There has been a Rift

It's been 6 sleeps since my last post and I've seen lots of lovely and interesting things since Turkulu. I've also had a string of convivial meetings with locals along the way. I've done just over 300 kms in that time (4 cycling days) so progress continues steady.

I might have to revise my list of most beautiful countries ever visited. I always reckoned it was Norway but Malawi is coming up fast on the rails.

I left Tukuyu, my last stop in Tanzania, with a bit of a headache after supping with G and his good friend Donald the barber ( a lot of Africans have European names) the previous evening. From there, perhaps fortunately, it was over 40 km of downhill on a quiet, smooth road to the border with Malawi. As I descended, the Rift Valley opened up to my right, or west. I was slowly dropping into it. I was on the eastern escarpment and 10 miles or so to the west were the mountains of the west side. The valley floor, like a film set for the Garden of Eden, lay in between. It was a riveting sight and I had to keep stopping for a gawp and a photo. Half way down I got my first glimpse of Lake Malawi occupying a large part of the horizon. It was just a bright, shiny strip. The Rift valley here gets enough rain to keep the many streams and rivers tumbling along and the the vegetation is dense and a pure (Sir Percy) green.

A few km before the border at a junction I met my only annoying, slightly scary Africans to date. 4 or 5 unusually fat and burly lads of about 25 were hanging around. They were selling Malawian currency, which is the Kwatcha. I needed to change an excess of Tanzanian shillings into Kwatchas, at a rate of approx 5.8. I'd done my homework on-line in Tukulu.

"What is the rate?" I asked
"10 to 1 for you, sir."
"But it's about 5.8 according to the Internet this morning."
"OK 5.5 for you. You have dollars?"
"No" (big lie).

I declined their late offer thinking I might get Monopoly money anyway. They then hopped on motorbikes and pestered me all the way to the next little town before the border where I arrived with an escort. I thought having lunch in a cafe would get rid of them but they came in an sat either side of me, talked across me in Swahili and made mobile phone calls. "You are wasting your time. Go away please" I said mustering as much cool as I could. In fact I badly neede Malawian Kwatchas for my shillings. I left and went to another cafe. They followed. Luckily there were 5 blokes from the States on motorbikes riding from the Cape to Cairo on an organized tour. They were having a break so I sat with them and chatted. I mentioned the fat guys. The tour leader went over and breathed on one of them and they disappeared. They also treated me to bananas and Coke. So thanks, guys.

I got my Kwatchas at an official exchange bureau in no-man's land at a decent rate and breathed more easily as I pedaled into Malawi.

I have to say at this point that most Africans are polite, kind and respectful in a way that impresses me.

Malawi is exceptionally friendly. I get literally hundreds of greetings, smiles and other convivial exchanges every day.

From the border I pedaled a further 40 km to the town of Karonga for my first night in Malawi. I was so enchanted with my new country that I phoned Judith just after the border, in the early afternoon, so she could congratulate me on my first 1000km. The Garden of Eden set ran all the way to Karonga although the road itself was as quiet as on the Outer Hebrides. Everything seems to grow here: sugar-cane, oranges, lemons, tabacco, rice, maize, bananas, coffee, tea, cotton, avocados and a load of other stuff I can't even recognize.

As I pulled into Karonga just before dark a lad called Happy Williams pulled alongside and took me to a guest house. Despite Malawi being one of the world's poorest countries, the level of English is remarkable. Secondary education is all in English, I gather. And there is no one African language that unites the whole country as in Tanzania. Here the English-speaker is king (he said complacently). In Karonga it rained, beating down on the metal roof of the Safari Lodge just before dawn, but by 7 am, when I left, it was already drying up.

Last Friday was tough due to a gusty head-wind  which tugged at my lumpy shape with its 4 panniers and tent. In fact I was knackered when I reached Maji Zuwa (Water and Sun) 80 kms away. It was a flat road along the Lake side and should have been easy but the wind was a complete *******. Maji Zuwa is owned and run by an American called Matt who spent 2 years in Malawi with the Peace Corps then came back and bought an idyllic bit of the lake shore and set up a "camp" with a restaurant, chalets and little tent "shelves" right by the water, one of which I used, camping for the first time. The other residents are a mixture of  young Americans and Europeans who volunteer in the local schools and help build badly needed extra facilities. I've met several other Peace Corps volunteers since. Some of them are in tiny, isolated villages. I take my hat off to 'em ! I had a rest day here: swimming, watching the fishermen in their dug-out canoes, enjoying the peace and quiet, getting a great star-show after dark and drinking Kuche Kuche.

On Sunday I carried on south along the beautiful shoreline. It's just like the Med and immediately to the west are high mountains. Perched on top of one is Livingstonia. It was used by early Scottish missionaries at the end of the 19th C. Livingstone never went there but they named it in his honour. I was told by Matt it had the first piped  water and electricity supply in sub-saharan Africa. I'd want to check that out though.

In fact my route, the main road, went up into these mountains. The main road leaves the lake shore for about 70 miles, presumably because the lower slopes of the mountains are just too steep along the lakeside . I'd been warned about this long, steep climb of about 3000 feet. I got the Ipod out and started listened to Judith's excellent collection of music. I stopped regularly for bananas and water. The baboons kept me amused and the occasional bus and lorry supplied shouts of encouragement. And the scenery was brilliant so I almost enjoyed the climb, which lasted about 2 hours. At the top I went over the escarpment and down into a long, winding valley with a river about the size of the Calder. About 30 kms up here was the little town of Phwezi where I stayed for the night in my .... er ..... most basic rest-house to date.

I was enjoying my customary early evening beer wondering where I was going to eat. The town was full of people out on the streets, which is normal, but there was no sign of an eatery. I was joined by Jackoo who organised everything. He took me to the chip shop - yes, this part of Africa is full of chip shops - to get a couple of plates. We then went in the dark to the busy market and to a huge bosomed lady sitting behind a pot of bubbling chicken bits. "What do you prefer ?" he asked "Er... breast" I said. He rummaged around in the pot and put a portion on each of our plates. We then went back to the chip shop and got our chips with a bit of salad on the side. He organised some crates into a table and chairs and we tucked into a fine meal. Africans are just so helpful. OK, I had to pay for both of us, probably 2 quid the lot. But the good thing about the trip so far: if they see you are new, they just make things happen for you. If you don't need help, they are happy just to chat or go away.

The next day was only 80 km to where I am now. I set off without breakfast which is not unusual. An hour later at the town of Bwengu I had a similar experience to the previous evening. "Any hot food here?' I asked a teenage girl. "No, but you could buy some eggs and get the girl in the grocery cum chip shop to make you an omlette". It all happened without me lifting a finger. I was sold 3 bread rolls and had omlette butties (without the butter). The omlette was dripping in sun-flower oil so it didn't matter. I was so hungry I could have eaten my shorts anyway.

While I was waiting for this meal, I had an interesting chat with Precious Joshua Nthara who lectures in dynamics at the local university. When I asked, he patiently explained what dynamics entailed - basically Newtonian physics - and then I explained to him something of the origins of the English language, where he seemed to know about as much as me about dynamics. "So, I see, it's a hybrid language", he concluded. Africa can be quite surreal.

I got increasingly tired and ratty as I did the last to 30 kms into Mzuzu. Yesterday's climb was taking its toll. I did manage a tourist attraction on the way though. To quote the publicity on a hand painted board, it was "The Kandewe bamboo hanging bridge on south Rukuru River first built in 1904". I had the official bridge guide, the splendidly eloquent and charming Joshua Nkandawire. We went down a steep dirt path to the river, gathering troops, especially kids, as we went, and arrived at the aforementioned bridge. It was a bird's nest of bamboo, only in an arched bridge shape, which curved gracefully over the river. It was still in regular use. We went across and it swayed and rippled as you'd expect. It was constructed according to traditional technology and was a rare survivor of same. It's repaired every year and, folks, if you are round this way, it's worth a visit. I have lots of photos for the interested.

I reached Mzuzu around 4 pm yesterday. I'd had a backpackers' hostel recommended. I was a bit suspicious as they can be a bit like student houses: gruesome. It's turned out OK though and has a nice lounge area, food and beer. It was hard to find and has the unfortunate name of Mzuzu Zoo. Try asking for that on a hot sticky afternoon when you're tired. I finished up inquiring of the gangs of cycle taxi lads. Some of them were full of mirth when they heard me trying to say it's name but hadn't a clue where it was. Eventually I was led to it by a bunch of school girls on their way home and a Rasta lad who called himself King Charles. You couldn't make it up.....

Easier day than anticipated

I arrived in Tukuyu earlier than expected (3pm), met a helpful guy called Gwamaka ("Power") as I pedaled into town and he kindly showed me a decent guest-house, showed me where to eat and, finally the only internet cafe in town. Without him I'd have found none of these as you have to cross the football field, go up a muddy ginnel, past the joiner's shop etc . I bought him a beer for his kindness so apologies if this starts to ramble....

Gwamaka normally takes European tourists up the local mountains where there are big waterfalls, volcanic lakes and forests. It's the end of the rainy season in this corner of Tanzania so his busy season has not begun yet.

I left Mbeya at 7 am and went mainly uphill for 3 hours. By 10 am I was probably a couple of thousand feet higher at least and it was distinctly chilly and "european". By which I mean the crops in this cool green place were peas, beans, carrots and spuds. Also there were cows and donkeys in abundance for the first time. Between the fields were hedges of hydrangeas, whose blooms were just beginning to fade. The fields are full of people tilling, cropping, planting and so on, so the whole effect is a bit reminiscent of a Breugel - v picturesque. Or even a Van Gogh.

From the top, which is the watershed between the central Tanzanian rivers and Lake Malawi, it was a long, long descent of maybe 20 kms. I put on 3 layers of clothing, instead of my usual one, and was well chilled at the bottom where it was a different agricultural landscape. Down here it's mainly bananas and tea. Streams run down off the mountains, so it's the greenest, most fertile bit of Tanzania to date and I can see why it has a small tourist industry. Since Dar the rivers have been mostly dry beds as it's the dry season already elsewhere. There were even a few spots of rain this pm.

The very useful centre stand dropped of my bike at the end of the long downhill and a few turns of thread have been torn of its vital main screw . It's gone back on though, just. Also the tyres seem to be loosing air and there's a worrying squeak from the front wheel bearings. Must investigate when fully sober (tomorrow).

So there you have Day 20: about 75 km over the day. With luck I'll be in Malawi, or at least at the border, at this time tomorrow.

Nice to see Wayne nod one in last night. England have an enthusiastic following in Tanzania. I think they appreciate the black guys in the team. There are a lot of Arsenal supporters too.

Meeting Gwamaka at 6pm for more food and beer. Thanks for reading. Will write more from the first overnight stop with internet access in Malawi.

Feet up day

It's been a quiet morning here in Mbeya....

I was already awake when the muezzin began his call to prayer this morning and, as it was very distant, as it was a newer loud speaker than in Iringa and as I didn't have to get up and go cycling, I blessed him accordingly. Thanks to son Dan for alerting me to the fact that it's the muezzin and not the mullah who does the wailing. As "Gem" Blythe might have said, "Gerrit right !"

It's taken 4 days to do the 320 kms from Iringa, 3 days from when I lasted posted, to get here. All in all, a satisfactory term's work.

The road out of Mafinga (last post) went up and up onto a bleak and undulating plateau. It reminded me of the Scottish borders around Kielder: lots and lots of emptiness. It was all the bleaker for there being a strong, cool, southerly wind and a rare cloudy sky for most of the morning. Nobody lives there and for a good 25 miles the land was mostly given over to forestry. The rest was grassy moorland, shallow lakes and swamps. Since Dar es Salaam,  Mufinda Paper Co lorries have been thundering past me and this is where the timber comes from to make the stuff. I was glad when the sun came out around midday and I got back to village  and small farm raral Tanzania. The next two and a half days are already a blur so I'll have a quick look at my paper diary and map.

That day, after my post from Mafinga,  it appears, I did 100 km and reached Makambako around mid afternoon. I felt cold and feeble when I got there and crashed out on the bed in what turned out to be half brothel, half hotel. You can't always tell from the outside as they are not marked "brothel", just "guest house". I must learn the Swahili for "Are you a brothel? If you are, just B and B please" . Fat chance. When I woke I had half a freshly slaughtered chicken, deep fried, and a huge pile of chips for the equivalent of a couple of quid, out in the yard, just before sun-set at 6.30ish. I had a couple of bottles of Kilimanjaro lager with it and felt much better for the calorie boost. As the sun set  and it got cool I headed for a windowless door marked "bar". It was one of those moments when you know in a millisecond that this is not where you want to be. There were a number of chuckling young ladies and a few blokes sitting around and the usual loud African music. There were coming and goings through a door at the back. I sat down in the middle, ordered a beer, wrote some diary and hopped it quickly, to more chuckles.

The next day, day 17 since leaving Hx, is entitled "Easiest day yet" in my diary. The first 10 miles were gentle downhill with the sun rising behind me and the air cool. At the foot of the slope in open country, I stopped to put on some sun-cream. A young lad of about 20 stopped and asked what the problem was. He was on a bike with a large plastic tub of water on the back.  This is a common sight, although often it's  a young female with the tub on her head. I explained what the cream was for and we got chatting. He was a charming, earnest, well (English) spoken lad with whom I could have talked for hours. He was a maths teacher in the local secondary, having done A levels. I've met several such lads in a similar position. We talked about teaching and I then asked him for some key Swahili words to make life easier: "where food?" "no sugar", how to say "not" and so on. I jotted them down. Then he said in an even tone, " I want to improve my life. My father is dead and my mother is in a bad condition." Oh no! I thought, here it comes."I want to go to Dar es Salaam to study for a degree." I thought I'd better dive in " If I had a thousand dollars to spare I'd give you them but..."  "Oh! No! " he said, totally embarrassed "That's not what I meant" And he didn't...

I gave him my blog address although he had no internet access, not even at his rural secondary school. He jotted down his name, which was Sixbirth. After 20 minutes or so we shook hands and I pedaled off. It reminded me of the powerful advert (anybody remember whose it was ?) of about 10 years ago which showed a young African lad in a mud hut managing to study at night thanks to a bright light-bulb over his head.

I had more roadside chats during the day, usually with older teenage lads desperate to use their already good English.

That night I stayed at Chimala, having ridden along the foot of the Livingstone Mountains which rise up steeply to the south. They have an African name on my map but the locals called them The Livingstones.  To the north is still an endless plain. The air is brilliantly clear and you can see mountains at 60 or 70 miles distance, at a guess, maybe further.

I found a Lutheran centre cum guest house for the princely sum of 5000 TS, about 2 pounds. As I was looking for the washing line I bumped into another young maths teacher called Lusajo Mwanjwango. We cycled into town together, had a beer, lots of pleasant chat and beef and chips.

Yesterday was a mere 75 kms but there was a sting in the tail. After some easy cruising I came to another major doorstep in the landscape of about 2 or 3000 feet. It looked a lot less from the bottom of the hill so I went at it like Lance Armstrong on drugs. Drenched in sweat and nowhere near the top, I reached a village and had a meal in the filthiest restaurant I've ever eaten in. The food was good though - rice and beans in a tasty sauce - and yet again I chatted to a  teacher. "No school today?" I asked. He explained that it was towards the end of term and it was exam time. The other half of the hill was a major challenge (it reminded me of the hill between Weardale and Teesdale a couple of years ago pre Bruges). I took it in small, painful bites. At the top is a town called Uyole which is a major junction. It's where the road splits. Left, and south, goes to Malawi. Straight on leads to Zambia, and Lusaka, after several hundred miles. My way is left but today I carried straight on, on a plateau, to the big town of Mbeya where there are ATMs, Internet cafes and a better class of hotel than I've been used to. I'll have to backtrack about 10 km to the junction when I continue. The tank was practically empty again on arrival but after a lie in, some breakfast TV, a hot shower and some breakfast everything is fine.


Well, it's lunchtime. Thanks for reading. More later

Steady progress, will do better the more he tries....

Almost exactly 80 km today and as there's an Internet Cafe bang opposite my accommodation, I'll take advantage. I know I have at least 3 regular browsers.

I was woken by the mullah again , this time at 4.40 am, which was just 45 mins too early for me...I did say a prayer though. Honest.

I left Iringa in the dark at 6 with head torch on. Lots of people out running, which surprised me; before the traffic gets going I suppose. There was the usual glorious African sun rise around 6.30. I then got a stream of "Good morning!"s from the kids going to school. Even from the little tynies about 3 foot tall, on their own and with gorgeous smiling faces. You could take 'em home with you ! I even got a couple of "Good morning, teacher !" Doh! I must still bear the marks of one.

Had a  breakfast of rice, beans, pumpkin leaves and a lump of beef around noon. No problem as I ate enough for 10 men yesterday. I had to take my Swiss army knife to the beef but it tasted fine.

Things turned sour when I "lost" my phone in the afternoon. My usually meticulous packing system had failed. I blundered badly by putting it in a rear pannier where it normally never goes. It's strictly a bar-bag item. Anyway, to  whoops of joy, it turned up 3 hours later....

The road has deteriorated from excellent to pretty crummy in the course of the day. There are also lots of road-works as this section gets improved. There's only just room for two HGVs so cyclists have to leave the road when the klaxon sounds. It's a jungle out there.

I met my first long-distance cyclist this morning, David Conroy, from BC, Canada. He's been cycling around for 3 years now and has a good thick layer of dust on him. He gave me some good tips, some local medicine and some Malawian Kwatchas (currency). He's also the proud owner of a 30 trillion dollar Zimbabwian note.

Mafinga is a fascinating dump like most Tanzanian towns. (I've completely reassessed Keighley). Seriously though, we have some 5 star, beautiful, user-friendly towns in Europe. The dust, noise, tat and chaos of African towns are to be gasped at....If you ask around though you can usually get what you want as they are so dammed helpful.

My digs on the other hand are clean, quiet and airy and I'm getting on well with the manageress. She speaks not a word of English and my Swahili is still at the "Hello" "Food" "Water" "Big" "Good" stage. But she runs a tidy guest house and at 15000 TS for a night (6 pounds) who's complaining ?

And so to supper...

Pot pourri

Here are some random thoughts and observations.

Entry from this morning's (14/6/12) old-fashioned paper diary....

" I'm woken this morning by the local mullah wailing from a nearby mosque and I wonder what a cross-section of the population think of this. If you need an alarm call shortly after 5 am it's most convenient. If not, if you are Christian or don't have a religion, it can be a bit ....er.... overwhelming. (Just by the by, I told a friendly Christian guy a few days ago that I did not have a religion and he found it hilarious). Shouldn't religion be a bit quieter, a bit less in your ear? Discuss. Maybe prohibiting amplification is the answer and just allowing the human voice. So, if you do need amplification, 50 mullahs have to get up early in the morning. Now that would be impressive.

At breakfast this morning in the hotel lobby/restaurant there are 6 or 7 large African gents talking loudly. I'd love to know what their preoccupations are. Oh! for fluent Swahili.

I did my laundry at 6.30 while showering. A beaming black face looked through the window by my door - I've no idea who it belonged to - bid me good-morning,  asked how I was and left. Nice! "

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Correction to an earlier post: John and Christine Priestley enjoyed/ survived 30 months in Chipata, not 3 years. And they were supported by the Foreign and Commonwealth Office, not VSO. Must get my facts right.

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This would not be a cycling blog without some bum talk . I was nervous about the state of mine but all seems well. Thanks to various people for their tips. I slap on the Savlon every day now, JKE. I've come to the conclusion it's mainly about finding a saddle to suit your buttocks and cleavage. I've got a shed-full of saddles and, at the last minute, in a bit of a panic, reverted to one I haven't used for 2 or 3 years. I seem to have found a good match. I can't stand cyclists' underwear; it's just too dammed sweaty and could do more harm than good. But above all, avoid big seams which can wreck you in hours.

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In Tanzania I get more greetings in an hour than in a week at home.

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Let me tell you about my first serious toilet stop on the road. You are rarely alone in Africa. The bush is full of people. So finding a quiet spot is tough. The guy who walked my intended route, Fran Sandham, had the same problem when he wanted to camp somewhere unseen. He was usually discovered. About 100 km out of Dar I could not postpone things any longer. After some careful searching I thought I'd found a good spot. A dirt road branched off at an acute angle, there was plenty of tree cover and there was even a 3 foot high block of concrete someone had helpfully dumped and which would serve as partial cover. I settled in. The starting gate had just gone up when - bugger! - I heard the sound of a motorbike approaching and slowing down for my turn-off. As they pass me - there are three of them on this bike - I shout "Jambo!" (Hi!) in brazen desperation. The guy sandwiched in the middle grins, the other two seem embarrassed and pretend they haven't seen me.

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Most days, around 2 or 3 pm when the sun is at its hottest, I have a dream.... I dream I'm sitting on a moss-covered rock at the foot of the Victoria Falls. I have a self-replenishing glass of ice-cold Weizenbier in my hand with a little spray umbrella over it............ If I do ever reach Vic Falls I'll be just over half-way.

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Let me answer JKE's inquiry about luggage. I've got 2 panniers fore with light stuff in, two aft with heavy stuff, a handle-bar bag, a tent across the top of the two rear panniers and a small ruc-sac which I fasten to the top of all the stuff on the back if it gets too hot to wear. The whole lot comes to 30 kg. So roughly what you'd need for a lunch trip to the Peerdeblomme, John.

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I don't often think I'm tough, especially when I see what African's lug around on their heads, backs and bikes. On my way to this internet cafe I passed a building site where a few dozen women were streaming like ants up ramps to the 4th floor of a new building. On their heads they had plastic buckets full of gravel and sand. I'd be surprised if they weighed less than 25 kg. But I do feel a bit tough when I go down to breakfast in shorts and T shirt and the locals are wearing puffer jackets, scarves, pullovers and woolly hats.

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I had cabbage for breakfast on the road last week and it tasted delicious. It was served with chapatis by two charming girls, Sofa and Latifa, about 9 and 13 years old, at a guess. It was spring cabbage, the sort which used to make me gip or, even once, to sick up, as a kid. So, thanks Ma, you were right to stick the boot in. Vive le chou .

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I'm beginning to appreciate the psychological advantage of the peloton. For people not into cycling, that's the big bunch of cyclists that stick together during a race. Occasionally someone will cycle alongside me or, as happened a couple of days ago, 5 kids started to race me and we kept together for a couple of miles. The energy boost from the herd is startling.

So far, so good

Everything is going well here in lightest Africa. OK, at night it's as black as a Tanzanian charcoal burner's face but by day things couldn't be brighter. It's a relief when a few clouds blow in.

I was pleased to arrive in Iringa this lunch-time. It's 300km west of Morogoro and surrounded by rocky hills and mountains. It reminds me of Lone Ranger country: a scrubby sort of landscape littered with enormous light-coloured boulders. It's on a highish plateau, over 5000 feet according to Wikipedia.There's also a brief description of the place on Wikipedia and a photo if you want to know more.

So that's 500 kms in 9 days. Not bad for a beginner. After Morogoro the road goes through the middle of the Mikumi National Park where I went on safari, big game style, although it was completely unplanned. The town just before the park is a bit of a dump so I pushed on to the main "camp" in the middle of the park. I bumped into a lovely couple, a Kenyan lad, Mike, and  Heleen from Holland, both studying in Sweden and they v kindly invited me to join them on their guided tour of the park the next day. I was woken at about 5 am by an elephant moseying around my cabin. When I pulled back the mosi net and the curtains I could just see its tusks glowing in the dark about 10 foot from my bedroom window. They are noisy eaters and it was ripping up the grass then stuffing down a branch or two from some ragged trees that grow in the camp.

We set off on the tour at 7 am and spent a great day getting as close as you dare to elephants, giraffe, hippos, crocodiles, impalas, warthogs, buffalo and wildebeests. I also got within arm's length of the world's deadliest snake, the black mamba. "You are probably dying in 5 minutes" our guide said cheerfully. I'll just add that this was at the rather seedy Mikumi snake zoo and the snake in question was behind glass. They have jet-black tongues and  mouths, if you get the chance to look inside. The only disappointment was not seeing leopards or lions. It seems you have a 50/50 chance of seeing lions. They sit in the dry, sandy creek beds during the day digesting gristly tourists and are then active at night. Despite our guide Max's best efforts, we didn't find any.

At night we drank beer and watched the football on satellite TV.

From there the road west runs into the Uluguru mountains. This is a sparsely populated bit of Tanzania but nice to look at. The mountains rise to about 7000 feet. The road follows the powerful Ruaha River and the mountain sides are full of Baobab Trees. Once again, go to Wikipedia to admire some pictures of these splendid trees. That night I got a "bungalow" - fancy mud hut really - on the banks of the river.

The next day, yesterday, I got a shock. After lunch the road suddenly rose 3000 feet in about 5 or 6 kms. That's like cycling up Snowdon. I was completely ***** when I got to the top after about 2 hours. I did it in 5 minute sessions for fear of doing a Tommy Simpson. On the plus side the scenery was wonderful, the lorry-drivers in their crawling HGVs shouted a lot of encouragement (I think that's what it was) and the air up here on the plateau is much cooler. I stayed at The Neatness Guest house in Ilula last night. It was pretty neat too and I wore a pullover for the first time. From there it was a sunny and pretty 45 kms to Iringa this morning.

Before I sign off, thanks to friend Claude who helped me with the all important Kings Cross to Heathrow leg of my safari. You can't do better than a guide with detailed local knowledge!

Tenderfoot

Barrett here, struggling somewhat in an African internet cafe in Morogoro. The fan is whirring above my head and there's happy, beaty music coming from the shop speakers. This is the third internet purveyor  I've visited; the guy is helpful and I've managed to e-mail Trubbers, so things are looking up.

It's a typical winter's day here in Tanzania. It's 25 or so degrees C, there's a pleasant breeze and the sun is shining in a clear, blue sky. Expect it's the same with you in the UK. And elsewhere. I've been dishing out my blog address and I may have a couple of African readers by now. If so Karibu ! I've had karibu shouted  at me from tree tops, garage fore-courts, shops, fields and passing lorries. I thought I was mutating into a reindeer. Or was it the impressive speed I was keeping up? Around day 5 I learned from a friendly guy called Richard, who looked remarkably like Lenny Henry, that it just means "welcome" in Swahili. 

I like Tanzania . It's dusty, poor and things can be uncomfortable and inconvenient but the people are smiley, friendly and generally respectful.

I couldn't possibly cram all the shocks and impressions of a new continent into this post so I won't try.

I was literally dizzy from the heat and possibly the high-speed taxi ride when I arrived. I drank a litre of water and the world steadied again. It's still too bloody hot for us pinkos but I'm getting used to it and adopting a sloth-like African gait. Most days it's been pushing 30 C. Only guessing, as I've wrecked my trusty Aldi cycling computer. (Never take your handle-bars off without first disconnecting your 'puter).

Morogoro nestles at the foot of the impressive Uluguru mountains which reach around 8000 feet. It's taken 3 days to do the approx 200kms to get here. It's a fair sized town so you'll soon find it on a (google) map. I was hoping to do more per day but I'm happy just to have set off and got somewhere. I can't do more than half an hour at a stretch before I have to glug a large amount of water. My water bills are huge: 3 litres a day at 700 Tanzanian shillings for a litre ( 2500 T.S equals 1 UK pound).

I haven't been lonely as I have several intelligent encounters along the road each day. I met a guy of 63 yesterday and we gave it high fives. He ran a little grocer's after a life in the military. He was very interested in my plan and we swapped footy talk. Some of my encounters end in requests for sponsorship to university or capital for a business venture but it's all done in a good spirit.

I've also become a bit of a whore magnet, especially the two nights I've had in guest houses in small towns near where the buses and trucks stop. Even they are good fun and soon sidle back off to their mates laughing when they realize I'm more respectable than I look. One lass called Barbara approached me at about 10 am on my first morning on the road. I told her I used to have an Auntie Barbara and she looked nonplussed and gave up. Nice to know they still think I'm worth asking...

The road is a good one for cycling. There is a decent hard-shoulder which keeps you a safe distance from the trucks and buses which are going hell-for-leather. It's new and straight and undulates a bit like an African Fosse Way.

So, all in all, a satisfactory start, as we teachers say. I'm going to pack now ready for an early start tomorrow. It's cool around 6 am !

Thanks to those of you who sent cards, best wishes and gifts before I left. And thanks for reading. I hope to post again soon.