Land of the half built house

That was going to be the title of the post I wrote about our brief visit to Tanzania. It's now been half a year since I was due to write, and I thought about writing five separate posts, but the title still seems relevant and stringing it together may be long but hopefully illustrate better the ride we had. So, I left off with my impressions of new york, what a world away, how little did I then appreciate both the adventure at hand and the comfort of life at home.

Leaving New York

A 10:30am flight required an 8am airport arrival with an allowance of one hour to get public transport. At 7:50 we were still running through the streets of lower Manhattan with our packs on trying to find an open subway station, eventually finding one that was not the express train we had anticipated. To our great relief everything went as clockwork from then on and we checked in with about 20 minutes to spare, although we were put in separate seats for the flight to Dubai and the next one to Nairobi. Perhaps not such a bad thing as it meant I could inflict my passive aggressive arm rest battles on someone other than Heather. 24 hours after leaving the USA we landed in familiar territory - Africa.

Back to Africa

The apprehension about returning to the place that has dominated our dreams and nightmares for so long was washed away with my first lung full of African air in Nairobi. Just as I had tried to inhale Africa when last departed, I now felt it again washing through my body as the familiar smells and sounds rang like an alarm clock to my senses. As always however, the senses quickly attune to more immediate matters of transport, accommodation and food. An overnight in Nairobi was only interrupted slightly by our hotel room being flooded by a faulty toilet, wet socks the only consequence. A seven hour bus ride on corrugated dusty roads past countless roofless, doorless buildings confirmed that half building a house hadn't gone out of fashion in our absence. Finally the bus deposited us in Arusha and we took a deep breath, ready to be hit by whatever emotions would roll over us like a tsunami. We were met by the current manager Sarah and that infinitely wise and gentle man - Mudi. I could easily recount every moment of our time there as I tried in 3 days to soak in as much as I could while watching old habits re-emerge that I forgot I had learnt - like saying "pole" to almost anyone for almost anything. I desperately wished my
Swahili could resurface enough to chat comfortably with the men, it was okay but never as natural and easy as it used to be. The progress of Kesho Leo was a great thrill, to see the building lived in and everyone so happy and healthy was a relief and a joy. I also spent a lot of time thinking about Darren and dad. It was again with sadness that we left again, and we didn't get to say goodbye to Aggie. Mudi dropped us at the bus station and I swore again that I would be back - for longer next time.

The Turkish Gambit

Nine hours at Nairobi airport, five hours to Dubai, six hours in Dubai, five hours to Istanbul. At 5pm we staggered past the blue mosque and Haghia Sophia and into the arms of mum, Gini, Scott, christian, Mel, and Henry. For three days and nights we moved as a unit around Istanbul, exploring for the first timers and reminiscing for the returned. We spent Rob's anniversary together and sprinkled some of his ashes into the Bosphorus - thinking how he would have loved to have been there with us and us to have him there. The next afternoon the boys said farewell to their girls and left into a speeding taxi to the airport, bound for the unknown lands of Kyrgyzstan and beyond.

Kyrgyz shashlyk and the Chon-Kemin

Scott, Christian and I could between us speak one or two words of Russian and Kyrgyz. So when customs and immigration took an eternity, my fishing rod was lost and our driver didn't arrive we were feeling a touch out of our depth - which of course is one of the primary goals of travel. The taxi ride from the airport revealed that half building a house was not unique to Africa but also had caught on central asia. After making our way to the guest house we collapsed to sleep for a couple of hours before setting out to explore Bishkek in the scorching heat. We then slept and explored again in the evening, eagerly anticipating our fishing and horse riding tour due to commence the following morning. Luckily, my fishing rod was delivered by Turkish air at the same time that our guide arrived to take us into the Chon- Kemin valley for a week of fishing and horse riding. The location for our first night camping was determined more by the disappearance of the sun and an uncrossable river than by it's merits. It was however as good as any spot in the valley. Stunning views up and down the valley to snow capped peaks, gushing streams and Kyrgyz horsemen by their yurts were ubiquitous. For two days we stayed there, enhancing our fire building skills and exploring the slopes above our camp. It had been patently obvious from the start that no living organism was currently inhabiting the river, but we still kept our lures in the water for a respectable period of time, perhaps more for the zen nature of fishing in remote locations. No need to explain that no fish were harmed or seen during the course of the trip.

The horses arrived late on day three and we saddled up early the next morning, the first challenge was to cross the uncrossable (by car) river. Which, when we had no idea of the ability of a horse to maintain footing in a roaring stream, was a minor baptism of fire. The next challenge came when the horses had to cross a steep rocky slope, just after it had rained. The kind of purchase a big hard hoof gets on a slippery jagged rock had me ready leap from the saddle in the event the horse tumbled down the slope, but the old boy did it easily. And that was just the beginning. Six hours of riding later we arrived at the top of the valley - a glacier and bright blue glacier-fed lake at 3000m altitude. A 30 minute hike to the lake saw us frozen by the icy wind and then drenched on the return trip. Other items of clothing were also damp from rain earlier in the day, so we carefully hung some essential items of clothing in an attempt to dry them overnight. After a chilly night (understatement) of wearing every piece of dry clothing in my bag, we woke to find the wet essentials, the wet non-essentials and just about anything else containing moisture, such as the tent, was frozen stiff. But to our relief there wasn't a cloud in the sky - so the thawing and partial drying process happened quickly in the hour we had to pack up camp, saddle up and start out through the 4000m Aksu Pass through the southern side of the valley to Lake Issyk-Kul. But after some slipping and sliding by the horses and the lack of a discernable trail, the guide and horse handler deemed the pass 'closed'. Which meant a 50km return ride almost to where we had started the previous day and attempt the other 3600m pass through to Issyk-Kul.

Other than Christian's horse having a roll in a patch of dirt - while he was still on it - the ride back to the foot of the alternative pass was uneventful. Sore bottoms, legs, and lower backs among the ailments besetting our team. We set up camp, building the necessary fire in preparation for another cold night ahead in the shadows of our narrow valley. Once more the next morning greeted us with a crispy cold tent, socks and anything else exposed to frigid night air. We watched the sun slowly creep down the other side of the valley and eventually across the river to our camp where it immediately began warming our chilly bones. Shortly afterwards we mounted our trusty steeds and began the winding ascent through the pass.

Wherever the guide deemed it possible he skipped the winding road and pointed his horse directly up the steep scree, we of course had to follow - by now confident in the ability of our horses to do anything.

As we neared the top the road narrowed as a result of melted snow refreezing as icy slopes across the road - leaving barely a hoof-width of stable ground above the now dizzyingly steep tumble over a thousand metres to the bottom. At times the horses were forces to walk on the ice - again I contemplated the kind of grip a hoof gets on solid ice - probably the same as an ice skate I suspected. But as each horse crossed the perilous sections of slope we again grew more confident in the knowledge of the guide and competency of the horses.

Then, the guide decided to take a diagonal short cut up a snow-covered section of ice. The horse-handler and the pack horse he was leading went first. After five or six metres of seemingly easy climb the hooves of the handler's horse gave way and he came crashing to the ground in a flurry of equine panic, the horses slide - careering directly towards Christian and his horse - fortunately ended quickly and the two horses and handler gingerly retraced their steps to the relative safety of the road. Our three hearts were now beating loudly, perhaps cursing under our breaths at what we still might have to attempt as the guide seemed insistent it was possible. However, the handler prevailed and - after some more fancy footwork from the horses - we found a short cut that the horses could handle and within 20 minutes we were crossing the crest of the range at nearly 4000m altitude and looking through another valley to Issyk-kul and the Tien-Shan border range with China.

The downward ride was certainly more painful - jolting for hours - but no less nerve wracking as we constantly had to force our tiring horses down steep slippery short cuts between road sections. After a few hours more of riding we dismounted, loaded ourselves up and trekked most of the way down the final 1000m metres of descent in the scorching sun. But finally arriving at the shores of Issyk-kul for a swim in the cool waters of this crystal clear titanic freshwater lake.

On arrival at our guesthouse in Bishkek the following evening we immediately set off for a russian - or kyrgyz as it turned out - Banya. A unique experience it was to disrobe with 30-ish other kyrgyz men and rotate between sauna and cooling pool - with the obligatory birch leaf beating whilst sweating in the sauna. The teamwork in this birch leaf ritual was an eye-opener, and then eye-diverter as the bunch of leaves began to be used more sensually.

That evening we bade farewell to Scott as he left for his flight back to Istanbul to meet up with Gini and Heather. The next day Christian and I negotiated our way to Naryn in the south-west of Kyrgyzstan, for one night before our Torugart border crossing - described as the most unpredictable border crossing in China or Asia or the world, or whatever - it's supposed to be unpredictable.

I'll leave it here for now. And will return to a description of the final two weeks in China with Christian at a later date.