The Game & The Long Drive
[This and many subsequent postings were posted noticeably later than the dates given - I've edited the dates so that it gives a better idea when I did things rather than when I got around to writing about them - P]
Let's get back to where I left you last time, which was as we returned from Serengeti and Ngorongoro to Arusha and the delights of the Meserani Snake Park. There was only one other truck in residence at that point (as compared to the 3 on our previous visit), so you would be forgiven for thinking it would have been a quiet-ish night. Unfortunately, you would have been unaware that we were due to spend an extra night in Arusha, meaning that we didn't have to drive off the next day, meaning (as a consequence) that our driver, Valdy, could go out drinking.
Now Valdy is what is commonly termed "a bit of a character". Almost always smiling, generally quite soft-spoken and polite, ice-blue eyes (described by one of the young ladies we've encountered on our travels as being "like a kitten's"...) and an apparently unflappable demeanour. Often seems the perfect gentleman. However, get the odd drink inside him and the "Tour Driver" DNA starts to assert itself, whether in a notable fondness for shooters to get a drinking session going, or in an obvious interest in passing female flesh (though quite how he manages to get anywhere with the line "would you like to help me set up my tent...?" is anybody's guess!). Hence, when Valdy doesn't have to drive the next day, we are rather more likely to have a noisy night.
(Mum, Dad, you probably don't want to read the next paragraph...)
This particular evening got something of a kickstart when Valdy started off doing shooters with Jon, then a few more of us got involved, and the rules of a rudimentary game were set: going round the group, each person got to nominate a shooter from the menu, and everybody had to partake. Would have been messy, but pretty survivable, had it remained with the initial 5 or 6 "players". However, once we got up to the point where 16 people were in on a round, things began to get a little out of hand. Around the 4th round, Ian also instituted a rather unfortunate practice called the "Circle of Truth". The idea being that we all went outside, stood in a circle, then each person had to pass on a "truth" to the group before necking their shot. This started off quite tame, but soon people were passing on "truths" about other people (particularly Valdy and Heetan, one of the other real characters on the truck) and it all spiralled away a bit. By the time we got to a round of Brain Haemorrhages things were a little strained in the circle, Leonie (who usually doesn't drink much) was having to be carried to and from the bar and the few sober onlookers were looking a little worried. After the next round, given the further raised voices, increased spillages and an unfortunate redecoration of a hedge, not to mention the fact that nobody seemed to be either sober or enthusiastic enough to continue, I agreed with the bar manager that this was probably a good time to stop...
The next morning was quite amusing, after a few people emerged from tents that weren't those they usually resided within. The rest of the day was relatively relaxed - we headed back into Arusha, giving time for a little internet checking and banking, unfortunately intermingled with having to dodge the usual swarm of inquiries as to my health, name and country of origin, offers to sell me batiks, banana-leaf art, Maasai spears or soft drinks, and requests to come and see people's curio stores. On our return from Arusha, we were taken through a Maasai Cultural Museum (a bit like a smaller version of the Jorvik Viking Museum in York, only not quite so smelly) before getting a guided walk around a local Maasai village. This was one of the relatively few occasions on which I could actually interact with and learn from some of the local African people - even more than I had anticipated, overland trucks tend to travel in something of a bubble, staying in overlander campsites outside the main towns, complete with bars and/or cafe/restaurants, and meeting primarily other overlanders.
Beyond that, Stacey (one of our group) negotiated for some of the Maasai from the village to come and dance for us later that evening, which I felt initially uncomfortable with, but turned out to be quite impressive and not as kitsch or exploitative as I had feared. We then had a gorgeous lasagne for dinner (with what is becoming a usual treatment, whereby one corner doesn't have cheese for my benefit) - unfortunately we were to lose the services (after only a few days from my perspective) of Daysha, who had been working with our guides as a trainee and was due to start off with her own truck from Nairobi shortly, and this was her "farewell dinner". Beyond that, it was a pretty quiet night, as people dealt with the after-effects of our little game.
The next day was due to be one of our occasional Long Drives, in this case from Arusha to Dar-Es-Salaam, the largest city, busiest port and unoffical capital of Tanzania. This necessitated one of many 5am or so starts for the trip, before we all piled into White Nile and hit the road again. After several hours of Tanzanian highway, complete with speed-humps whenever we approached a town, along with the usual stops for sambusas (samosas to those of us from the UK) and toilet-breaks, life took an unexpected turn for the more exciting when one of the front windows blew in.
White Nile has a problem with one of her side windows which doesn't secure properly unless jammed in place, and this was tending to blow open as we rumbled along the highways (causing sudden drafts of wind into the truck, waking those of us attempting to slumber). Nobody's sure exactly what happened, but my theory is that the sudden pressure changes that this was exerting at frequent intervals somehow broke the seal around the left-hand front (non-opening) window, and caused it to blow in. Unfortunately, while there are mesh-guards on the outside to protect the windows, nobody had suspected it might blow inward, so there was nothing to stop it flying inward. Nothing, that is, except Jon's nose and one of the seats, temporarily vacated by Laura.
It was something of a miracle that it only struck Jon a glancing blow, and that Laura was out of the way, otherwise there could have been a serious injury. As it was, Jon suffered a minor bruise and scrape on his nose, along with the loss of his glasses. Amy, sitting next to him, suffered a bit of a shock. And we were suddenly driving along at near-enough 60mph without a front window. Cue much screaming through to the front compartment to stop. Which we did, pretty sharpish. There then followed one of the more surreal moments of the trip, as a group of us (marshalled by Barry, one of the two Canadians who I guess are best described as Mature Travellers as compared to the usual 20- and 30-somethings) popped the window back into place (not as easy as it sounds), complete with the seal, and then secured it with gaffer-tape. Yes, I helped gaffer-tape up a truck. I have to confess to a certain childish delight in this, as I hadn't gaffered up anything other than random personal possessions for the last few years, a far cry from my gaffer-obsessed days back in the Union's theatre in Bristol.
And then we drove on again. Interrupted by being stopped by the police for possible speeding. And when a local truck-driver pulled out almost into us and demolished our off-side wing mirrors (in the process sending showers of glass shavings up into the air, some of which came in through one of the windows and got in Amy's eye...). And by Dar's version of rush-hour. And by White Nile getting stuck on the loading ramp for the cross-harbour ferry, which necessitated all of us to get off the truck as she struggled to get on the ferry. By this time, we were hotly debating which particular one of our little company had gotten the curse on them, and when (key candidates, unsurprisingly, were Jon and Amy).
In the interests of readability, I shall terminate this entry in the log now, and start work on the next one (leading onto time on Zanzibar) shortly. Ah, the perils of my over-zealous approach to chronicling. Until then, mes amis, adieu...
Let's get back to where I left you last time, which was as we returned from Serengeti and Ngorongoro to Arusha and the delights of the Meserani Snake Park. There was only one other truck in residence at that point (as compared to the 3 on our previous visit), so you would be forgiven for thinking it would have been a quiet-ish night. Unfortunately, you would have been unaware that we were due to spend an extra night in Arusha, meaning that we didn't have to drive off the next day, meaning (as a consequence) that our driver, Valdy, could go out drinking.
Now Valdy is what is commonly termed "a bit of a character". Almost always smiling, generally quite soft-spoken and polite, ice-blue eyes (described by one of the young ladies we've encountered on our travels as being "like a kitten's"...) and an apparently unflappable demeanour. Often seems the perfect gentleman. However, get the odd drink inside him and the "Tour Driver" DNA starts to assert itself, whether in a notable fondness for shooters to get a drinking session going, or in an obvious interest in passing female flesh (though quite how he manages to get anywhere with the line "would you like to help me set up my tent...?" is anybody's guess!). Hence, when Valdy doesn't have to drive the next day, we are rather more likely to have a noisy night.
(Mum, Dad, you probably don't want to read the next paragraph...)
This particular evening got something of a kickstart when Valdy started off doing shooters with Jon, then a few more of us got involved, and the rules of a rudimentary game were set: going round the group, each person got to nominate a shooter from the menu, and everybody had to partake. Would have been messy, but pretty survivable, had it remained with the initial 5 or 6 "players". However, once we got up to the point where 16 people were in on a round, things began to get a little out of hand. Around the 4th round, Ian also instituted a rather unfortunate practice called the "Circle of Truth". The idea being that we all went outside, stood in a circle, then each person had to pass on a "truth" to the group before necking their shot. This started off quite tame, but soon people were passing on "truths" about other people (particularly Valdy and Heetan, one of the other real characters on the truck) and it all spiralled away a bit. By the time we got to a round of Brain Haemorrhages things were a little strained in the circle, Leonie (who usually doesn't drink much) was having to be carried to and from the bar and the few sober onlookers were looking a little worried. After the next round, given the further raised voices, increased spillages and an unfortunate redecoration of a hedge, not to mention the fact that nobody seemed to be either sober or enthusiastic enough to continue, I agreed with the bar manager that this was probably a good time to stop...
The next morning was quite amusing, after a few people emerged from tents that weren't those they usually resided within. The rest of the day was relatively relaxed - we headed back into Arusha, giving time for a little internet checking and banking, unfortunately intermingled with having to dodge the usual swarm of inquiries as to my health, name and country of origin, offers to sell me batiks, banana-leaf art, Maasai spears or soft drinks, and requests to come and see people's curio stores. On our return from Arusha, we were taken through a Maasai Cultural Museum (a bit like a smaller version of the Jorvik Viking Museum in York, only not quite so smelly) before getting a guided walk around a local Maasai village. This was one of the relatively few occasions on which I could actually interact with and learn from some of the local African people - even more than I had anticipated, overland trucks tend to travel in something of a bubble, staying in overlander campsites outside the main towns, complete with bars and/or cafe/restaurants, and meeting primarily other overlanders.
Beyond that, Stacey (one of our group) negotiated for some of the Maasai from the village to come and dance for us later that evening, which I felt initially uncomfortable with, but turned out to be quite impressive and not as kitsch or exploitative as I had feared. We then had a gorgeous lasagne for dinner (with what is becoming a usual treatment, whereby one corner doesn't have cheese for my benefit) - unfortunately we were to lose the services (after only a few days from my perspective) of Daysha, who had been working with our guides as a trainee and was due to start off with her own truck from Nairobi shortly, and this was her "farewell dinner". Beyond that, it was a pretty quiet night, as people dealt with the after-effects of our little game.
The next day was due to be one of our occasional Long Drives, in this case from Arusha to Dar-Es-Salaam, the largest city, busiest port and unoffical capital of Tanzania. This necessitated one of many 5am or so starts for the trip, before we all piled into White Nile and hit the road again. After several hours of Tanzanian highway, complete with speed-humps whenever we approached a town, along with the usual stops for sambusas (samosas to those of us from the UK) and toilet-breaks, life took an unexpected turn for the more exciting when one of the front windows blew in.
White Nile has a problem with one of her side windows which doesn't secure properly unless jammed in place, and this was tending to blow open as we rumbled along the highways (causing sudden drafts of wind into the truck, waking those of us attempting to slumber). Nobody's sure exactly what happened, but my theory is that the sudden pressure changes that this was exerting at frequent intervals somehow broke the seal around the left-hand front (non-opening) window, and caused it to blow in. Unfortunately, while there are mesh-guards on the outside to protect the windows, nobody had suspected it might blow inward, so there was nothing to stop it flying inward. Nothing, that is, except Jon's nose and one of the seats, temporarily vacated by Laura.
It was something of a miracle that it only struck Jon a glancing blow, and that Laura was out of the way, otherwise there could have been a serious injury. As it was, Jon suffered a minor bruise and scrape on his nose, along with the loss of his glasses. Amy, sitting next to him, suffered a bit of a shock. And we were suddenly driving along at near-enough 60mph without a front window. Cue much screaming through to the front compartment to stop. Which we did, pretty sharpish. There then followed one of the more surreal moments of the trip, as a group of us (marshalled by Barry, one of the two Canadians who I guess are best described as Mature Travellers as compared to the usual 20- and 30-somethings) popped the window back into place (not as easy as it sounds), complete with the seal, and then secured it with gaffer-tape. Yes, I helped gaffer-tape up a truck. I have to confess to a certain childish delight in this, as I hadn't gaffered up anything other than random personal possessions for the last few years, a far cry from my gaffer-obsessed days back in the Union's theatre in Bristol.
And then we drove on again. Interrupted by being stopped by the police for possible speeding. And when a local truck-driver pulled out almost into us and demolished our off-side wing mirrors (in the process sending showers of glass shavings up into the air, some of which came in through one of the windows and got in Amy's eye...). And by Dar's version of rush-hour. And by White Nile getting stuck on the loading ramp for the cross-harbour ferry, which necessitated all of us to get off the truck as she struggled to get on the ferry. By this time, we were hotly debating which particular one of our little company had gotten the curse on them, and when (key candidates, unsurprisingly, were Jon and Amy).
In the interests of readability, I shall terminate this entry in the log now, and start work on the next one (leading onto time on Zanzibar) shortly. Ah, the perils of my over-zealous approach to chronicling. Until then, mes amis, adieu...
posted by Pat at 4:35 pm
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