading down the mountain as I’d been expecting to. In fact, I wasn’t paying attention at the moment when our guide, Adrian, was pointing out the top of the falls, so I didn’t even get a picture of it – the others pointed it out to me later during our descent when I asked “when are we gonna get to see this damn waterfall?”

Silly me.

Trying to be Superman

Trying to be Superman

The hike was really quite stunning and I can see how it is regarded as one of the best day hikes in the world. Despite it being an almost two hour drive from the lodge to the trailhead, you ascend quite a lot in terms of altitude, meaning that you start the hike in an alpine environment to start out at 2500 meters or 8,200 feet, ascending to 3100 meters or 10,000 feet at the top of the Drakensburg escarpment. The last section of the trail is a bit of a scramble up a steep grassy/rocky scree slope, but the view as you emerge is well worth the effort.

Overall it was extremely enjoyable all except for the wind which beat on us with such ferocity that it gave my lungs an additional beating alongside my cough that was already wreaking damage on me. On our return to the lodge, I was so happy that we’d elected to pay the somewhat extravagant price to get the 3 course meal – and since it included rump steak and malva pudding with ….wait for it!…HOT CUSTARD for dessert, I was well and truly in bliss.

At the top of the falls with my Baz Bus "Family"

At the top of the falls with my Baz Bus “Family”

Sadly my three friends all left me the following day, but I was luckily joined by two Germans on my day trip to the mountainous kingdom of Lesotho (pronounded Le-Su-Tu). Lesotho is its own independent country and always has been since it was granted independece from the British Crown in 1966. We wouldn’t, unfortunately, be venturing too far into the country – on a day trip from the lodge, the roads in Lesotho alone would prohibit any such journey since they are almost all unpaved in this mountainous small country that is hailed as having the highest “low point” of any country in the world.

On the "ladders" for the descent

On the “ladders” for the descent

Even so, I got a wonderful day-long glimpse into the rural culture of this magnificent place and its people. Adrian, our guide from the hike was in even rarer form on this tour and you could tell how much he loved sharing his passion for the community that we visited. In fact, what will probably stay with me the longest is the memory of his enthusiastic and loud greeting of every villager we met and his admirable attempts at the Sesotho which is the language spoken by the people of Lesotho, the Basotho. He even greeted the children with a ton of energy to which they responded, sometimes even dancing and shaking their little hips together with him and slapping his hands mid-air.

IMG_0594

Overlook into Lesotho

Overlook into Lesotho

The people in the village we visited just over the border from South Africa live a rural subsistence life and are very poor, in fact, most don’t even have cash and use foodstuffs, hay, livestock, and locally brewed beer in trade for most goods. They live in traditional round homes that were reminiscent of the ones I’d seen on the Wild Coast build by the Xhosa people.

Basotho wearing traditional dress

Basotho wearing traditional dress

IMG_0632The style of dress that the locals wear is extremely unique – characterized by hats worn barely atop of the head and a large blanket that is wrapped around the shoulders like a coat. Everyone we met was extremely friendly and seemed very happy that we were there to see their village. We were shown around the school (that Amphitheater Lodge helps support) and were given the chance to buy some jewellry with proceeds going towards school supplies. I bought a lovely wooden bracelet.

Adrian dancing with the local kids

Adrian dancing with the local kids

Adrian took us on a hike to view some ancient San rock art and we sat and ate lunch looking out over the stunning Lesotho mountains. A really nice custom they have in the village is that of erecting a white flag at one’s home if one has brewed beer available to sell. Not wanting to pass up on such a rich cultural experience, we visited with a family and tried the (rather putrid tasting) beer from a giant plastic bucket and took a bunch of photos. We also visited with a local shaman and learned a little about how this tiny and beautifully frail little woman was “chosen” to be a healer through a dream sent to her by her ancestors.

Drinking beer with the locals

Drinking beer with the locals

The whole experience will stay with me for some time to come and I was very moved, emotionally, by the warmth and hospitality we encountered from everyone we met. I also am very grateful to Adrian for his passion and enthusiasm for Basotho culture in this visit to the 3rd poorest country in the world.

IMG_0606And the cultural experiences didn’t end there. On our return to The Amphitheater, I was thrilled to learn that we were going to be getting some live music performed by a local Zulu musician that evening. I cannot even begin to describe the incredible rhythm this man displayed. Only a YouTube of his performance will do it justice, and I promise I will most definitely upload it to my site’s facebook page as soon as I have internet powerful enough to allow me. He literally played a guitar while simultaneously singing, using his feet as drums, and doing a traditional zulu dance which sometimes requried acrobatic feats of high leg kicks and backward rolls while continuing to play with the guitar wrapped upside down around his head.

I am not joking.

I had so enjoyed my time in South Africa and was sad to be leaving for the airport in Johanessburg the next day. This country is so complex with a lot of confounding racial issues – and that will be the topic of my next post, which I hope you will find enlightening and challenging, but not offensive.

From Bulungula to Coffee Bay – Hiking South Africa’s Wild Coast

07 Sunday Jun 2015

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The Wild Coast

The Wild Coast

It took most of the next day to get to my destination of Bulungula on the Wild Coast. Happily I wasn’t alone either – Jake was planning on spending a few night’s at the same community-ran, 100% solar powered traditional hostel as well.

Our Baz Bus driver that day proved to be an absolutel legend. As we entered the province of the “Transkei” (a formerly independent part of South Africa that white people mostly fled after apartheid ended, populated predominantly by the Xhosa people, and birthplace of Nelson Mandela), he gave us lots of historical background and information on the region. He said that here we would see the real South Africa. A land mainly untouched by commercial development, it’s community based farmland with people living under a tribal system.  For instance, village elders make the community decisions for the (hopefully) benefit of all. People live in traditional round-houses, many with equipped with a government subsidized solar panels for power. The land is very green and there are beautiful rolling green hills that give way to a very rugged and stunning coastline.

 

Nelson Mandela's home where he lived his final years

Nelson Mandela’s home where he lived his final years

On our long drive through the Transkei, Johnny, our driver, created a lovely social atmosphere and insisted that we stop at a local market and get some alcohol to have a little party as we drove. As I got out of the truck, I immediately noticed the absence of any other white face and felt like I was back in the ‘Africa’ that had preceded this country on my trip.

Feeling very merry, we happily took snaps when we arrived at Nelson Mandela’s birthplace and also the compound where he passed away – interestingly, it is an exact replica of the house he lived in after being released from Robben Island when he was imprisoned solely on house arrest.

Arriving at the Baz Bus stop of Mthata, my driver from Bulungula guest lodge was there ready to take Jake and I down the very bumpy, unpaved road for the two hours it would take to our destination. On arrival, I was glad I had Jake with me as the lodge was pretty empty save a lovely family from Finland who we dined with – having an incredible local Xhosa dish of minced beef with maize and vegetables. We were the only two in our dorm which consisted of a traditional rondela and basic furnishings. Though started by a Mizungu from Germany, this lodge has over the years been passed over to the local community to run for profit, and provides jobs to over 26 locals.

 

Local Xhosa woman carrying her baby

Local Xhosa woman carrying her baby

The location was pretty stunning and I told the staff of my plan to walk, by myself to Wild Lubanzi, and then on to Coffee Bay. Despite their protestations that it was “too far” or “very difficult” and “maybe you should take a guide” …I decided that it would be an adventure and I was up for it.
How hard could it be to hike up and down along a coastline till you found the next town?
Well, as it turned out…it was VERY hard! The path ended up not being very clearly marked and I kept having to guess whether I should walk along the beach or rocks (not also really knowing about tides) or whether I needed to go up and walk along the top of the hills before descending to the next valley. Overall, the trial and error approach took a lot of time and was utterly exhausting – even though I was carrying a very pared down version of my luggage (the hostel was kindly transporting the rest of my bags to Coffee Bay to meet me there in 2 days).

Setting off from Bulungula

Setting off from Bulungula

I was coming to the end of the first day’s trail and the map indicated that Wild Lubanzi, my hostel, should be easily approached via the west side of a lake and easily up on a hill directly in front of it. This turned out to be a lot more complicated than I had anticipated as there was no clear path after the lake. There were some sand dunes that I attempted to climb in 3 separate locations, each time coming to the edge of a forest that was so thick as to be impenetrable via walking.
Growing frustrated and very tired/hungry – I tried to go around the lake to see if there might be any sign of a trail behind it. There was a vague looking one which I started then to climb. I heard the sound of wood being chopped and I was overjoyed at the prospect of seeing another human being who might be able to direct me. Sure enough, the man smiled and gesticulated that I keep going up and up and then turn right when I hit the road.

Wild Lubanzi Hostel - so glad to finally arrive

Wild Lubanzi Hostel – so glad to finally arrive

It was a right at the road, but then also a left, another hill, and then another right. When I finally arrived at the hostel, I didn’t even have the strength to go in the front entrance and made my way in through the kitchen and made my presence known. The staff were welcoming in a way, though they immediately launched into a diatribe about how impossible it is to get lost, and how on earth I could have had difficulty navigating my way from the lake. This really pissed me off, but once I’d had a “rocket shower” (shower powered with liquid paraffin) and had a large beer in my hand, I was much happier.
Even better, I was reunited with Ashley who had driven up from Coffee Bay for the night and she was joined by a nice young Dutch guy who’d hiked in from Coffee Bay that morning. His tales of how arduous the trail was did not exacty fill me with positive feelings for my next day’s sojourn, but I was adamant to give it a go.

 

Small Xhosa kids in the villages I passed

Small Xhosa kids in the villages I passed

Unfortunately, my cough had also worsened and I was hacking like a smoking witch. In the morning, I even considered ditching my plan and driving to Coffee Bay, or even heading up to my next destination in the Drakensburg a day early and take some time to recover. But not being one to give up – ever – I decided to push on.

Inquiring about the trail itself, I was warned that low tide wasn’t until 4pm and that it would make the river virtually impassable earlier in the day. I would be forced to walk a ways up river till I find a place shallow enough to cross, and that could add another few miles to my journey that day.

Gulp.

As it turned out – I had quite a funny time crossing that damn river. I got to the water’s edge right by the famous “hole in the wall” rock formation that was really stunning to view. The waves were rolling in and it looked very deep indeed. However, there were some locals working on the beach on the other side of the river crossing who waved to me and pointed at a spot that seemed to indicate was the best place for me to try and cross.

IMG_0452Already tired and really not wanting to add more mileage to my day, I decided that I’d give it a go anyways…it couldn’t hurt getting a little wet, right?

Well. I got a lot wet. As I approached the middle of the 50 meter or so wide river…waves starting hiting me almost at neck level and I felt with dismay, my backpack getting heavier as it took on water together with its contents! My boots strung around my neck were also victim to the deep sea water that at some points lifted me entirely off my feet forcing me to swim. After what seemed like an eternity, I could feel the sand get closer to my feet and I struggled out of the river on the other side. The men were all laughing at me as I sat on the rocks and assessed the damage to my bag’s contents.
Luckily, the camera was fine as I’d stashed it in a plastic ziploc (thank god, I’d already destroyed one camera on this trip with water damage) and about one t-shirt was still slightly dry…everything else had to be wrung out and my boots simply squelched with salt water for the rest of the 16km hike.
I was, however, very fortunate with the weather and the shining sun helped to keep me warm despite my sopping clothes and bag. TWELVE times I counted having to ascend 4-800 vertical feet to navigate around a headland where the beach/coastline was impassable. Each hill I came to, I thought, Coffee Bay has GOT to be around the next corner…and each time my heart sunk.

Coffee Bay

Coffee Bay

When I finally arrived, hacking away, I was truly bedraggled and exhausted – but elated. I felt such a sense of accomplishment, especially since all the black people I ran into expressed shock that I was walking so far, and all the white people I ran into expressed shock that I was walking so far, and by myself. “You really should be careful, you know?” – they would say…and I would think “well, short of deciding NOT to hike this trail alone – how else do you expect me to be careful?”
I really hadn’t felt in the least bit threatened by any of the locals I came across – most of them smiled and waved or looked at me, aghast at my crazy decision to walk so far, alone. The greatest danger I found myself in was most definitely in the form of the six or so dogs that decided I was an intruder on their owner’s land and proceeded to run after me gnarling fiercely to the point where my heart almost stopped. None of them bit, thank god, and I made it to Coffee Bay in one piece…mostly.

I immediately enquired as to whether I might be able to procure a massage for my aching body – and was told to go ask after Carl at the other backpackers in town – Bomvu. I walked across the road to Bomvu and what I found in no way resembled a hostel. It was more like a movie set of the next slasher movie “Hostel Part 3 – South African ­­Bloodbath”. Half of the place had clearly been in a fire, the place was deserted and there was no sign of Carl or a massage therapy office (which I’d been told was separate to the hostel) It had major creepy factor. I felt sorry for any hapless tourist who’d been allowed to make a reservation here and turned up to this. Giving up, I came back to Coffee Shack for dinner and ran into Carl who was dining there. Happy to give me a massage at 10am the next day, I was thrilled until he told me I should meet him at Bomvu.

Yeah. Like hell I would!!

No, thanks. I’d like to live to see another day.

The Garden Route Part II: The Crags

04 Thursday Jun 2015

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Heading out on the Salt River Hike

Heading out on the Salt River Hike

My next stop along the Garden Route was to be at a place called The Crags – close to Knysna, Storms River, and other small towns along The Garden Route and close to Tsitsikamma National Park. The hostel had been recommended to me because of its beautiful location – though I was warned that it was slightly “hippy” in atmosphere.

Sure enough, there were drumming circles, copious instructions on composting/recycling, dreadlocked folk strumming guitars, yoga/meditation classes, and lots of cats and dogs roaming freely amongst the chilled out backpackers who all regaled their story of coming to Wild Spirit for two nights – and staying for seven. I was planning on staying for two nights and stuck to my plan.

Not that I didn’t enjoy the place – on the contrary, I made a nice little circle of friends, and the home cooked food was otherworldly. The whole lodge is set against a backdrop of lush forest that peters out towards the ocean. The bar area was built literally around a giant tree that was covered with fairy lights creating a lovely atmosphere in the albeit very chilly evenings. In the main lounge, folks fought for a space on one of the giant sofas with the gigantic dogs who seemed to own the most coveted spots around the open fireplace. It was very cozy indeed.

A cute little Dassie in Storms River

A cute little Dassie in Storms River

Unfortunately, I had come down with a bad cough after my bike ride in Outsdhoorn so I wanted to take it a little easy on my first day. I had made a new friend in Ashley – a girl whom on first appearance I was sure I wouldn’t get along with and who subsequently surprised me with her genuine, fun spirit. She was a total self-professed hippie, with giant purple and turquoise dreads, lots of piercings and tattoos adorning large swaths of flesh. She also had an extremely interesting career producing fetish videos – which led to lots of very interesting conversations. On the first day, I was disappointed to discover that Untouched Adventures (a company offering a kayak and “lilo” experience up the channel in Storms River) was too far away to send a shuttle for me to participate in their tour. I was delighted therefore to meet up with a lovely English couple, who’d just gotten engaged(!) named John and XXXX who over breakfast, informed me of their plan to do the afternoon kayak tour and offered to take me with them in their rental car.

Glad to have a little rest to blog in the morning, I happily joined them – and since she’d gotten back from having completed the world’s highest bungee jump that am, Ashley came along too. On arrival at Tsitsikamma National Park, we found that Jake (from Outsdhoorn and the bus) had also signed up for the afternoon adventure…making us a happy little group of 5. Still not feeling great, I opted to rent a full wetsuit in case I worsened my symptoms paddling upstream on a lilo in frigid brackish water.

Storms River

Storms River

On our "Lilos" in Storms River Gorge

On our “Lilos” in Storms River Gorge

The landscape was really beautiful and verdant – and we walked along the coastline for about a half mile before coming to the mouth of the river where we were to put in our kayaks to paddle up the Storms River Gorge. The gorge itself was stunning and reminded me a little of both The Narrows in Zion National Park, and Wadi Mujib in Jordan…I love places where you can be in the water with towering rock walls jutting up alongside you enclosing you in the magic that lies between them. All told, the kayaking was very short indeed which was a little disappointing, though I was looking forward to the “lilo” section as I can honestly say I have never ever paddled myself upstream on a river laying on one. This was one of those “firsts” that get rarer with age and the amount of travel that I am lucky enough to do. This was when I was truly grateful to have rented the wetsuit as we laid belly down and swiftly used our hands to continue our way up the gorge. Again, we didn’t go very far, but we enjoyed the experience and the setting nonetheless. A few bold cliff jumps into the water completed the excursion before it was time to kayak back to our starting point.

After, our newly founded little group got wine and seafood at the café and heard the story of how John had proposed. It was a very memorable day made all the more special by the live music that awaited us at the hostel upon our return home.

The Wild Spirit Backpackers at The Crags

The Wild Spirit Backpackers at The Crags

The bus was going to be picking both me and Ashley up the next day in the evening to take us to Port Elizabeth where we would be forced to spend the night in order to catch the next vehicle heading to our next destination – the Wild Coast. I was super excited to have made an alteration to my planned itinerary upon learning that it was possible to do a 3 night/2 day hike along the coast (think up hills, down hills, along beaches, up and inland, across inland, rinse and repeat for a very long time) and had booked nights at Bulungula Inn for my first night, Wild Lubanzi for my second, and ending my trip in Coffee Bay (where I had originally intended on staying for two nights.)

Determined not to let a silly cold/cough hold me back, Ashley and a few others opted to do the famed Salt River hike that day which is supposed to give you a snapshot feel for all that the Garden Route is famous for – Fynbos, trees, rivers, beaches, and beautiful scenery. This trail would lead us to the ending point of the famed Otter Trail – a five day hike that gets booked years in advance. Though feeling a little rough, I managed to keep up with the girls as we set out on our intended loop – aiming to be back to the hostel in time to shower, change and hop on the bus to Port Elizabeth.

The map that our hostel owner had given us lent itself to extreme frustration as none of the markings were accurate or helped us orient ourselves. We eventually had to just rely on our sight and logic and made our way along the beach to the restaurant at the end of the Otter trail where we ordered a lovely lunch. Since I wasn’t feeling great, we opted to take the slightly shorter route back up to the starting point, where we got picked up.

Ashley and me

Ashley and me

Ashley and I had a lovely day and discovered that we actually have a lot in common and eerily similar backgrounds in terms of our religious childhoods. It was a lovely day, and we were glad to have some down time before having to re-join the bus (where Lea and Jake also joined us) as we headed to PE for the night.

Take Me to Church – Chimanimani National Park

21 Tuesday Apr 2015

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Take Me to Church – Chimanimani National Park

Chimanimani Park

Chimanimani Park

Our overland journey next took us to the easternmost part of Zimbabwe, in the mountainous region of Chimanimani National Park, bordering Mozambique. I was looking forward to the cooler climate and to being able to get in some exercise and time in my personal church – the mountains.

We stayed in a lovely guest house called Heavenly Lodge, though it didn’t appear that it got many more guests than our overland truck every few months. Most overland trucks don’t make a stop here in this less visited corner of the country. The lodge itself was very cozy, and it really was cold that first evening, to the extent that we were very glad for the open fireplace and logs that our hosts kept stoking it with.   I decided to upgrade, and for an extra 5 dollars per night, I got a dorm bed – but it was in a dorm that no one else was staying in, so I essentially had my own room.

The following day the majority of the group crammed into a single Land Rover to drive out to the trailhead to hike to Skeleton Pass. This area reminded me very much of the Scottish Highlands, or even Snowdonia in Wales. Lots of lush green trees and tall granite peaks, with some very strange rock formations. Once we had climbed a good two thousand feet or so, the walking flattened out and we came into a vast expanse that was covered with really unusual grey rocks that did, in fact, look skeletal in appearance. It very much reminded me of scenes from Mordor in Lord of the Rings.

Skeleton Pass

Skeleton Pass

After a packed lunch enjoyed at the midway point, we made our way to the first waterfall of the day. Unfortunately, one of our group managed to cut away a large chunk of his knee leaping from rock to rock, and for the first time since my recent Wilderness First Aid course, I was able to apply some of what I’d learned by bandaging up his gaping wound. He made it back to the lodge just fine.

We ended our hike at Tessa’s Pool – a beautiful swimming hole with a gorgeous cascading waterfall. It was the perfect end to a strenuous day, though the water was extremely cold. We took it in turns to make big jumps into the water from rocks above the pool, and then swim over and sit directly underneath the falls.

I was in heaven. This is my church.

 

Tessa's Pool

Tessa’s Pool

That evening we enjoyed delicious local food which consisted of mutton (from sheep reared at the farm itself), the local maize based starch, and kale. It was delicious, and we were gleeful when our Zim host announced that she’d baked chocolate chip brownies for our dessert which we munched in front of the log fire, while it decided to pour rain down outside.

The following day, most everyone was already hiked out – but I decided to hike out to Bridal Veil Falls by myself as I welcomed two days in a row of strenuous activity.

I had such an amazing day, and actually really enjoyed having some solitude. The sun was shining, the scenery was stunning – rolling green hills busting with glistening foliage – and then after about a five mile hike – I found myself staring up at a stunning 300 foot cascading waterfall, totally by myself. There was an additional steep climb up to the “source” of the waterfall, and of course, despite being tired, I decided to take the challenge and climb up to the top.

Half way up, there was another viewpoint to the upper section of the falls, which really wasn’t visible from the very bottom. I stopped here and had my lunch which I’d bought at the supermarket earlier — crackers, cheese, potato chips and tomatoes. Simple, but delicious after a long walk in the afternoon sun.

We had a fantastic roast dinner that evening that was extremely reminiscent of the Sunday roast dinners one can enjoy in the UK. After two very demanding physical days, I slept like a baby after filling my belly, enjoying thoroughly, sleeping in a comfy bed with clean sheets.

I really enjoyed our time in Chimanimani.

 

 

 

Lake Malawi – A Day in Livingstonia

29 Sunday Mar 2015

Posted by in Africa, Malawi

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Overlooking Lake Malawi hiking towards Livingstonia

Overlooking Lake Malawi hiking towards Livingstonia

After three very early mornings, it was not my natural inclination to embark on a hike the first morning in Malawi at 6am. But after the initial blurry eyed pain of awaking to the dawn, and walking out of the campsite, I was immediately washed over with gratitude for my decision to go. We would be leaving the lakeshore and heading up into the hills to the settlement of Livingstonia – named after David Livingstone by a subsequent doctor and Christian missionary by the name of Robert Laws towards the end of the 19th century. Unlike Tanzania, about 80% of the population is Christian, and it’s hard to believe that this is only the case because of the western missionaries who devoted their entire lives to living through the physical hardships of 19th century Africa to spread the word of Christ. Livingstone, and the explorer Stanley who later journeyed to this continent to find him when he went missing, are very much part of the lore of the places we’ve visited thus far – and if any of you, dear readers, can recommend a book that I might acquire that would give me a good readable account of their lives and work, I’d be most appreciative as I find myself now really wanting to know more about them and the context of what they did.

Livingstonia today is a thriving community of about 4000 inhabitants and it still has the church, and hospital established by Dr Laws as well as two technical colleges for the surrounding villages and towns. The Muzungu, or white person, is not an uncommon sight in this area (still lots of western volunteer health workers and missionaries) and thus the locals that we came into contact with showed no signs of surprise or judgment when we engaged them.

My body was super stiff and sore from the long days of travel and soon I was revitalized by the effort and physical challenge of a steep climb through tropical forest, an ever changing view of the lake below us. Our guide’s name was Dickson, and during the course of what turned into a 13 hour hike, I got to know him quite well. Well, at least as well as his somewhat limited English could communicate.

Setting out through Chitimba village at 6am

Setting out through Chitimba village at 6am

Dickson was 27 years old and raised his two younger siblings from the age of 12 when both of his parents died from cerebral malaria. He told me that he chose to work to support his brother and sister and help pay for their school fees and that once they graduated, he wanted to go learn how to be a mechanic. It turns out that he was doing a favor for a friend of his who typically guided this tour who found himself hung over this morning after too much beer the night before. As such, Dickson was woefully under prepared for a day of physical exertion in the heat. He had already walked 4kms from his home when he picked us up from our campsite at 6am, and wasn’t carrying any water, food, or money for the day. I got really worried for him, but he continued to refuse any of the water that I had drunk on our ascent which took four hours of climbing along switchbacks in a muggy forest before emerging into the village of Livingstonia, which thankfully had ample tree-lined streets for shade. I had already finished my two litres when we got to the church, and thank goodness I had my Steripen, as we were able to refill all of our bottles at a public tap and treat it there and then (Sandrine and Benoit were the only other two from our group who decided to do this day trip with me) I insisted on sharing snacks with Dickson all day and then bought him lunch from some locals that were having a Sunday picnic outside the church after service.

Hours later, finally having broken down and acquiescing to share my water thirstily for our descent, Dickson admitted that he had been thirsty on the ascent, but that he didn’t want to deprive us of our supplies, and also that he was too poor to buy a bottle that he could re-use for his job as a guide. Getting only ½ of what we paid for the trip, he stood to earn $4.50 for his very long day (I ended up giving him a 5 dollar tip, though I was later plagued with guilt that even this wasn’t enough, and was tortured with the knowledge of what a true impact 20 dollars would have in his life – and very little in mine) If true, this information breaks my heart and I took his address at the end of the day and promised I would mail him some reusable plastic bottles – making him promise me that he wouldn’t lead this trip again without ample hydration.

At the start of our hike, 15kms one way to Livingstonia!

At the start of our hike, 15kms one way to Livingstonia!

Apart from enjoying the society of our sweet natured, if inadequately prepared guide, we were lucky enough to interact with a number of locals during our visit of Livingstonia.   It was Sunday, so all the villagers were dressed in their Sunday best as they attended church. Though we couldn’t understand the service, the three of us went into mass for a half hour or so, and I thoroughly enjoyed the congregation’s energy and the incredibly harmonious singing was emotive and powerful. Our joy was somewhat muted when the Parish deacon came over to us and insisted we pay him 500 quatcha for the privilege of entering the church. That was a first – being charged money to attend mass??

We got to sit in the grass under the shade of a giant tree and eat a picnic lunch with our hands together with the parishioners who sold us barbecued chicken, sima (a rice like starch made from corn) and beans. A few of the kids played with us and let us take their photographs – their smiles lighting up their faces as they giggled with us.

After lunch, we visited the museum which used to be the residence of the founder of Livingstonia, Dr Robert Laws. It housed some interesting exhibits that detailed what life had been like here in the early days of the Christian ministry – battling malaria, tribal warfare, anti-colonial uprising and the efforts made by those missionaries to inform the world and put an end to the atrocities of the slave trade that was being ran by the Portuguese through Mozambique, supplying Africans to the middle east. Incidentally, almost all of those unfortunate male slaves that were sent to Oman and other areas in that region were castrated before making the voyage – which is why there is only a small remaining population of these Africans’ descendants in the middle east, as opposed to the vast communities that developed in the Americas.

The Church at Livingstonia

The Church at Livingstonia

The one story on display that really touched me was when civil anti-colonial unrest broke out in Malawi in 1959, and concerned for the European missionaries lives, the English sent an airplane that dropped a canister containing an offer of a rescue should they be in fear of their lives. They were to construct the letter V if they wanted to be rescued or the letter I if they were ok, the letters needing to be big enough that they would be visible to the plane that would fly overhead the next day. After discussing it, the white missionaries decided they would stay the course, but wanting to convey the message that blacks and whites could co-exist in harmony during those turbulent times, they spelled out a biblical verse above the letter I, finishing it just as the plane showed up. The verse was Ephesians 4:2 and the bricks they used have since been whitewashed and are still preserved for visitors like us to see when they visit.

Since it was getting late in the afternoon, the three of us decided that we should take some form of transport to get back, otherwise we’d be facing a roughly 28 km or 18 mile day and we’d not get back to the campsite before dark. Dickson arranged with a local truck to pick us up outside the waterfall in an hour or so, giving them his cell phone number to call when they were ready to depart. We proceeded to have a leisurely swim at the waterfall named Macheme falls – which were unique in that we swam in a pool that had formed BEFORE the falls plunge some 300 feet, such that it took the appearance of an infinity pool that if you swam too close to the edge, you might get caught up in the flow and fall to your death.

At the top of the waterfall, a 300 foot drop behind us!

At the top of the waterfall, a 300 foot drop behind us!

We stayed well away from the edge.

To our dismay, when we walked back to the road to start our descent, thinking the truck would eventually show up and give us our ride, Dickson told us that they had probably called his phone during a 5 minute block of time when his phone didn’t have reception and they had already left without us. It was already 3pm and we were facing a 3 to 4 hour hike down, which ended up taking even longer because Sandrine had a bad knee and had to descend the switchbacks with a great deal of care.

It was a long long day – and we ended up walking into the campsite around 7:30pm, blistered and filthy – but my heart was full of joy. I’d had the kind of day that I’d imagined I’d have when I was planning this trip to Africa – it contained all the elements of travel that I find so richly rewarding – beautiful scenery, physical challenge, meaningful interaction with locals, history of the area, and a moral impression of gratitude for all that I have that will stay with me for a long time to come.

I collapsed in my tent that night, spent, but happy. It had been the best day of the trip thus far.

Finca San Pedro in Sogamoso – Defining Cozy in the Valley of the Sun

06 Saturday Sep 2014

Posted by in Colombia, South America

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Finca San Pedro

Finca San Pedro

Of course, Kwame and I couldn’t leave Villa DeLeyva without one more indulgence at thePasteleriaFrancesa.  We even dragged our luggage in with us, recognizing we were going to have to carry it all the way to the bus station after.

We didn’t care. It was so worth it.

Mmmmm....cappuccinos!

Mmmmm….cappuccinos!

Last breakfast at Pasteleria Francesa

Last breakfast at Pasteleria Francesa

Both in starch and sugar comas, it was an easy and straightforward one plus a second three hour bus ride to Sogamoso- a town north of Bogota that is in an area known as The Valley of the Sun in Boyacá.  I was interested in visiting Lago Tota as well as doing some hiking in the area, especially to the Paramo de Oceta, which offers a unique landscape at over 4000m in altitude.  We’d be staying at a hostel called Finca San Pedro.

At 2569m or 8428 ft, Sogamoso was rather chilly, especially in the mornings and evenings.  And so, out came the fleece pants that Kwame refused to be out of for more than a quick, hot, shower.  They were powder blue, and were total river waders (way too short for his 6ft 5″ frame), exposing Kwame’s lower legs and ankles so he’d have to wear his long socks to avoid any exposure of his hot-blooded Caribbean skin.  So sexy.  Luckily, he also had a substantial hooded North Face fleece jacket, so complaints of how cold it was were only uttered every few hours.

The Yoga Studio

The Yoga Studio

Kwame had stayed at this hostel before when he first arrived in Colombia in March.  Juan, the owner, is also a yoga instructor and runs month-long yoga intensives which Kwame completed.  It involved 4 hours of yoga and 2 hours of lecture each day, six days a week.  We did one class together the morning after our arrival, and I can tell you – it was so intense, I cannot imagine repeating it twice a day for an entire month.  Juan was there to greet us on our arrival and treated Kwame like he was the prodigal son who had returned.  Juan and his mother run the hostel but they treat each guest as if they were friends just hanging out in their home.  That’s why Finca San Pedro is so unique and cozy.

Fire time...complete with famed fleece pants

Fire time…complete with famed fleece pants

Coziness

Coziness

The hostel has several buildings to it, and is set in a farm-like area of gardens and vegetables, with the yoga studio adjacent.  The main “house” feels exactly like a house, not a hostel, with creaky wooden floors, colonial style wooden furnished bedrooms and common areas complete with ample couch seating and open fireplaces.

Kwame and I with Juan

Kwame and I with Juan

Juan and his mom would always be working or hanging out in the main house amongst the ten or so guests staying there.  We’d sit around the dining room table with our laptops, gather around the couches when mom would light the fire around 6pm (Kwame making a bee-line to warm himself up) and then retire to the movie room in the evenings to catch a flick and a late supper of scrambled eggs on toast.

That’s why this was one of the coziest hostels I’ve ever stayed at.  I would be so excited at some point in my future life, to own a place like this.  Where I could make every guest feel like they were at home, offer personalized advice on where to go and what to do in the area- and offer rides back out to the bus stations just as Juan did.

Beautiful Laguna Tota

Beautiful Laguna Tota

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Me at Playa Blanca

Me at Playa Blanca

Since Kwame had stayed here so long before, he knew exactly where to go in town to find the best produce- so we decided that we’d cook and eat for ourselves during our stay.  We made smoothies multiple times a day, and a great big steak salad.  Kwame worked during the day, and I went exploring the area.

On our first full day, I traveled by bus to Lago Tota and Playa Blanca.  At 3100m, you don’t expect to find a tropical-looking white sand beach set against gorgeous azure waters- but there it is.  Stunning.

Unfortunately for me, it was not only very cold and windy, but began to pour rain upon my arrival.  I met up with a Brit and Australian girl as we decided to wait out the weather by having a plate of fries and a hot chocolate.  After a few hours and a short explore on foot in the rain, it looked like it wasn’t letting up any time soon and I headed back to the Finca for some afternoon coziness.

Heading out on our hike from Mongui

Heading out on our hike from Mongui

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Steep climb out of town

Steep climb out of town

On my last day, I got up at the crack of dawn to prepare for my hike to the Paramo de Oceta.  Creeping out of our room, Kwame still happily asleep and ensconced in his cocoon of sheets and blankets, I jumped in Juan’s car with two English peeps staying at the hostel who were accompanying me to Mongui – where we would be meeting with our guide, Maria, to attempt the 8 hour roundtrip hike that would take us to an altitude of just over 4000m or 13,100 feet.  Mongui itself was a charming little town which contained lots of homes that were over 500 years old and built by the first Spanish settlers.

This high altitude mountain landscape is famous for it’s other-worldly Freilejon (plants that live at a high altitude in the Pàramo ecosystem.)  It was a tough hike starting out very steeply, and I was glad for all the extra layers of clothing I had stuffed into my tiny day pack (having been warned by Kwame who’d already completed this hike months ago.)

Unfortunately for us, about two and a half hours into our climb, a massive storm erupted and the rain was coming down in sheets, and then sideways.  Not having any rain pants with me, my legs were soon soaked and I could feel the wind biting into my skin below.  We huddled up by a large rock to see if there might be any respite in the weather.  Unfortunately, the wind picked up and the rain showed no signs of weakening.  We made the decision to turn around, and I soon discovered that my boots were far from waterproof and I was soon sloshing around in my boots, my feet soaked.

Getting drowned and frozen at the turnaround point

Getting drowned and frozen at the turnaround point

Still smiling!

Still smiling!

At one point, I was so cold on the descent that I actually became concerned about hypothermia.  I started trying to visualize being in a hot shower, that I would soon be able to bring back some feeling to my extremities.  On arrival back in Mongui, Maria was kind enough to take us to a general store where us girls bought some new leggings so that we wouldn’t be sat in our soaked pants on the bus ride back to Sogamoso.  I was very grateful for that, but not as grateful as I was to Kwame, who jumped up astonished at the drowned-and-frozen-rat look I was sporting upon my return to go make me hot tea while I got in the shower.

What the Paramo is supposed to look like (taken by Kwame)

What the Paramo is supposed to look like (taken by Kwame)

It took that shower, tea, warm dry clothes and snuggling in front of the fire before I began to feel normal again.

Juan later reported to us that it was the most rain the highlands had received on any day so far that year.  How lucky am I?

Actually.  I felt very lucky indeed.  Lucky enough to have that beautiful warm fire, in this beautiful and cozy place, with a beautiful man who insisted on wearing even more beautiful fleece pants.

The Road to Guane with Kwame

25 Monday Aug 2014

Posted by in Colombia, South America

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Me and Kwame, arriving in Barichara

Me and Kwame, arriving in Barichara

So it’s been a few weeks since I last wrote.  For which I apologize…I’ve been a bit distracted.  You see, I met someone.  And I’ve just spent the last 3 weeks traveling with him and spending the time with someone is not conducive to staying on top of one’s travel blog!  However, I find myself now sitting in my hostel in Bogota, only a few hours’ away from leaving for the airport and my flight back home to the States (which I changed for the 3rd time after meeting my travel companion extraordinaire.)  And I want to stay committed to documenting for myself and my readers the last and most incredible part of my three month journey here in South America.

In order to do that, however, I will have to continue writing once I’ve returned home to my little townhouse in Kirkland.  I do hope I’ll have the strength and courage to do so, given the extremely mixed feelings I have about my return to the US.

I last left you in Santa Marta after I’d returned from my epic 5 day hiking adventure in the Lost City and Tayrona National Park.  I had a blissful day of doing absolutely nothing the following day at Drop Bear Hostel.  I was going to be heading south and it turned out that the best way to get to San Gil was by night bus – which left me with one more free day on the Caribbean coast before I could head south.

Barichara

Barichara

I elected to go river tubing in Palomino with four dudes from my dorm at the hostel.  It was a nice, chill day floating on the river through the jungle, working on my tan.  The only truly memorable moment, however, was when I left the boys who were about to grab a table for lunch to go rinse my feet of sand from the beach.  Upon my return, they were nowhere to be seen.  They had my change of clothes and my wallet.

After about 30 minutes of walking up and down the beach getting more and more stressed by the moment, one of the locals on motorcycle who’d taken us up river turned up explaining that the guys had returned to the main road for lunch and had been looking for me!  I was not happy when I ran into them, having to return to the center of town in my bikini.  I let them know how pissed I was – which didn’t make me too popular, but I didn’t care.

The last bus back to Santa Marta took about 2 hours longer than the bus we’d taken in the morning.  It ended up being a massive panic, shower, and packing session for me to make it to the bus station in time, only to discover, of course, that the hostel had given me wrong bus times and I actually had a full hour to chill and relax before my bus left for Bucaramanga!  Grrrr.

IMG_0801I slept quite well on the bus that wasn’t too air conditioned and only contained one Colombian who took it upon himself to ensure that his music collection was shared with the entire bus load of people at 1′ o clock in the morning.  Incidentally, this is not an isolated experience….a LOT of Colombians have never heard of headphones.  Store owners put out speakers, the bigger and louder the better, sometimes as early as 7am and blast their latest taste in music, usually consisting of some form of accordion, to the entire town.  This is starting to drive me to despair.

I managed to get a good transfer in Buca and arrived in San Gil around 11:30 in the morning.  I checked into the Macondo Hostel which had been recommended to me by the folks at Drop Bear.  It seemed disturbingly empty.  I was informed later in the day, after I’d had an amazing burrito lunch at Mike’s (a staple food establishment in San Gil) that I was the only person staying in the hostel.  What the hell?  When I asked why that was, I was given some bullshit answer about how it was low season and everyone had left for Medellin’s flower festival.  Which I found very suspicious because I immediately went to check on the other hostel in town, Sam’s VIP, which was just off the main town square, and found out that they were full except for one dorm bed that was available.

Hiking El Camino Real

Hiking El Camino Real

Heading back to my hostel, I decided I would pack up my things and move to the hostel that actually had people in it, when an incredible storm with a massive downpour, thunder and lightning, put a curve ball in my plans.  I ended up spending the afternoon in the hammock, until the thunder actually got so loud that I ran upstairs to sit with the receptionist as I actually felt afraid to be downstairs on my own.

That night ended up being the worst of my entire trip.  I felt so alone and lonely…the first being actually true.  I cried and wrote to people on Facebook, called Giovanna and my sister and contemplated just going home.  But that made me feel even worse.  I was so mad that I didn’t even have the option of connecting with anyone at this stupid hostel.  I decided I would just move in the morning, it was getting too late to lug all my stuff across town tonight.  After the rain stopped, I forced myself to get up and go find a bar and console myself with a nice glass of wine.  After passing through several establishments that were all empty, I found a table at Sam’s Pub and was certain that it would soon fill up with a typical Saturday night crowd.  However, I managed to get through two glasses and a steak without a single soul entering the pub.

Beautiful countryside

Beautiful countryside

The owners explained that people didn’t go out in San Gil if it was raining. I felt like such a loser as I wandered around town for an hour after dinner trying to convince myself that I would find a place to sit out the evening where I wasn’t just by myself.  But no such place materialized and I returned to my empty hostel and cried myself to sleep.

This is all the more interesting to recall as my fate was about to do an 180 degree turn and life was about to slap me across the face in the most beautiful way imaginable.  I got up early the next morning as I’d decided to go explore one of the caves in the San Gil area – Cueva de Vaca.  I had to grab a local bus at 9am, so I was very reluctant to get up early, pack, and lug my bags over to the other hostel.  When I was told that the hostel wasn’t going to make coffee “for only 1 guest” – I decided enough was enough and I was going to move.  Luckily, Sam’s VIP still had one dorm bed available and I could check in later after my visit to the cave.

Arriving in Guane

Arriving in Guane

As I dumped my bags behind reception, I noticed a beautiful black man working away on his laptop at the table in the common area.  He greeted me with a giant smile and emanated the most positive and warm energy.  We chatted briefly as he mentioned he’d already visited the Cueva I was going to.  He had been in San Gil for a few weeks’ now.  I immediately asked him if he’d like to join me that afternoon on the El Camino walk from Barichara to Guane?  He seemed so warm and affable, something told me we’d get along and have a good time together.  He agreed to consider it and told me to come find him when I got back from the cave.  I asked his name. “Kwame” he said.  “Where are you from?” I asked.  “Guess?!”  I correctly guessed the Caribbean after first suggesting the UK.  Then I went through about six different islands before he stopped me and explained that he was from Trinidad and Tobago.

Cool. The first person I’ve ever met from that island country.

Start of the hike

Start of the hike

Off I went and thoroughly enjoyed my morning traipsing through the pitch black darkness of Cueva de Vaca.  Of the cave descriptions I’d read, they carefully omitted the bit of information regarding needing to walk through a long tunnel for several minutes bent over in two, AND the need to completely submerge and swim through a short passage of cold, muddy water.  I’m not sure I would have gone had I known!  It was quite the adventure and the formations inside the limestone cave were well worth the visit.

I arrived back to Sam’s around lunchtime and quite hungry.  Kwame was still sat in the same spot and with a bit of encouragement, agreed to pack up and come have some lunch with me before grabbing the bus to Barichara.

Our connection was instant and we soon fell into a day long conversation of sharing our life stories, and laughing a lot.  We giggled on the bus to Barichara, which I instantly fell in love with.  It is a gorgeous colonial little town that used to be the capital of Colombia and is now home to artists and rich Colombians who can afford the lavish real estate.  I soon discovered that Kwame had a huge sweet tooth as we started the afternoon off right with cappuccinos and giant slices of cake…despite being full from lunch.

Kwame in Guance

Kwame in Guance

We look like quite a pair and talking to Kwame while walking is quite a task as he’s over 6 ft 5 inches tall.  A very tall, very attractive Trinidadian.  Not someone I’d expected to meet and click with.  Starting our hike together, I realized very soon that I was engrossed in our conversation so much that I wasn’t paying as much attention to the stunning countryside and the storm clouds that were brewing in the distance.

It was a perfect, warm and cozy afternoon’s walk with great company.

On arrival in Guane, we both swooned over how cute the little village was.  I fell about laughing as Kwame immediately enquired as to “Donde hay cervezas?” to a store owner and we happily settled in the town square on a park bench sharing beers and more conversation.  Luckily, the bus arrived to take us back to San Gil right as the heavens opened and the rain began pelting down.  We immediately made plans to grab take out upon our return and hunt down a decent bottle of red wine, which is a hard task in a non-wine friendly country like Colombia.

I’d found a kindred spirit in Kwame, in Guane.