A Zebra Crossing...

We were driving quite quick, when a giraffe loped out from behind an acacia bush, long graceful limbs propelling it across the road as Simba frantically pumped the brakes hard, the big off-road tyres biting deep into the soft track. By the time we had stopped, the giraffe was gone, but as we set off again, I looked back to see a family of zebras following their long-necked mate, causing Sammi to slew his 4X4 to a halt behind us.

The road conditions worsened, until at one point we were reduced to rumbling slowly through massive dust-filled potholes the size of small cars. Often we left the road all together, driving diagonally up sharp banks by the side of the road to avoid wheel-loosing crevices and large boulders. Eventually the road leveled out to hard corrugation that rattled the toughened glass windows. We started making good progress, throwing up a huge dust-cloud as we powered through the desert-savanna, waving at the children who would shout and laugh and wave excitedly as we rumble past. Occasionaly we would slow down for Masai tribesmen who would be herding their cows out of our path, raising a solemn hand in greeting.
We eventually started climbing a steep hill, and when we reached the top, the view below was of a completely different landscape from the previous desert-scrub.

The view down onto the valley was like a paradise picture of Africa, luscious fertile green trees growing wide and shallow over round green desert-date bushes, all contrasting against a deep rich-red soil. At the bottom of the hill, while driving along the bank at the side of the road to avoid a car-swallowing pothole, the engine died.
Bizarrely, Mrs Grasshopper and I grinned at each other.
The following vehicle stopped, and we all got out for a "comfort break" and a smoke while Simba muttered in kiswahili from under the bonnet.

It was here I experienced my first meeting with the "wait-a-bit" bush. Brushing past it even gently will result in its long barbed thorns becoming hopelessly dug into your skin and clothing, forcing you to literally wait a bit while carefully and methodically unhooking yourself. Not easy if your also holding your man-tackle at the time, rest assured.

Simba soon had it fixed, and we thundered along again, all the time waving at local Masai, or quickly covering our mouths as a passing truck filled our cab with choking diesel fumes, and dust that caked our sweat-soaked faces.
A couple more hours past when we heard and felt a BA-BANG....BA-BANG....BA-BANG... coming from under the Landrover.
I looked at Simba, who looked at me. 2 mins later I'm lying face-down on the sandy "road", peering intently at the rear off-side axle.
"Go on!" I shout. Simba eased the vehicle forward as I lay prone, head underneath as the rear wheel slowly rolls towards me.
BA-BANG!- it goes, shooting dust, stones and sand in my face. Coughing and spluttering I shuffle away from the rear wheel and shout again; "Go on!"
BA-BANG!
At this point I realise the whole exercise was pointless- I know absolutely f- all about cars.
Choking and spluttering, I get up and focus my streaming eyes on Simba.
"Uh, Broken" I say, pointing vaguely at the rear of the Landrover.
We swap places, and I try to find first gear in the lucky-bag of gearbox.
"Go on!" Simba shouts, and I ease her forwards.
BA-BANG....
Cough, cough, "Go on!"
BA-BANG...
Simba gets up, and I jump out the drivers seat.
"Uh, Broken" he says blinking, pointing vaguely at the rear wheels.
I nod solemly.

I realise the other vehicle had overtaken some time ago. Mrs Grasshopper and I share another slightly mad grin. Katrin just looks at us.

It didn't take long for Sammi to turn around for us, and after a fast discussion amongst our leaders and drivers, we limped on for a mile to a small village. Here we were immediately surrounded by small children as we jumped out the landrovers. Ruben tells me the mechanic will fix it, gesturing to a short bloke lying underneath a lorry, rhythmically hitting it underneath with a lump hammer, letting out a small grunt each time.

All of us volunteers took photos of the children, at their strong instance. They were all laughing, pushing and pulling at each other, eager to be right in front of our cameras. I wasn't sure how to feel. They were dressed in rags, stick-thin, many without shoes, yet here I was in my expensive western clothes, over-fed and dripping on phones, cameras and other equipment, pockets full of money. The children were positivly ecstatic to see us, touching me then pulling away shyly, before reverting to pulling and patting me, asking me to take a photo, always smiling, oblivious to the hard stones and filth beneath their bare feet. My eyes suddenly stung with shame at my self and my lifestyle, and at the desperate poverty the children were in. I was also moved at their genuine happiness to see me, despite neither asking for or getting anything from me. I walked to the other side of the landrover, away from the children, who had surrounded my companions, and lit a cigarette. I tried to swallow the lump in my throat, and had a think.

Ruben eventually said our vehicle could not be repaired, so would have to go to someone he knows for the night. So we all squeezed into Sammi's landrover with our day-sacks, and set of for this new destination.

The sun set suddenly, and the temperature dropped. Dark figures blurred past us in the night, and Sammi really put his foot down, and explained over the roar of the wind and engine we had to be off the road by 7pm for safety. We barrelled along, and I tried to atatch the canvass doors to the sides of the vehicle to keep out the peircing wind, as we rocked and rolled though some kind of checkpoint (were they guns?) and into a forest, before finally pulling up at some kind of lodge.
Sammi told us to make ourselves at home, as he was going back to fetch our luggage from the top of our stricken Landy. He apologised profusely, but he needn't have- the lodge was amazing, despite, or even because of, the power cut the owners were experiencing.
We realised as a kindly gentleman shown us to our rooms with a candle, that we were the only guests in this lodge, which was built right at the foot of Mt Kilimanjaro. After a candlelit dinner of rice, African stew and beans served in a wonderful dining room off the accommodation block, we settled in chairs on the veranda outside our rooms. One of the more astute members of the group had grabbed one of our shopping bags, so under the most magnificent starlit sky we sipped red wine and talked about the journey so far, before collapsing into soft beds under our mosquito nets.
"This has been amazing" whispered Mrs Grasshopper to me.
"I know. Why do I feel chuffed that our car broke down?"
"'Cause we got another night of comfy beds and hot showers!" She replies.
I slept soundly that night, knowing we would definatly be in the camp tomorrow.

End of the trip, begining of the story

So our Africa adventure is over already, and we have returned to Nairobi.

I'm slimmer, darker skinned, and acclimatised. Where I was Daz-white and sweating in my spanking new "technical" clothing, I'm now brown with an ever present red tinge from the day's sun. The clothing that made me resemble an over-weight Millets model is now sun-bleached, torn, and/or ingrained with the red-brown dust of the bush. I've had to buy some safari boots to wonder the city in, as my KSB hiking boots now appear 10 years old after a month of living in Acacia commiphora scrub savanha".

Now I got to remember what we have been up to...

Our first morning in Nairobi started with a big breakfast with our new companions, and a walk to the nearby supermarket to club together for the essentials- Beer, Wine and Vodka. We had a party to prepare for as there would be a birthday party while we were in the Bush (but that will be a post on it's own).

Ruben then met us at the hotel, and we all climbed aboard a small minibus, known as a Mtatu for the first part of our 9 hour drive to camp.

As we thundered along past lorries belching smoke, over pot-holes and rattled down corrugation, I thought about our companions;

Ruben, one of the project leaders, had met us the night before with Doctor Hamisi from the African Wildlife foundation, the main man for the project. It was the Doc who explained the importance of our work. The data collected would be used for managing the wildlife in the migration corridors of Rhombo and Amboseli, areas with great animal-human conflict.

During the Doc's talk, Ruben looked at us all intently, seemingly looking through me with an intense questioning stare. Dressed in a sharp-cut dark suit with brightly polished boots and no tie, he could have passed for a "media type" or self-made business man rather than a conservationist who lives in the bush for weeks on end. He is a very deep and committed individual, but I soon found he always had a fast, genuine smile and the most infectious laughs I've ever heard.

Our fellow volunteers were made up of:

Reece- aged 17, it was his 18th birthday party while we were based at Rhombo- we made it, um, unusual, and certainly memorable for him (more on that later). We all thought a lot of him for doing the trip at his age and on his own, despite all the problems never complaining once.

Dee- similar in age to Mrs G and i, she had met Reece at the airport. She was only booked to stay with us for the first two weeks in Rhombo, sadly leaving us for Amboseli ahead of us.

Alice- (not her real name) had been travelling on her own around Kenya, and had climbed Mt Kilimanjaro shortly before joining us on the project.

Ellen- From Norway, Ellen joined us later on the first evening. She very quickly gained everyones affection with her kindness and fast, dry wit, regularly delivering one-liners with perfect timing.

Katrin- From Germany, Katrin only met us the first morning, having flew in-country and arriving at the hotel just a couple of hours before we left. Quite and sensitive, it was a great shame she too had to leave early, being booked on just the first 2 weeks of the project.

Shirley- The carer of the group, Shirley had recently been travelling in Rwanda and Uganda. It transpired she would be joining Mrs Grasshopper and I again in Goa, when she finishes a project in Borneo.

So all squashed together in 40 degree heat, we thundered down the Mombasa Road and beyond into the countryside, until we reached a small collection of shacks and a petrol-station/restaurant. There, we had a quick lunch while Ruben and a couple of new guys swapped our Mtatu for two very serious looking Land-Rover Defenders, one hard top, the other soft-top with a big roll-cage.

Dee and I wondered off after eating for a quick smoke at the roadside. We were puffing away watching the bags being strapped onto the roof of the hard-top, when an old guy hobbled over to us, giving a wide gappy-toothed smile.

"Jambo!" he cheers, waving, then offering me his hand. I respond and shake, and he keeps hold of my hand as he asked how I am. We talk for a few minutes, Dee and I with this strange old man, who asks us where we are from, where we are going etc.

While explaining to us he is an elder, suddenly out of the blue he asks: "How does it make you feel, coming here with all your money and seeing all of us so very poor?". His gentle Kenyan tones and continued smile confuse me, and for a moment I stumble for words. I shrug, remove my sun glasses and try to keep eye contact in the suddenly burning sun.

"We're doing volunteer work, to help the people here. We'll be going to a village, and, um hopefully our work will help them".

He laughs, takes my hand again and starts shaking it.

"Good, good, if you were ever to come to my village, I would be very happy!"

With that he ambles off, seemingly pleased with our chat.

Dee and I stump out our cigarettes and head back to the restaurant. I think about that man for some time.

When we were ready to go, the drivers, Simba and Sammi insisted that Mrs Grasshopper and I sit together in the one with all the luggage strapped on top. This was Simba's vehicle, and already inside was Katrin, some how still awake after the flight and drive. We all shared a worried look as the vehicle kangaroo's onto the compact dirt road. 1st gear, 2nd, 3rd, all, well, bouncing the 4X4 down the road, rather than smoothly driving forwards. The other rangey quickly overtakes, and I wonder idly what would happen, out here in the bush should we break down. I might have been wrong, but I hadn't seen many RAC patrols out and about..

We were soon to find out...

Kenya

Jambo.
I'm writing this in the post office in a small town called Loitokitok, near the base of mount Kilimanjaro. Mrs Grasshopper and I were lucky to get a spot on the PC, and as I type my fellow volunteers are waiting for their go. I would be quicker, but not all the keys work on the keyboard properly, and every now and again the connection fails, or I get a sneezing coughing fit as a 4X4 thunders past, spitting dust and exhaust fumes through the open door. I can hear African music, traffic, quick-fire kiswahili, chickens and goats, and I'd best not describe some of the smells. But I love it here, still!

But more about here, and how we got here later....


After a hell of a flight, broken by the ultimate shopping experience in Dubai airport (Trafford Centre without the tack, poor service and British costs), we landed in Kenya.

We breezed through a well organised customs and emigration, receiving visas for 50 dollars, and met our contact, who was waving a sign with our names on like his life depended on it.
He lead us to the taxi pickup, flashing a sunbeam-smile every few words as he told us excitedly about the wonders we would see in his country. The air was hot despite the light cloud cover, and I could already feel sweat dribble down my back.
The taxi, an old Toyota arrived, our bags were placed for us into the back, and we set off for the hotel in downtown Nairobi.
The driver spoke little but drove fast, with smoothness, control and speed a TPAC trained bobby would have been impressed with, keeping constantly 10-15 mph faster than the other traffic without ever unsettling the car. His forward planning was almost like sixth sense as he undertook cattle-wagons on roundabouts, to then power past a 4X4, and slip lanes again gracefully finishing behind a Merc, until the next overtake opportunity. The driving conditions and behavior of other drivers on the Kenyan roads makes Rome look like a haven for ROSPA instructors.
The sun broke through the clouds, and despite my open window I started having to wipe my brow.
Spot the newbie.
"Down-town Kenya" he said as we pulled up outside the hotel. Without even realising it, Mrs Grasshopper and I were somehow in the lift with our bags and room key, the driver having quick-fired Kiswahili at the desk-staff before disappearing.

The hotel was small but comfortable, with a small restaurant, bar, and verandas on the first floor.
If it wasn't for the other travellers in their modern clothes, it would have been a perfect setting for an Indiana Jones, or maybe James Bond story. White and brown tiled floors, dark hardwood furniture, and slowly spinning fans made me feel I should perhaps dress correctly for dinner, to fit into the colonial-era ambiance.

After dropping our bags into our room, we went for a walkabout round the area. I picked up a moody Lacoste T-Shirt from a market stall for about 4 quid, after a scene reminiscent from Monty Pythons "Life of Brian". I really couldn't be bothered in the heat bartering.

I had heard all sorts of stories about Nairobi, and Kenya in general, some justified, most not. Mrs Grasshopper and I agreed we got a lot more hassle from street vender's, hustlers and beggars in Rome and Montego bay than we did in Nairobi. Of course there are places us "Mesungi" should not go, like any visitors to any big city in the world, but on the whole it was fine- just like most other big cities in honesty.

Shopping over, we grabbed a shower, and met the head of the project, and our other volunteers in the bar's lobby. There he told us of the importance of our work, and the positive effect it has on the Masai people in the area. When he left, Mrs G and our other volunteers done what all Brits do to bond- we went to the bar!

Two volunteers were still flying in, but Mrs G and I grabbed a "Tusker" or two with those that were there. Two of the girls had already been travelling in Kenya on their own, so we listened with interest to their stories before retiring to bed.

Our first night under a mozi-net was unusual, and I struggled to sleep, thinking of our 9 hour drive into the bush tomorrow...

I'll probably post all that at Dubai- my internet time is up!

"Your living my dream"...

...a friend said this morning in an email. It certainly feels like a dream- we leave for the airport shortly!

We had a few beers last night, after busy day of buying last minute things and packing all our gear. Despite taking few clothes, our bags are stuffed, mainly due to sleeping bags, ground-mats, mossi-nets, repellents, and months of anti-malaria tablets.

My evil twin rang me this morning to wish me well, and asked if I was excited yet. Not really, but I am getting there, now the bags are packed and I'm dressed in my cargo pants and shirt, hiking-boots on and ready to go. But it was hard to get excited while queuing for 5 hours at the consul for visas, or bombing it up and down the M6, or catching up with my old mate Tom who I ain't seen for 6 months.

But now we're off-just hours until our flight.

The next post will be from Kenya.

Hmm, yep, feeling slightly excited I think.

Packing!

This:

Into this:

And that's it, all my belongings for the next 7 months.... Yet it still feels like I got far too much. Mrs Grasshopper has only slightly more than me- which is extrordinary, as she can normally fill my car-boot with luggage when going away for just a weekend!

So we are now all packed and we fly tomorrow, after a crazy last couple of weeks getting visas, jabs, doctors visits, dentist check-ups, awards, sleeping matts, saying last goodbyes, keeping the bank manager happy, and even going to Glasgow to see my wonderful family one night.

I've drove between 120 and 320 miles a day over the past week or so, but its nothing really- we fly to Africa tomorrow!

I'd better get a cold beer while I can...

Our Itinerary

We fly out on the 31st of October. The plan so far is thus:

1st November- 28th November- Masaai Project, Kenya

We'll be living in the Masaai Ranch lands, living in tented research camps just outside Amboseli National Park, and also the boarder of Tsavo-west National park, at the foot of Mount Kilimanjaro.
We will be working on Lion and Elephant conservation projects, going out into the bush each day tracking the animals for counting and data collection with local Masaai scouts and full-time researchers. We'll be working and living out in the bush, going on safari in 4X4s and on foot every day during the week. At weekends we'll be recovering and visiting nearby Masaai villages. It's unlikely I'll be able to update this blog much then, as the nearest single computer is a few hours drive away, and there is usually a queue.
We'll have a few days at the end of our work in Nairobi before we fly out on the 2nd of December to Delhi, via an overnight stay in Dubai.

3rd December- 31st December- Himachal Project, North India

We'll be living with local families in the foothills of the Himalayas (it will be cold!), working at one of a number of projects run by a company called IDEX.
We'll find out what exactly we are doing when we get there, most likely assisting in child care at local centers, known as Aanganbari, a school for mentally challenged children, or assisting local teachers in schools.
Extra volunteer work is available at a local orphan home, children's hospital and helping with maintenance of institutional facilities.
Prior to the project and afterwards, we'll get a day or so in Delhi and Amritsar as well as a week in Jaipur, where we will be given a crash-course in Hindi, teaching practices, as well as the Hindu religion, caste system, and contemporary Indian issues.
As well as visiting the Taj Mahal, we'll get chance to go trekking in the Himalayas. We have from the 31st of December to the 14th of January free, so we'll get out and about northern India as much as we can before we fly to Mumbai.

14th January- 12th Febuary- 2008 Goa Project, Southern India

We'll be living in basic purpose-built accommodation on Colva Beach, with volunteer placements available at the local Aanganbari, special education camps for children of immigrant and slum dwelling families and a school for mentally challenged children.
Before we start work, we'll have some free time in Lonavla, go trekking, camping, climbing and visiting villages in the countryside away from tourist development. We will also visit the Ashram for a couple of days before catching the train to Goa.
On the 12th, we fly to Bangkok...

12th February- 8th April- Muay Thai training and travel

We'll spend a few days in Bangkok, and then travel to a Thai-boxing camp, where we will be living, right on the beach in our own small bungalow on stilts. I will be training a couple of hours both morning and afternoons, 6 days a week. I've not been able to train much this year at all (by god it shows!), but there is plenty of opportunity to regain my fitness while traveling, and improve my technique and fitness while I'm there.
We will be living, training and eating alongside local fighters and other visiting students, and in between training sessions, we will have the opportunity to learn Thai cooking, and Thai massage, as well as relax and enjoy the island setting.
Before we fly to Australia, we would like to briefly visit Cambodia and Vietnam, depending on how we feel. The time is our own until the 9th of April, when we fly from Bangkok to Sydney, so we'll take it as it comes.

9th April- 20th May - Seeing my Parents and Brothers!

We fly into Sydney for the 2nd time since they immigrated to a town outside Sydney at the start of 2004. Not sure quite what we are doing while in Oz, other than spending time with my parents and three little brothers... Who are not that little anymore...
Maybe we will see a bit outside New South Wales, but to be honest, it's too far off yet to plan. My eldest younger bro lives in the city center and my parents in the suburbs, and we'll be spending time with them all, as we have not seen them since the Christmas/new year after they left.

On the 20th, it's all over. We're flying back to blighty, to get back on with the Job, and choose our new life. A family, a new washing-machine, car, compact disc player and electric tin opener. Good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance. Fixed interest mortgage repayments, starter home, friends, leisurewear and matching luggage. A three piece suite on hire purchase in range of f..

Och, it's a while off yet!!

More Goodbyes...

... but they were OK. Again, thankfully short and sweet, to the point where I'm wondering if I am being a bit heartless. But it's not like we're never coming back to Blighty.

Two good friends of ours gave us St. Christophers, which was very touching. That was this evening, moments before we left the town we have called home for the past 5 years. I doubt we'll ever live in that town again though, which is a bit disconcerting.

The past few weeks have been manic, sorting visas, rabies jabs, packing, attending courses at my other "Job", and of course moving out. This weekend was very busy, speed-loading and un-loading a Luton van, in between rattling up and down the M6, engine screaming as I stupidly
kept trying to drive the van like my coupe car. Not particularly successful, but I did get the van back in time.
Apologies to those who were on the M6 on Saturday...

My evil twin has took some stuff of us to store, and when I turned up at 10pm to unload a sofa bed, his expansive, comfortable sofa and well-stocked beer fridge nearly kept me there until morning. But I managed to refuse a cold-one, instead hauling myself back into the van and down to Stoke and the in-laws, where we are now living for the next 2 weeks.

Which brings me to now, sitting here at the in-laws, drinking a beer and tapping on their lap-top. It's the first time I've really had a minute, and even now Mrs Grasshopper is stressing about who she is going to see when before we leave in a couple of weeks.

Me- no stress at all. It's still not sunk in we're off...