Tanzania again: Mwanza-Muscat Part 2

Returning to Tanzania wasn't in the original plan. This was, and remains, to ride north to Ethiopia and beyond. But the British Council, my former employer, needed an English teacher for a short-term contract in July. The job-spec sounded interesting. What would a 600km detour and 3 weeks off the road matter when I had no need to be any place at any particular time.

So rather than continue north from Kisumu I rode south-east towards Kenya's Rift Valley - a region of rolling green landscapes, tea-growing estates and welcome cool climates. Naturally this involved a bit of climbing, so it was a good job I'd consumed the 1kg of dates and 1kg of popcorn I had in my panniers when leaving Mwanza.

Actually the climb into Kenya's Rift Valley wasn't as bad as it looks here. This shows the elevation profile between Kisumu and Kericho - the former lying at an altitude of just under 1200m and the latter, 80km away, at around 2000m.

I've started using this website to find the elevation profile between places. That's when I can remember to look or have Internet access. Fortunately the strength of mobile Internet in Africa continues to develop faster than anything else here. Kenya, at least in towns, has excellent connection speeds. Worth noting that 2gb of data (including text messaging and about 60 minutes of call time) will cost around £6. That's more than enough for over a week's use of Internet on the road. It's actually significantly cheaper than this in Tanzania.

The countryside was scenic, the towns mostly ugly. This came as no surprise. Small shanty-style tin-shacks and larger concrete structures - either abandoned or under construction, made no-where particularly pleasing to the eye when I stopped for something to eat or a place to stay. 

But I enjoyed the surprise in peoples reactions and subsequent interaction at the roadside when stopping for a drink or stepping into a make-shift eatery. Most of these in Kenya are named 'hotels', but it's simple food and tea on offer rather than accommodation. A lot more beans and chapatis consumed.

Kiswahili is still widely spoken in Kenya, but it's not heard as often as in Tanzania. Ethnic languages predominate here - the changing sounds of which are a good an indication of moving from one region to another. So eastwards from the Luo speakers around Lake Victoria it is Kalenjin that dominates the tea growing areas of Kericho and Bomet, before entering Masaai dominated territory that extends up to and across the border with Tanzania.

Much of the landscape in the latter remains scarcely populated, largely consisting of expansive tracts of scrubland and spiky bush. Here cows and goats probably outnumber people. Massai-dominated towns are in fact as distinguishable by the colourful shawls worn by their long ear-lobed inhabitants as they are by the sight of butchers and the accompanying smell of roasted meat. Nyama Choma (roasted meat) seems to be a staple food in these parts of Kenya.

The truth is the meat is very good - far superior to what is served in Tanzania. I ordered 500g of roasted goat meat one evening from the restaurant of a hotel I stayed in (orders of 1kg or 1/2kg are the norm) and decided to do exactly the same the next night. It was some of the best meat I've had in Africa - affordable as well at less than £2.

It might just be that I chose a good place to eat. The sight and smell of some of the butchers here are enough to turn one vegetarian. There are rumours that some nyama choma establishments in Kenya serve up donkey meat to unsuspecting customers. I wonder how that tastes.

The tarmac road was smooth and mostly quiet as I continued east, dropping in altitude and providing a wide sweeping view of Mt Suswa ahead of me.

This route was steering me directly towards Nairobi, which I had little desire nor need to enter for the second time.

Invisible on google maps, but quite clearly demarcated on my paper map, was a track that appeared to totally bypass the capital. I feared it might be a busy short-cut, but soon realised once I saw the turn off just beyond the small town of Suswa, that it would be anything but. So I filled up my water bottles, bought some bananas, spaghetti, tomatoes and sukuma wiki (a green-leafed spinach type veg) and headed off into the bush planning to camp.

I had been looking forward to a night in the tent and had a wide expanse of land to choose from. Well that's not strictly true. Surrounded by acacia trees and various other thorny foliage it made little sense to venture far from the track before pitching the tent.

I think some people are under the impression that I spend most of my nights in this small green enclosure. I don't. When adequate roofed accommodation is available for around £5 or less, which it often is in populated parts of East Africa, I don't see much point in camping, unless I'm surrounded by some spectacular natural beauty, which usually isn't the case if there are lots of people living in an area. Besides, wild camping isn't particularly relaxing or safe if you are close to where people live, but trying to hide yourself. I've always found in this situation that it's better to go and say hello and ask permission to camp. Invariably this often means pitching a tent somewhere like a school or church, or within someone's compound. I've done this many times before in Africa.

Anyhow, this kind of landscape, despite the mine-field of thorns, was one perfect for camping. I pitched the tent under a full moon and woke up with the tranquility of bird-song rather than a group of noisy children waiting outside for me.

Fortunately the tyres remained puncture-free as I continued the following morning on a deteriorating but perfectly bikeable track in the direction of Ngong. It was hard to believe I was so close to Nairobi. My surroundings hadn't felt more remote on this journey. Dirt tracks are always more memorable.

Back on tarmac I joined the main road connecting Kenya with the Tanzanian border of Namanga. More Nyama Choma towns.

By now I was able to greet people with a call of 'Supa' (the Masaai greeting for hello, which I probably mis-pronounced by just shouting 'super' at everyone - I think the correct pronunciation is 'sopa') from the saddle.

I had music playing most of the time. When I first started touring I used to wear headphones to listen to music. Perhaps that was in the days before mini-speakers became so compact. Now I have a little blue-tooth speaker that sits in a small frame bag. It weighs almost nothing and emits a decent sound for its size. I just need to download some more music to play out of it.

Tanzanian immigration stamped me in for free when I returned. Bonus. Apparently a 90-day single-entry tourist visa, which I have, allows multiple entries back into the country for which the visa belongs to, assuming you are re-entering from Uganda and Kenya. This isn't publicised, but is part of some East African Community agreement. Without knowing about it I can quite easily imagine many a traveller handing over a $50 bill for another visa. Hard to believe anyone in such an instance being told that it isn't necessary to pay as their current visa remains valid.

The first thing I did after leaving Namanga and the trucks at the border is eat a potato omelette, more commonly known as chips mayai in Tanzania. It's the national dish and designed for cyclists who want a low-cost high calorie meal. They don't serve this in Kenya. They should. One usually has the option in places that dish out this African delicacy to order mishkaki (kebabs) - a woeful sized quantity of meat skewered onto one stick. It's sensible to order at least several - they don't cost much either.

It was massai land again on the road south to Arusha. Here the young shepherds bedecked in colourful finery seemed more interested to flag me down than they did in Kenya. It was always more than just a greeting of course. As I wrote in the previous post no-one ever asks you to stop in Africa just to say hello.

Luxury awaited me in Arusha.I knew the hotel I was booked into and grinned widely as I ducked under the security barrier and rolled-up to the entrance. 'You can't park here', said one of many uniformed guards as he took my camera and offered to take a picture.

Ten minutes later I was stepping into a room that I would never be staying in were I paying for it. Lucky me. The only disappointment was the manager not agreeing to my suggestion of placing the bicycle on the balcony.

The Arusha Hotel is one of east Africa's oldest establishments, although nothing looks like it was here in 1884. Back then there would have been none of the groups of tourists that fill this place now. The car park if full of tour buses and safari vehicles. July is the start of the high season for trips to Serengeti, the Ngorogoro Crater and treks up Mount Kilimanjaro. Big business for people here. Arusha has dozens of forex bureaus. The moment I step out of the hotel I'm practically jumped upon by someone wishing to sell me something.

I'm here for a few more weeks delivering an English language course to a group of 'creative artists'. After that the journey continues.

For those wishing to see the route I took from Kisumu-Arusha, scroll to the bottom of this page.