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Well I guess I sold out and started a blog. Everything I wanted to get away from I am now becoming. Stayloose
This trip started in the summer of 2005 with the idea to cycle from the UK to South Africa. Now in Cairo and nine months into the trip peer pressure and the sad admittance that, yes I guess it could be fun, has resulted in me starting this blog. Its just ramblings of my thoughts, emotions and observations as I cycle along.
The idea of a long bike trip came from a late night conversation with a friend after returning from previous travels. I said "What should I do with my life," he replied, "Why don't you cycle to Cape Town." Obviously that idea stuck. Other influences are my love of the "Huckleberry Finn" idea of total escapism from society and simple living, which has filled my imagination since childhood. The reality of this idea I have found more difficult than I first thought. To escape from society is one thing but you can never escape from your own mind...
"The thing to remember when travelling is that the trail is the thing, not the end of the trail. Travel too fast and you will miss all that you were travelling for" Louis L'Amour
"As long as there is wilderness, I know there is a larger part of myself that I can always visit, vast tracks of territory lying dormant, craving exploration and providing sanctity." Douglas Coupland
"My hearts like an open book for the whole world to read." Vince Neil
Enjoy
Cairo. March '06
Travel Blog Posts
July 7th 2007
I pass through the border with my free visa stamped into my passport. I ride on. The countryside is busy. There’s plenty of villages and people about. Malawi is home to nearly fourteen million people and is just a faction of the size of Zambia. I realise that cycling here will be made easy with the availability of towns and villages to supply food and accommodation, but I know I’m going to miss the sheer nothingness of Zambia. I push on to Mchinji. Its only about ten or so kilometres away and I know Alice is there and I’m looking forward to seeing her and having some company. She’s the last mzungu I had a conversation with almost three weeks ago. I pull into town and find a hotel. It’s a massive sprawling concrete place. I ... read more
And to stand there, completely alone, is surely one of the most joyous things a person can ever do.
Published: September 23rd 2008Africa » Zambia
May 19th 2007
The three of us walk up the harbour pier towards immigration. It’s a relatively quiet pier and not the mad scrabble of passenger and porters I’d imagined. We go through immigration fairly quickly and sixty-five dollars buys me a two-month visa. Were just about to head out of the gate and into the street when an official points us to another building. I walk into the customs building and talk to the guy. He wants to search all our stuff. I tell him its difficult to unload my bike and bring all my bags in. I’m kind of expecting him to say not to worry and wish me on my way, but he doesn’t, he tells me to bring my stuff inside. I unload my bike and drag my bags in. Tom and Alice already have ... read more
May 7th 2007
“Do you have any Amms?” “Amms! Sorry I don’t understand” I reply. “Amms, Amms” “Oh arms” I realize what the customs guy is getting at. “No, I don’t have a gun” A say with a smile. He’s lets me pass and I bump down the dirt track and through the barrier. Crossing into Tanzania, I am surprised by the amount of people about. I’d thought the North-West of Tanzania really would be middle of nowhere. People shout ‘Jambo, Jambo’ (Hello) and its weird to be back somewhere at least slightly familiar. The road is in a bad way - its dirt and potholed but is following a ridge along the mountains which slopes gently down hill. I bump on and on through villages and past thousands of banana trees. Looking out to the west I can ... read more
April 9th 2007
The bus winds thought the mountains and I sit and stare. The border was easy and twenty dollars has bought me a three-day transit visa. The bus has collected a lot more passengers and is now full of singing Christians. I’m pinned against the window by the lady sitting next to me and her unbelievably large arse. The group is in full swing and the sound of voices is almost deafening. The girl sat opposite is very interested in me and keeps talking to me in French. I tell her several times I can’t speak French but she continues nonetheless and I look back blankly. She continues talking. One of her singing group comes over and asks if I speak English. “She wants you to give her two thousand francs as you are muzungu”. And ... read more
March 23rd 2007
I’m back in Rwanda, on my own and wonder whether this will lead to maybe a different perception. The dirt finishes at the border and I pass down the smooth asphalt road. I’ve crossed over to cycling on the right and tell myself that it’s pretty important thing to remember. The different perception is working, all I can see is the word “Genocide” written on every sign, board and poster. It seems that every five hundred meters there’s a sign for a church, there all written in French and I don’t understand it, but pick out the words genocide and reconciliation. I lot of the massacres during the genocide took place in churches. People fled to church’s hoping for safety. In some cases ministers and priests opened the door to the Interahamwe and thousands were ... read more
"Get your hand out of my pants" or "Tree Climbing Lions" or "I didn't see the Internally Displaced Person Camps"
Published: March 1st 2007Africa » Uganda
March 1st 2007
The girl has her hand up the back of my shirt. I ask her to remove it, and she does, but then she starts trying to stick her hand down the front of my trousers. I’m gob smacked, not embarrassed, shy, or even particularly uncomfortable, just gob smacked. “What the fuck are you doing?” I ask. I don’t say it in anger, just in amazement. Somehow she has managed to get her hand down the front of my trousers and is fumbling around for my dick. “Get your fucking hand out of my pants” I say as I pull her arm out. “Let’s see if you’re circumcised”. She’s resisting my efforts to pull her hand out. “That is something you will never know”. Her hand is out from my trousers but now up the back ... read more
January 25th 2007
Christmas had been cool and the girls great company. New Year had been the same over rated party it always is. One of the girls had been exceptionally good company. We go on well. Something felt comfortable about our situation. So as everyone assumed from our relationship that we had been together for years we joked about the fact we’d been together seven, eight, nine days. There’s certain comfortability about meeting someone aboard. Your both traveling so there’s no commitment. As you are both from distant lands you have no history or no past. The person you meet will take you for who you are now, not what you were five or ten years ago. Your friends aren’t around to enforce prejudged stereotypes about you onto your partner. Because of the lack of commitment there’s no ... read more
January 15th 2007
We walk across, the mini bus we were in seems to of disappeared - but we still haven’t paid - obviously the driver couldn’t be bothered with the two mzungu’s who were taking so much time at immigration. We hand over our thirty-five US dollars, request tourist visas and a very faint stamp is stuck in our passports stating eight days in the Democratic Republic of the Congo. I say something like “Shit, were actually in the Congo”. Our bus has driven off and we walk down the road. It looks very much the town on the Rwandan side. In my mind it should be all dense jungles and long rivers. I’d wished the border to be a dark brown river, to cross on a dug out canoe and enter a dense forest on the other ... read more
December 13th 2006
There’s a small river symbolizing - actually being the border. I wheel Harvey across the bridge and up the dirt track which leads through a large grassy area. The kids have already clocked me and shouts of muzungu are coming from their mouths. There’s a small concrete building the shape and size of a garage where a sign hangs saying immigration. I walk over. Its twenty meters off the road through the grassy verge. I wonder in. It’s empty. I walk out and have a look around. ‘Immigration officer? Any of you?” I ask the dozen or so kids staring at me. “Muzungu, muzungu”. Perhaps not. A man is walking across the grass and greats me with a handshake. The immigration officer. I’d had a horrible thought over the last few days. As much as my ... read more
November 20th 2006
It had been two and a half months of not cycling. That’s two and a half months of permanent company. Two and a half months of having breakfast with someone else. Having lunch with someone else. Having dinner with someone else. Asking people what there up to, and people asking me what I was up to. Now sat on a tree stump drinking my morning coffee I wondered what I was suppose to do alone. The body and mind quickly get used to company but take a lot longer to get use to solitude. I’d underestimated loneliness so much before I started this trip. Out of all the things I didn’t expect it was to be lonely. How I could have been so naive I just don’t know. But as I sit on my tree stump ... read more
Tot: 0.177s; Tpl: 0.007s; cc: 11; qc: 76; dbt: 0.0749s; 1; s:apollo w:www (50.28.60.10); sld: 2; ; mem: 6.8mb
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