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.