Hard Core

Ever see "School of Rock"? If you haven't, you should. If you have, then you'll remember Jack Black's super-awesome song, with the following lyrics:

No you're not hard core
Unless you live hard core.

This is the theme song for this post.

After our Zanzibar adventures, I convinced Deb it'd be a fun idea to (a) spend two days traveling to the middle of nowhere in order to (b) take a 3 day, 2 night camping/hiking trip in the mountains. So after a ferry ride from Zanzibar to Dar es Salaam, then a bus trip from Dar to Kilombero, then a daladala (mini-bus) ride to Mang'ula, we arrived at Udzungwa Mountains National Park. We signed up for the hike, then went grocery shopping with the guy who'd guide us for the next three days. We stocked up on beans, rice, eggs, vegetables, tea, cooking oil, and enough other food to sustain four of us (Deb, our guide, our armed ranger, and me) for three days. (We had to buy all the groceries, which were relatively cheap. But park fees ($20/day per person, plus $30/day per person to camp, plus $10 a day each for the guide and the ranger) meant that "roughing it" was considerably more expensive than staying at a nice hotel, getting a massage, and eating gourmet meals. Deb's skepticism began to grow.) Luckily, we didn't have to carry water, because our trail followed a river the whole way (mmm, iodine tablets are tasty!).

Our first day, we hiked 13 kilometers (a little over 8 miles) -- uphill (an elevation gain of about 1500'), carrying all our things (tent, sleeping bags, clothes, and -- oh yes -- beans, rice, raw eggs, etc.). My bag weighed over 40 pounds, and Deb's wasn't far behind. We also had to walk an additional 2 kilometers (with our things) from our hotel to the park gate. Deb and I spent most of our six-hour hike just putting one foot in front of the other and trying to avoid the elephant dung all over the trail.

(This last comment is not further evidence that I am obsessed with poo. It is an essential detail, for it shows you, the reader, that we were surrounded by elephants. Now you may ask, "Why doesn't he just say, 'We were surrounded by elephants'?" Well, that's because we didn't actually see any elephants. But the people we saw coming out of the forest told us that, the previous day, the ranger actually had to fire his gun to scare away an elephant because the elephant was getting too close to them. So you see, my dung-filled prose has purpose and is not included for the sole purpose of making Zysmans giggle.)

We arrived at camp and unpacked. Of the 16 eggs we'd purchased, 11 made it intact. The other 5 showed how entropy works in the real world (luckily, the plastic bag holding the eggs kept most of the goo in one place). We set up our tent, then "bathed" in the river next to the campsite. (See Deb's post for more photos.)

It was chilly.

Deb reminded me that, for less money, we could be at the spa.

I told her she's hard core.

The hiking was pretty nice, but we saw almost no wildlife and we were exhausted from carrying all our things. We were sure the next day would be better, since we wouldn't have to carry our things.

Nope.

The next day was a day hike to the peak of one of the mountains -- somewhere around 8000 feet (we started somewhere around 3000 feet). We were told that the hike was 5km (3.1 miles) to the top, then back to the campsite.

Usually, Deb and I hike at around 2 miles an hour. But after 2 hours of hiking straight up, our guide informed us that we were still "very, very far" from the top.

Deb: "What's at the top?"

Guide: "A nice view."

Deb: "Is it that much different than the view we have right here?"

Guide: "No."

Both of us: "Well then, I think we've had about enough for today -- down we go!"

So we turned around and hiked back down. This actually took almost the same amount of time as hiking up -- hiking straight downhill is really, really difficult, and Deb and I were both incredibly sore.

End of day two: still no wildlife. Very sore legs. Cold river bathing. Beans and rice for dinner, PB&J for lunch.

Day three: we pack up camp and hike back, this time minus 20 pounds of food. Plus it's downhill. Plus it's sunny. Plus we finally see some wildlife: five different kinds of primates (including the Sanje Mangabey, found nowhere else in the world), brilliant butterflies, and the bizarre buffalo spider). We also stopped to swim in a waterfall pool. It was absolutely beautiful, and (at least for me) made the whole trip worthwhile.

Still, Deb says I have to pay. In India, she's going to make me do some three-day spiritual centering meditation workshop. Yikes.

We made it back to the hotel at around 3pm, utterly exhausted and hungry. But our next destination was Moshi (at the base of Mt. Kilimanjaro), and Moshi is very far from where we were, but we heard that if we made it to the next town over (about 15 miles away), we could get a bus very early the next morning that would take us directly to Moshi.

We ate, packed up our things (we'd left a bunch of our stuff at the hotel), and tried to find a daladala to take us from Mang'ula to Kilombero (the next town over). We went out to the road and sat down. An hour passed, and only one very full daladala went by (luckily, we were entertained by yellow baboons in the trees and a very chatty lady who wanted to be Deb's friend).

At about 5pm, along came a lorry -- a large truck (maybe 20' long in back, about 12' tall), open in the back, carrying a whole lot of cargo and about a dozen men. We decided to get in -- Deb and her chatty friend in the cab, me in the back. To get in the back, I had to climb up the side of the lorry -- luckily, the driver waited until I was most of the way up the side before driving off.

The lorry, as I quickly discovered, was carrying several hundred cow hides, along with the aforementioned dozen men -- none of whom spoke English, and none of whom seemed willing to recognize that I didn't speak Swahili (just like in America: if someone doesn't seem to understand your language, just speak more slowly and louder, and they'll be sure to get it...).

I made friends in the back by showing everyone our digital camera -- these are very novel little gadgets here, and people love having their pictures taken and seeing the results immediately.

That was fun until the batteries ran out, about five minutes later.

Then my new friends tried talking to me, telling me that Osama Bin Laden lives in the Udzungwa Mountains.

Then my new friends said something in Swahili, and I didn't understand, but they pointed towards the front of the truck. I was standing in the back, and I turned around just in time to see some tree branches dangerously close to my face. I ducked.

Did I mention that we were only going 15 miles? Yeah, well, lorries don't go that fast. We finally made it about 2 hours later. Not exaggerating: 2 hours. Deb and I stumbled into a guest house, dirty, exhausted, and prepared for an all-day bus ride the next day.

But wait, there's more.

We went to go buy bus tickets. The direct bus, however, was sold out. So we bought tickets for 6:00 a.m. for a town several hours down the road, where we could get a bus to Moshi.

We went back to the guest house, took cold showers, and went to sleep.

We got on our 6 a.m. bus no problem. The first few hours, we drove through Mikumi National Park. Lots of giraffes and zebra (and various gazelle-like things, collectively referred to as "meat" or "prey" by Deborah and me) by the side of the road.

As we're admiring the wildlife, half-asleep, the driver slams on the brakes and swerves off the road. Why? Because we almost hit a giraffe.

We carry on.

We make it to our first stop and buy tickets for Moshi from "SuperFeo"; Deb and I giggle. (For those of you who didn't take Spanish in high school, "feo" means "ugly.")

The ticket agent points us in the general direction of about 100 buses, all painted various shades of every-color-there-is. We try to find the correct bus, and a group of men tells us to get on one of them. This bus, of course, says neither "SuperFeo" nor "Moshi." We start talking to a woman who speaks some English, who explains to us that this bus is not going where we want it to go. We get our bags and get off the bus, which severely confuses the men who told us to get on in the first place. They tell us to get back on, and since the bus is leaving, we do. We're then told (in Swahili, of course), that we're on the correct bus, but we have to change again. Okay, no problem. Deb and I settle into our seats and enjoy our breakfast (all of which could be purchased out the bus window -- 4 hardboiled eggs (60 cents), two packages of roasted cashews (80 cents), an orange that's been cut open (8 cents), and some bananas (8 cents for a small bunch)).

Two hours later, we're instructed to get off the bus by Dennis, our new friend from the bus company. A moment later, another bus pulls up, and Dennis tells us to get on that bus. He gives us his cell phone number in case we have any problems. And no, he doesn't speak any English. But here's what he had tried to explain to us: the third bus -- the one we'd just gotten on -- was the "Islam" bus comany. Although we'd purchased tickets with "SuperFeo," "SuperFeo" is actually owned by "Hood," which is pronounced "who-dee." Hood and Islam are affiliated with each other as well.

Deb and I thought that Dennis was trying to have a religious discussion with us, telling us that Jews and Muslims share the same past. We are trying to mime this in broken English and Swahili. Instead, he was trying to tell us that Hood and Islam are the same bus company and that we should get on the damn bus.

We arrived in Moshi at 5pm -- 11 hours on 3 different buses. We then did what anyone else would've done: took a cold shower and went for pizza.