Official Notice: The photos in this post were edited from the back seat of a Volkswagen in sunny South Africa. The management apologizes for any noticeable deterioration in quality.
How do you make important decisions when you get to a new city? Your happiness, safety and account balance are at stake: flip a coin!
Chance-ordained tequilas in hand, we fell into conversation with a local named Nuru and his Belgian friend. They somehow talked us into an early morning rainforest hike to a 87-meter-tall waterfall.
The next day found us with clear heads and fuzzy plans (or was it the other way around?) when we rose to meet Nuru at 0700. Hopefully we would finally spot Kilimanjaro looming over us as we ascended into the mountain forest.
The cold morning air was dense with fog and moisture, mocking our hopes and dreams and waterproof layers.
We were pleased to find the trail itself clear and well-defined, though, and we followed Nuru gamely into the rainforest.
Not only was it hard to see very far, it was also very cold. I quickly found my mind wandering back to our warm Kilimanjaro Grand Hotel room and how well a pot of hot coffee would go down at that exact moment.
But this wasn’t just any hike, it was a gorgeous walk through a bonafide rainforest to a giant waterfall. We carried forward like men with a mission!
As we marched along, the fog seemed to grow thicker, the air heavy with moisture.
To nobody’s surprise at all, it began to rain. Thankfully, we were well-prepared with waterproof outer layers!
We had both ended up purchasing a similar set of Keen hiking boots in England that seemed pretty comfortable and reasonably water-resistant. We discovered on this fateful day that they also have incredibly poor traction.
It went on like this, slipping and sliding up and down hills along the muddy track of doom, until a certain rise like every other gave way to a sight like no other so far.
We got as close as we could, and very wet for our trouble.
Properly wet, it was time to begin the return journey.
The rain and fog began to clear up, but the muddy trail wasn’t going down without a fight.
The downhills were treacherous, but the uphill sections were straight-up comical.
We felt like monkeys, flinging ourselves from tree to tree up the slick trail.
Once out, we boarded a bus to the hot springs where we could perhaps thaw our frosted limbs. It was a surprisingly and ironically cold two-hour drive.
Finally at the hot springs, we had a quick packed lunch and Dave jumped in for a swim. I, on the other hand, was paradoxically too cold.
Finally back at the hotel, we took our waterproof outers into the showers with us to try to rinse all the mud off. This is the travel equivalent of dumping your stuff in your parents’ laundry room.
The next morning, we headed to the bus stand to join our coach to Tabora. It was too foggy to see Kilimanjaro.
They told us our bus had been cancelled and we’d been moved to different one. We immediately smelled a scam, but they showed us new tickets made out with all the info we’d given when booking the first bus. It was also 0530 in the damn morning, so we went with it.
The new bus was definitely some sort of express coach: it left right on time and drove aggressively. It didn’t stop at all, even for a toilet break, for the first 7 hours.
This first stop doubled as a lunch stop. We found a stand selling chicken and chips, which on receipt turned out to be a soggy mess.
As soon as we started eating our unappetizing meals the bus started to roll away. We jumped up and chased the bus down, barely catching it before it left the lot.
The coach arrived in Tabora around 1900, meaning it did the whole drive in a very respectable 13 hours. We headed out to find a hotel, and were surprised when our first option was so inexpensive we each could get our own room for once!
Next time: the train through the grain is anything but plain!
Dave says: “Ignore that, ignore that, it was nothing”
Great stuff. Love the details. Keep dry.