The reason some people get up in the morning… wine tours!

The place I have been most looking forward to returning to on this trip was Stellenbosch; one of the most picture postcard perfect towns I have ever been to. Its shady streets lined with elegant white washed Cape Dutch houses, pavement cafes filled with students and tourists, beautiful setting at the foot of jagged mountain ranges and lovely weather all help to make it the perfect place to indulge in a few (or many!) glasses of its most famous export – wine.

We spent 3 days in the Stellenbosch area and visited 12 wineries so I thought I’d note down some of our favourites (and the ones we didn’t think much of) for those that are interested.

Bergkelder – the first we visited and I’m so glad we did. Not only did we get a great history lesson in how the South African wine industry started and developed, we had a fantastic tour from a man whose grandfather was credited with reviving the wine industry after apartheid. He was so excited about the wine that our tour took half an hour longer than it should have done! The Fleur de Cap wine that we tasted was pretty good too.

Brampton – this was not a vineyard but a funky wine studio right in the heart of town. We actually had a couple of glasses here on arrival in Stellenbosch before realising that the manager was the brother of a friend and so returned to do a proper tasting. The tasting was excellent (and included cheese and chocolate!) and we ended up buying a box of what is very drinkable and affordable wine.

Stark Conde – this was the most beautiful location for drinking wine. Set in a valley surrounded by wooded mountains on an island in the middle of a lake it could not have been a more perfect place to while away an hour.  They also did a couple of Pinot Noirs which were very tasty and inevitably led to the credit card coming out.

Those that we didn’t like so much were Beyerskloof and Knorhoek. The first was a very impersonal tasting experience and the wines were not at all memorable. The second, although it had a lovely setting in flowery meadows, had the most unenthusiastic girl in charge any of us had ever met – we had to prompt her each time to tell us anything about the wine and I don’t think she smiled once while we were there. We couldn’t wait to get out of there!

Great South African wine does not only come from Stellenbosch. Our favourite wine that we came across by chance whilst eating ostrich in Oudtshoorn was a Syrah from a small producer called Joubert-Tradauw.

Naturally, we tasted many more than this but these were the stand out ones and we thought we’d let you know about them just in case on day you are browsing the shelves of Majestic and you come across any of the above.

Currently sitting on our balcony overlooking the surf at J-Bay having spent the day watching both humans and dolphins surf the incredible Supertubes break… and spending too much money at the numerous surf outlet stores. We will endeavour to update you all on Cape Town and beyond when we can pry ourselves away from living the dream!

Click here to see some civilised photos of the wine tours

 

So, where exactly did we drive?

Over the past couple of weeks I have been getting my head around the GPS co-ordinates that Nev collected (and I presume is still collecting) and I have managed to load them into Google; not exactly as I wanted but they are in there nonetheless.

For some reason Google can’t handle all of the information in one map, so I have broken the maps down by month and made them available through a new menu item (Actual Tracks) on the blog. I suspect that once you browse to the maps you will understand what I am on about; I also suspect that if you are a massive map geek like me you will probably waste hours looking at the route.

Hope you all enjoy perusing the maps even half as much as I have.

Note: for some reason the image that is on the Actual Tracks page sometimes does not display; if this happens just CTRL+F5 and it should do the trick.

Actual Camping Locations #1

I am currently sitting at the back of a bus heading for Knysna from Tsitsikamma on South Africa’s famed Garden Route with a bit of spare time so thought I would flick through a post to let you all know that I have added a new map to the blog.

Nev (our ever reliable driver) has been recording most of the driving that he has been doing in Truck, as well as where we have pitched our tents via the Garmin that sits on Truck’s dash. He has allowed me (the resident computer geek) to download this information and make it available via our blog (and Google maps).

You can view most of the locations where we have camped by either clicking here, or browsing to the blog and selecting the “Campsites” menu item. When browsing to the page you can click on the “View Larger Map” link below the map and it will take you to Google, where, as per usual you will be able to zoom in (and out) and all that sort of stuff.

Please note that I only have data as far south as Kumba in Cameroon at this stage and only the camping locations can be made available in an easy to use manner. The reason for this is two fold; one, Nev has not yet downloaded the information south of Kumba, and two, if I upload all of the points that make up exactly where we have driven Google seems to throw a bit of a wobbly… I am looking into this and hope to have some sort of solution before the end of the century.

Hope you enjoy seeing where we have been lucky enough to stay, play, drink, cook and basically live the dream.

More campsite locations should be available in the not too distant future.

Southern Africa in brief

The two weeks that we spent in South Africa were an unexpected holiday from the rigours of being on the truck day in and day out, although we both would have preferred to complete the entire west coast journey. This said, if there is any country in the world that you could have an unexpected holiday in it would be South Africa.

Having already spent a considerable amount of time in South Africa we decided to mainly catch up with friends, take in some rugby and drink too much wine; whatever else came about would be a bonus as we are spending the best part of two months here very shortly. Cathcing up with some of the London crew was excellent, although numerous unwanted hangovers did ensue… but we are over those now so all good.

Apart from binging on all things good in life (rugby, food and wine) we spent an incredible week in the northern and central Drakensburg mountains. This is an area of the country that neither of us had ever visited and it really is quite spectacular with the two highlights being Cathederal Peak and Royal Natal National Park. Anyone who has any interest in visiting South Africa and enjoys hiking can not miss this area of the world; I know that this is not very patriotic but the hiking is better than any I have done in NZ (north island)! The other highlight was the much hyped Apartheid Museum; words fail to describe how incredible I found this place. I have been incredibly fortunate to have visited some of the worlds most magnificent museums; this now sits firmly at the top of the list for me and we will be returning in May to give it the time that it truly deserves… quite simply; unmissable!

As we trundle across the Namibian desert from Swakopmund to Windhoek I find myself thinking back to our brief time in South Africa and although the catching up, over indulging, hiking and museum were truly wonderful it is something else that sticks in my mind. Having visited South Africa now on four occasions it is quite evident to see that the football world cup has changed the country in a way that unless you have seen it you will not believe it. The hosting of the world cup probably rivals even what winning the 1995 RWC did for the country. Jo’burg and Durban have a fresh exciting feel to them that they did not have on my last visits; there is a better vibe here now, a safer vibe, the streets are cleaner, the smiles wider and the hope for the future greater. I wait with baited breathe to see if the vibe has impacted the mother city of Cape Town when we arrive in just over a week.

If you are reading this and you know who Sepp Blatter is you probably don’t have too much time for him, however, having seen the positive results that hosting the world cup in South Africa has had I am all for the decisions he has made.

Honestly can’t wait to get back to South Africa now.

Click here for some photos of South Africa

Lesotho, Namibia photos can be see by clicking the respective names.

Etosha National Park

Having previously visited Etosha in 2007 for two evenings we were chomping at the bit to get back there and take in everything that makes this our favourite game reserve. Assuming that you have read my previous post Good Morning Okaukuejo you will know that it did not disappoint, what you don’t already know is that, until that morning encounter with the pride of lions, our favourite wildlife experience had occured the day before!

From first hand experience I know that it is luck of the draw (or a ridiculous amount of money) that enables one to see natures finest creatures in their natural habitat. It is for this reason that I never take anything for granted when game driving and am continuously excited by what I see.  Although there were no elephants to speak of (one wallowing in the distance doesn’t really count), no cheetahs and no leopards we did get to see a ridiculous amount of other wildlife. On our day drive from Namutoni to Okaukuejo we encountered countless zebra, springbok, impala, giraffe, wildebeest (blue), jackal, butterflies, eagles, vultures…. the list could go on and on. Aside from these incredible creatures we got to see numerous kudu, oryx (my favourite antelope), white rhino, four separate lions (three males, one female) and the incredibly elusive black rhino.

The black rhino is one of the most difficult creatures to catch a glimpse of, let alone experience a very close encounter with (especially outside of NE Swaziland), but somehow the game reserve gods were on our side and this was the most incredible wildlife experience we had ever had (until the following morning with the lions!)

On driving through the throngs of antelope, another car pulled up to us and the driver informed Nev and Kristy that there was a black rhino grazing on the side of the road about 10 minutes from where we were. Of course 10 minutes in a normal vehicle amounts to roughly 20 minutes in truck; nontheless Nev turned her around and off we trundled across the flat desert in what we thought would be a vain attempt to spot one of natures most magnificent creatures.

Arriving at the location we were pleasantly surprised to see that the black rhino had not disappeared, although it was around 20 metres from the side of the track emersed in the undergrowth. It is incredible that a creature the size of a rhino (and elephant for that matter) finds it so easy to make themselves invisible… anyway; it was not long until the rhino looked up and found 12 of us peering at it from the truck! I have had very close encounters with white rhino before but they are nowhere near as scatty (or aggresive) as a black rhino, so what happened next was, in my opinion, quite special. The rhino looked up from its grazing and strolled towards us still munching away on the undergrowth; at one point we all actually believed it was going to have a go at the truck. It proceeded to cross the road just metres from us, where it turned again to check us out, have a munch on some more unsuspecting plants and then strolled straight back across the road to its original location. All of this less than 10 metres from us. The rhino is such an incredible creature and so vividly associated with Africa it was a wonderful pleasure to be so close and look it in the eye… it is something that I will never forget.

Currently in Swakopmund on the Namibian coast relaxing whilst everyone else enjoys the adrenaline activities here (I did them all in ’07); I suspect that it wont be long until I rip the lid off of a Hunters Dry and carve my steak knife into a succulent piece of oryx… gotta love this country!

Click here for some of our Etosha photos.

Good Morning Okaukuejo

Startled; I’m wide awake, this is not a totally unusual experience sleeping in a tent in Africa, but at 3:15 in the morning I am on guard. This is a noise I have not heard yet on this trip in Africa but it is a noise that is familiar. I rack my brain and realise that the last time I heard this was  in the same campground five years ago. The noise I am talking about is the sound of a lion coughing! Five years ago I could not have been more petrified, this time I roll over and go back to sleep knowing that there is nothing we can do.

Again; wide awake, however this time it is due to excitement; it is 4:45 and I am fixing the head torch, openig the tent, wrapping myself in our blanket from Chefchaouen and off at a brisk pace to the watering hole. We are staying at the Okaukuejo rest camp in the Etosha National Park and with every rest camp comes a flood lit watering hole. Apart from Shaun and Karen, the watering hole is devoid of people watching what is to become one of the finest wildlife experiences of my life. Bar the ever present jackal, the watering hole is also apparently devoid of wildlife.

On making a beeline for Shaun and Karen sitting in the small grandstand we notice the king of all beasts walking towards us at a range of less than 100 metres. We know the chances of the lion seeing us, wanting to eat us and even getting up the protective wires are slim… it doesn’t stop us thinking that maybe we should just run and hide! As we sit down beside Shaun and Karen we point out the lion and suddenly six more brush the cover of darkness aside and saunter into view (four lionesses and two cubs). The male lion and one female companion walk down to the edge of the watering hole where the male starts to quench his thurst with long, loud slurps whilst the female keeps guard; this lasts the best part of five minutes. Spellbound by what we are seeing and hearing we keep switching view from the male at the watering hole to the five left behind. Every now and again you can distinctly hear the crunching of bones and it would appear that the pride have made a kill and are getting their fill, so close that we can almost taste it.

Having had his fill of water he gracefuly walks back to his pride; slightly obscured now by brush he lays down to rest; but rest is always short lived in Africa. No sooner had he laid his weary body down than another male in close proximity starts coughing and then roaring; the hairs on the back of my neck are standing tall and goose bumps have enveloped my arms in the cool African morning. It is one thing to see this from the comfort of a car but to see it from our vantage point is something beyond words… particularly when our lion decides to make his presence known to the unseen male. With a few brief coughs and a couple of gentle attempts at roaring he awakens the beast within himself and within his pride and the sound is the most incredible thing I have heard… Five lions roaring, putting down a marker that this is their patch and wont be easily evicted… what a moment!

All before 6AM!

Oh well, off to setup the camp kitchen, light the fire, boil the kettle, pack away the tent and prepare for a 7AM departure for another morning of games driving and essentially just living the dream.

Central Africa… just not enough time :(

I am lying awake at ridiculous o’clock in the town of Tsumeb (pronounced Sue-meb) just west of Etosha national park in northern Namibia. Having already had the pleasure of visiting this truly incredible park I am not too sure if it is the excitement that has woken me or the fact that it is the first night in nearly three weeks that I have slept on the ground (the body gets used to sleeping in beds very quickly and going back to the ground is a bit of a shock). Lying here, I am sorting through some photos and reflecting on our time in Central Africa.

Unfortunately for Katie, myself, and half a dozen others our journey through Central Africa was cut short at Pointe-Noire by the Angolan embassy; thus we did not spend anywhere enough time in the region, which could not be more disappointing. The other disappointing thing was that we did not get to see the two great cities of Brazzaville and Kinshasa, or the legendary Congo river… some of the main reasons for travelling this route!

According to guide books, political commentators or just about anyone; Central Africa (on the west coast at least) starts at the border of Cameroon and Gabon. Having reviewed our photos and looked back on our experiences, in our opinion, Central Africa in fact starts somewhere south-west of Abuja in Nigeria and extends at least to the DRC-Angolan border. This observation is based on both the dramatic (and almost immediate) change in vegetation and the peoples who reside here.

On passing through this wonderful region it is clear that the rainforest that blankets the landscape is the predominant feature. The words of Joseph Conrad , Henry Morton Stanley and Tim Butcher have really been brought to life for us now and we both feel incredibly fortunate to have experienced this. The density of the rainforest and the ferocity of the rivers that run like arteries through it provide vivid images of how it is virtually impossible to live here; more a matter of survival; yet people go about their daily business with a joy that we have not seen since Burkina Faso. It is a credit to those who toil to survive here that roads, towns, villages, cities, football grounds and schools exist in one state or another at all! An interesting example of the struggle to keep the jungle at bay and life moving forward happened to us in the Afi Mountains (that straddle the border of Nigeria and Cameroon). We set up camp in a purpose built clearing in the jungle where we resided for roughly 36 hours whilst visiting the endangered Drill Monkeys. On packing up the campsite at the end of our stay, we discovered that our tent had been taken prisoner by a single vine, snaking its way up one of the tent pegs… this was in almost no time at all, highlighting the perseverance required to survive in this extreme climate.

Katie and I thoroughly enjoyed our time here even with the oppressive heat and humidity, which made it almost impossible to get comfortable. This is definitely an area of the world that I will be coming back to at some point to explore some more… hopefully sooner rather than later.

Click here for the few photos we took of the region.

Cameroon

Ever since Roger Milla scored and danced at Italia ’90 Cameroon has held a mystical hold over my travel plans. It was fitting then that on the first night there we spent it in a border town drinking far too much and taking in the finale of the Africa Cup of Nations, which to our great relief ended in Zambia triumphing over a team led by the continent’s most petulant idiot (that would be Didier Drogba if you needed clarification). Although this was a great way to start a country there was much trepidation in the sub-conscious over the state of the worst road in the west that we had to attack the next morning.

With hangovers firmly in place it was time to hit the road from Ekok to Mamfi in the south-west province of Cameroon; a most infamous road in overlanding circles for the indescribable dire state of it. I did not believe the stories that I had been told at a bar in Eccebat (Turkey) in 2005 and really had to see it for myself (another genuine reason for the madness of the West African Trans)

. Prior to attempting the road there was an incredible amount of bravado in hoping that we would repeat the Oasis trip of 2009 when they were stuck for a week in one bog hole; in hindsight the entire truck was probably incredibly happy to traverse with no discernible incident. The one thing that I did take away from the journey to Mamfi was the fact that a certain owner from a certain overlanding company had certainly not been “bigging up” a story in the Boomerang Bar in Eccebat; some of the dried out bog holes came at least eight feet up the side of the truck! Emptying them before entering would have been soul destroying and the unrelenting heat and humidity would have broken even the hardiest person.

With the road to Mamfi firmly behind us we could look forward to a country that offered so much… and certainly did not fail to deliver! The deliveries came thick and fast like a raging Michael Holding; I’m not even sure where to start, but here goes anyway…

Incredible beaches; Best boulangerie in all the world; craziest man ever to abuse the truck (and only man ever to be abused back); Best spit-roasted pig(let)s in three years of driving Africa according to Nev; Intimidating pygmies (oxymoron I know, but nonetheless it makes the list); Most amazing lunch time swimming hole; Finest man ever to represent Britain abroad; Street meat at 0900, street meat at midnight, street meat at 0230; Burgers rivaling GBK; Masturbating primate (OK; so this was in Nigeria but definitely worth a mention); Most outrageous camp owner EVER; Bar in no-man’s land; Anglo-Franco banter; Verdant rain-forest penetrated by wild rivers; 100’s club (thanks Shaun; incredible effort); Haka practice with school children; Under-educated, educated, over-educated, what’s education?!?!; Truck party; and finally, the end of the pedantic whinging!

There is absolutely no way that I can bring myself to write about all that was incredible (and disturbing) about this wonderful country; so I am going to leave you with the story of the camp owner.

As Lisa does, she strikes up conversations with random people all over the continent (being bilingual probably helps) and Limbe was no different. On returning from the arduous, knee destroying, calf tightening heights of Mount Cameroon she found herself in deep conversation with the editor-in-chief of some good-to-do monthly publication in Cameroon (as well as Nigeria and other West Africa countries). By the end of this conversation he was planning a spread on our journey following his own journey to the top of Mount Cameroon. The date was set, the location was set and all we had to do was meet the man (and his underlings) in Yaoundé.

On arriving in Yaoundé we pulled into the pleasantly described Presbyterian Guest House (pleasantly described in various travel publications) to find a lush lawn leading to a gothic style mini-mansion where upgrades were available (only to singles and married couples), flush toilets were also available (only for #2’s), electricity (only until 2200… enforced with an iron fist); it was also where the lady of the manor resided. To our great surprise there was also a 40 foot shipping container nestled to one side of the vast lawn, which had been converted into the most useful of all things – a bar!

With consideration to where we were staying; the first thing that raised eyebrows at the campground (apart from the aforementioned) was the enormous amount of alcohol being consumed out of this 40 foot container. People were flocking there from who knows where by the time we had set up our tents, put up the rain cover off of the truck and started the fire. Believe me, we are all up for a good bar at a campsite, but it seemed quite strange given the rules of the iron fisted lady. What was more astounding was the very distinct smell of dope emanating from the container; on entering this den to purchase our evening beer it was more astounding to see not only the size of the joints being smoked but the fact that almost everyone was partaking, including the barman who is obviously employed by the iron fisted lady.

Thankfully the evening passed without incident, which considering how much was being consumed by the regulars who flocked to the den is a surprise (intimidating Pygmies comes to mind).

Yaoundé is an incredible place (one of my favourite cities in West Africa) and the morning sunshine did not disappoint; highlighting the incredibly lush rainforest covered hills that the city was built on. The vast lawn and morning sunshine also provided the perfect setting for Ivy (our qualified truck Yoga instructor) to keep up her practice. All over the continent the locals have found this most fascinating, and it would appear the residents of the campsite did as well; peering from random windows in the mini-mansion at random intervals for sustained periods of time; clearly thinking that everyone at the campsite was oblivious to this strange behaviour!

The following morning the weather was not quite so kind and instead of the hills being doused in glorious sunshine they were being made greener by the incredible bursts of rain that had come in the night. This led Ivy into the confines of the mini-mansion to find a secluded spot (which she did) to practice her Yoga. Less than five minutes after finding this secluded spot she was back sheltering under the rain cover attached to the truck; where the journalist that Lisa had met (and his underlings) were also gathered. Poor Ivy was furious and went into great detail how the lady of the house had barged in and told her that “Yoga was a pagan activity and was not welcome in the house of god” (although as you will remember drinking copious amounts of booze by local residents and smoking enormous joints seems to be fine). I don’t actually think it was the comments that made Ivy and the rest of us furious but the way that it was approached… anyway, that was the iron fisted ladies prerogative… but it was to get so much better…

In the meantime Lisa had introduced the journalist to some of us and he was straight to work interviewing us with well-constructed questions trying to prise as much information out as to “why on earth you would give up the comforts of the west to travel in a truck, sleeping in tents for months on end etc…”. Of course we were all relishing the opportunity to tell him what a great time we were having! When it came to Shaun (the bearded man from numerous stories and photos) the interview continued as it had for the rest of us; except for the flash of red out of the corner of my eye. The lady of the manor was charging towards the interviewer and interviewee with great gusto; at which point she reached in and confiscated the man’s dictaphone and stormed off ranting in some broken English. The man was dumbfounded and stood quite motionless (shocked) as to what had just happened. This is when it got really quite interesting…

After the initial shock, he thought that we had actually been mugged and took chase after the lady, catching her just as she was to enter the inner sanctum of her mini-mansion. At this point he reached for what was rightly his and in the furor that followed managed to help break his dictaphone. When this was achieved he grabbed the lady by the arm and went to turn her; then out of nowhere the silent Swiss inhabitant of the mini-mansion came at him with a crowbar! The crowbar missed and the lady made it into her house to grab an umbrella and again threaten the poor journalist… the police were then called to the premises to question the man about assaulting the iron fisted lady of the manor.

No harm came to the man; but some important dignitaries were summoned to help smooth things over. On leaving the campsite, which we were planning to do anyway the lady seemed to be completely devoid of recollection of her despicable behaviour; all in all a very surreal experience in an otherwise fairly laid back African capital.

Click here for some Cameroon photos… unfortunatley there are none of our favourite camp leader; we were too shocked to take photos and did not want to feel the wrath.

Shot

The dream is dead

The dream of driving the length of Africa on the west coast has died a miserable death. It was a slow and painful death that started in Lome around the middle of January, taking the best part of two months to come to fruition. The method of death was the lack of visa for Angola. Like the ever present threat of an African virus we were aware from the outset of the possibility that we may succumb to a heart breaking end but had hoped upon hope that we would be able to pass through unnoticed.

I’m not going to go into the details as this is certainly not the medium for such things, but we tried every embassy (and consulate) from Timbuktu to Pointe-Noire and were flatly refused entry; not only to the country but usually to these buildings as well! From experience we are now aware that having concurrent passports is the only way forward to achieve the dream down the west coast!

Of the 26 people that started the journey:

Two planned to leave in Accra; which was without question the worst day of the journey. The two Americans from Arizona could not have been a nicer couple and the news of them becoming engaged recently was met with shouts of joy and many beers from all that remained

Eight did not attempt the Angolan visa (in the case of one it was understandable as she would not have got it); the other seven clearly booked the wrong journey

Seven have concurrent passports so they are currently en-route; I take my hat off to them! Life is always about the journey, not the destination

The rest of us went to Pointe-Noire with the small glimmer of hope that we would get good news. We did not! I suspect we would have tried another route to head further south, but on meeting an independent overlander who had been waiting in Congo for four months we thought better of it.

Having resigned to the fact that we would not complete the west coast journey Katie and I booked a flight to Jo’burg with the intention of making the most of our time away from the truck… this is being achieved every day, and today is no exception (more just the rule)! I am reflecting on our failed attempts to get the visa from the comfort of our private terrace at the Amphitheatre Backpackers, which is nestled at the foot of the northern Drakensburg mountain range. There are no clouds in the sky to speak of from our terrace and what a wonderful view it is. The sight of the sun’s rays piercing the morning mist to light up the vast vertical walls of the Drakensburg range that then plateau off to the landlocked kingdom of Lesotho is something truly spectacular.

Our plan now is to spend another week here in South Africa. This time will be split between the Amphitheatre Backpackers here in the northern Drakensburg and the state of Gauteng, where we will almost certainly be taking in another Super XV game (having seen the Sharks v Reds on Saturday in Durban). Following this we are flying to Windhoek (from Jo’burg) to meet up with the truck to finish the journey! It would be a travesty not to arrive in Cape Town with the team that we have spent so many weird and wonderful experiences with!

On the dream front; Katie and I have decided to extend our stay in Africa until sometime in August when we are hoping to complete the north bound drive from Cape Town to Cairo. This will give us some satisfaction in completing the traverse of a continent overland*, not what we had set out to achieve but when circumstances are taken out your control you have to adapt, otherwise you will die wondering; not something either of us are prepared to do!

*Overland from Cape Town to Cairo for Katie and I will actually be achieved in two journeys; one that started in 2007 (Nairobi to Cape Town) and the second which will see us rejoin the truck in Zanzibar at the beginning of June to head north to Cairo. We are expecting this to be incredibly difficult, particularly northern Kenya and North Sudan, where we will be driving across the Nubian Desert at the height of summer… bring it on!

Better head off; it has just reached 7AM and the sun’s rays look to be heating the high veld just nicely so it is the perfect time to get out and get amongst a four hour hike in the foothills.

Don’t worry … we have not forgotten about Cameroon, Gabon or Congo and will be updating the blog accordingly; we just thought you would want to know where we are and what the story is.

Shot.

Mount Cameroon

At 2000 and something metres, in a rat infested shack with a corrugated iron roof, with hay on a large flat wooden board for a bed and the wind whistling through every tiny opening, I wonder whether my decision to climb Mt. Cameroon was a good one. This is night one of a 3 day, 2 night trek up West Africa’s highest mountain, and at 4095m is the highest I have ever been. I snuggle down in my sleeping bag with my 4 bedmates and try to get some rest before the climb to the summit in the morning.

After an uncomfortable night and a breakfast of a tin of beans cooked in the can on an open fire, we set off. The path is immediately steep and the terrain of volcanic rock unforgiving. Our group of 11 quickly spreads out along the path as we set our own paces. Breathing becomes laboured as the altitude and months of inactivity take their toll. Through gaps in the cloud we glimpse the rooves of the town of Buea below us and out to sea is the island of Bioko (Equatorial Guinea). It is with relief that we make it to the final hut which marks the start of the final ascent and the end of the really steep section. It is bitterly cold until the sun comes out for a fleeting moment and we lie on the grass basking in its warmth.

An hour later we are on the summit in a swirling mist and buffeting wind that makes it difficult to stand. When the cloud clears for a few minutes, the view is spectacular, however we don’t linger for long as there is nowhere to shelter and the wind is unrelenting. Heading down is much quicker than the way up as the first part is steep scree that we can run down. This gives way to a lava flow from the 1901 eruption that is tough on the ankles to walk on and looks almost like coral as covered in colourful litchens. This quickly becomes tiring and as the lava gives way to savannah and we wonder whether the end is anywhere in sight. Our mood perks up when we arrive at the many craters of the 1999 eruption and the landscape seems more like the moon. The craters are surrounded by grassy valleys through which fires are raging (apparently deliberately to keep the mountain tidy).

Luckily we are close to the end of the 10 hour hike as there are a few creaky knees, shakey legs and blistered feet amongst us. We are all drained and it is all we can do to cook up some instant noodles, cup-a-soups and crash into our tents by about 7pm.

The next morning we are up at 4.30am to commence the long slog back to civilisation. It is pitch black and we all stumble over tree roots as we wind our way through the forest. As the first glimmers of dawn approach we traverse more lava flows and eventually reach the edge of the forest.

After an arduous downward hike through the rainforest, we approach the wooden houses that mark the edge of a village and see a group of people crowded outside the front of one. We wave at them and they beckon us over. They are drinking palm wine and want to share it with us – it is 11am! We gladly partake in a few sips before walking the last 100 metres to the end point – a bar of course! We each have a few celebratory beers whilst waiting for the rest of the group to arrive. On the tiny tv on the bar the Race of Hope is on. This is a running race up and down Mount Cameroon that happens every year. What we had managed to struggle through in 3 days the winner accomplished in 4 hours!

The next few days are very painful for everyone as we deal with altitude induced hangovers, sore muscles and blisters. Luckily after a quick stop in Yaounde, the capital, we are off to the beach at Kribi where the sand is pristine and yellow, the tree branches bend over and almost touch the warm water and there is nothing to do except relax.

Click here for photos