Tapotupotu Bay

When we arrived at Tapotupotu Bay, Christina and I chose a shady spot a bit away from the other people on the beach and headed down to the water for a swim. At first it was fun to play in the waves. The water was rough but only knee-high when still and we felt in no danger. Suddenly, before we knew it, we were caught in quite a strong rip and the water was over our heads. As soon as I realised that we were in danger, we started swimming back to the beach. Christina made it to a sandbar where she could stand, but try as I might, I could not get more than a toe to the sandbar. I got sucked out again and again. In desperation, I yelled to Christina to go for help. I felt unable to make it back to shore on my own so decided to float on my back and wait to be rescued. It seemed to take an eternity, but was probably about 30 minutes. I remember looking up several times and wondering what on earth is taking them so long? The problem was the waves were too large for a swimmer to come out and get me. Two rescue attempts tried and failed. In the meantime, I had drifted even further from the shore. I didn’t know it, but the only chance I had was for someone with a boat to come to my aid. Fortunately, that is exactly what happened.

By sheer chance, a man with a boat arrived at the beach and was able to bring his boat out through the waves and pluck me from the water. I was getting very weak by that stage. I’d swallowed a lot of seawater and hypothermia had set in. I was delirious and my head was going under but I remember hearing the boat arrive, some shouts and attempting to scramble in myself. That effort must have drained my last reserves of energy, as after that I have no recollection of what happened next until I woke up shivering uncontrollably in a car being driven south to Houhora. Christina was with me and she had to keep me from falling asleep again. At that point I realised everything would probably be OK.

I was in worse condition than I thought, however, and the paramedics who examined me in Houhora had no hesitation in calling the air ambulance. I was short of breath and very little of the air I was inhaling was making its way into my blood. A short time later I was in a helicopter and on the way to Whangarei Hospital. Christina arrived later in the evening after collecting the car and driving down. She did a great job of cheering me up and supporting me. It took a while for me to recover, thanks to the seawater I’d swallowed, but after two nights in hospital I was back to normal and free to go.

Only later, after talking to and thanking the man who rescued me in his boat, did it sink in just how close I had come to drowning. Many New Zealand beaches are known for being treacherous and over 100 people drown in New Zealand each year. I am extremely lucky to be alive.



Tapotupotu Bay

Northbound to Northland

After a couple of days lazing around at my mother’s place in the countryside just out of Hamilton, Christina and I decided to use the remaining week before Christmas to explore some more of New Zealand. We chose to visit Northland, the prosaically-named long finger of land that stretches north of Auckland. I hadn’t been up there since I was a kid, and never further north than the Bay of Islands. We decided to go all the way to Cape Reinga, the almost-northernmost point of New Zealand and, according to Maori folklore, the jumping-off point for spirits on their way to the Underworld. It’s also the best place to see watch two great bodies of water merge: the Tasman Sea and the Pacific Ocean.



Heading for Cape Reinga!

Not many people live in the Far North, the region of Northland north of Kaitaia. It’s a starkly beautiful place of endless rolling green hills and long, deserted beaches. We wanted to walk from Spirits Bay on the eastern coast via Cape Reinga to Ninety Mile Beach on the western coast. We were having a brilliant time until 2 pm on the second day, when we decided to go for a swim at Tapotupotu Bay.



Climbing up from Spirits Bay, on the way to Cape Reinga. We started at the far end of the beach

Welcome Home

Flying into Auckland Airport is usually a pleasure. When coming from faraway lands, the contrast of New Zealand’s emerald green - almost fluorescent green - landscape with the monotonous blue of the Tasman Sea is striking. Upon landing the welcome by immigration and customs officials is invariably friendly and with a personal touch. And this time I was extra-excited, not only because Christina and mum were waiting at the airport for me, but also because this place would be home for the foreseeable future.

So it was galling when I ran into trouble with New Zealand’s extremely strict biosecurity controls. I thought I’d declared everything that might pose a biosecurity risk, but somehow I’d forgotten about a small container of honey in my carry-on bag, absent-mindedly picked up from an airport lounge during my Dubai stopover. I was promptly marched off to an office and told to pay an on-the-spot $200 fine. Just when I thought my grand homecoming would be ruined by getting busted for bringing undeclared honey into the country, the customs officer suddenly had a change of heart and let me go. I think my story of how I was returning to the country to live after a long absence did the trick. Or else my good looks. Anyway, moral of the story: If you ever fly to New Zealand, fill out your customs declaration form CAREFULLY.

Feeling exhausted but pretty relieved to have gotten off the hook, I walked out into the arrivals hall and into the waiting arms of Christina and mum. A few minutes later we were in the car heading south to Hamilton and home. It was a good feeling.

The End of the Road

After a week of idleness on Zanzibar, it was finally time to travel north to Nairobi for my flight home. In doing so, I closed my loop around Lake Victoria and also caught a glimpse of Kilimanjaro on the way. Upon seeing the mountain for the first time, I realised why so many people want to climb her. Impressive as Mt Kenya is, Kili is in a different league. She is truly massive and beautifully formed, with a broad, flat snowy summit wearing a halo of clouds. A challenge for next time. Perhaps.



Kilimanjaro in the evening...



...and early in the morning



My route from Cairo to Nairobi

Life is Bole Bole

Within a few hours of arrival, I had established that Dar es Salaam is one of the dullest cities on the planet. At the first possible opportunity, I boarded a ferry for the island of Zanzibar just off Tanzania’s coast in the Indian Ocean. I’m not the person who can spend an entire holiday at the beach, but after 11 weeks of non-stop travel and plenty of nights in rather insalubrious accommodation, I'm ready to relax. Zanzibar is the clichéd tropical paradise, with perfect white sandy beaches shaded by coconut palms, turquoise blue water and dhows pulled up on the beach. Bole bole (slowly slowly in Swahili) is the way of life here. Not much to do but sit back, look lazily out to sea and reflect on my East African experiences….

In short, I enjoyed this trip more and more as I headed south. The Islamic countries, Egypt and northern Sudan, were interesting but not actually much FUN. It was fascinating to follow the Nile south through the desert and explore ruins and remote villages along the way, but it was also hard work. I must be getting older. Sudan was special for the friendliness and helpfulness of its people. In Ethiopia I had the most intense ‘cultural’ experience. The curious locals never hesitated to engage me in conversation. Sometimes a good friendship developed, on other occasions the guy turned out to be an idiot, or else just wanted some money. Quiet moments by myself were a rarity. It was also a tough battle to pay the same price as the locals, or at least a fair price. Looking back, these frequent and often intense interactions with the locals are what stick in my mind the most and make Ethiopia one of the most memorable countries on my route. It is certainly a very special place.

I had a particularly good time in East Africa (Kenya, Uganda and Tanzania). Mt Kenya, the Masai Mara, rafting at Jinja, the Murchison Falls, the gorillas and Zanzibar were all highlights. The climate was pleasant, a cold beer was always close at hand and I met many good people. I never ventured far from the well-trodden tourist trail on this trip but generally felt safe everywhere I went. I am now very curious about the countries in southern Africa (in particular Mozambique, Angola, Zambia, Namibia, Lesotho and South Africa) and would love to explore this region by bicycle some day. All in all, it has been a successful (if slightly unspectacular) trip.



The sweet view from my bungalow

Street Fish

My last two weeks in East Africa were spent in Tanzania. First, I took the ferry MV Serengeti across Lake Victoria from Bukoba to Mwanza, and there I connected with the Central Line train to Dar es Salaam on the coast. The 40 hour journey across the Tanzanian savannah was most memorable for what I ate. Just prior to the train’s departure from Mwanza, I bought a grilled Tilapia fish from a street stall to take with me as a snack. I should have been more cautious after my earlier experience with ‘street fish’ in Uganda, but I was hungry, so I just tucked in. Sure enough, after a couple of mouthfuls, I took a closer look at what I was eating and there they were: dozens of maggots crawling inside the fish. Not again! I spat a mouthful of fish into the small sink in the corner of my compartment and decided that this time I would get some justice, since the train was still in the station. I dashed back to the street stall and demanded my money back from the lady. She muttered something (probably unkind) about Mzungus then took the fish from me, turned it over and shamelessly put it back on display! Reluctantly, she eventually handed back my money. Vowing never to eat street fish again in Africa, I ran back to the train and got on just as it was about to depart. I soon realised it had been a big mistake to spit the mouthful of rotten fish into the sink in my compartment. All attempts to clean the sink and remove the smell failed and I was stuck with the smell of rotten fish for the rest of the journey.



Boarding the ferry at Bukoba on Lake Victoria



On the Central Line train across Tanzania



A massive mango tree



Shopping made easy

Sardine Cans and Rolexes

Travel a little while by backpack through East Africa, and you’ll soon encounter a couple of specialties of the region. The sardine tins, otherwise known as matatus or daladalas, are Toyota Hiace vans. ‘Licensed to carry 14 passengers’ is always written on the driver’s door, but don’t pay too much attention to that. Twenty or more (not including children) is the usual number and when things get really full, someone will sit on the roof as well. Combined with poor maintenance, excessive speed, bad roads and reckless driving, they are deathtraps on wheels – but unavoidable if you want to get to out of the way places. After a near miss (and I had a few), the event is soon forgotten and everyone soon chatting and laughing again. Such is the mentality of the people here.

The conversations while squeezed into a matatu with 20 other passengers are often quite revealing. Some questions come up time and again:
· Does the West have a cure for HIV/AIDS? or,
· Why does the West not give Africa the cure for HIV/AIDS?
· Your government sponsors you to go travelling, don’t they?
· Are black people still slaves in your country?
· Do Rambo and Arnie really kill all the bad guys in the movies (kids kept asking me this)?
I always try to correct these misconceptions, but I doubt anyone actually believes me!



Nice angle-parking

The ubiquitous rolex is my street snack of choice in East Africa. First, the rolex guy fries up a doughy pancake (a chapati) on his little street-side hot plate. He then fries up a 2 or 3 egg omelette, lays it on top of the chapati, rolls the two up together and serves it to you on a scrap of newspaper. Fantastic: a fat-soaked, energy-rich, calorie bomb for less than US$1. For some variation, I replace the omelette with a banana, which incidentally are fantastically cheap here. On a normal day, I devour 3 or 4 rolexes and a dozen bananas. Who needs a balanced diet anyway?!



A rolex assembly line



The wrapping paper's main function is to soak up the excess grease