Sam, the owner of Cool Runnings, is also in need of petrol, so every morning she checks on availability. The bad news is that there will be no fuel today unless we would like the privilege of paying 750 kwacha per liter on the black market. Since we need 13 liters, that means it would cost us about 57USD for a little more than 3 gallons. Maybe some day, but not today. Instead, we decided to do some bike maintenance, namely clean the air filters and wash the bikes.



While we were getting ready to start on this, we said goodbye to Garth, since he was heading south. We spent some time comparing luggage setups and looking over eachother's machines. Quite a study in contrast. Two completely different solutions to the same (or similar) question. Shortly after Garth left, I made a mad dash for the bathroom. It seems that bad fuel I consumed the other evening did turn into an exhaust problem after all. Call of the wild answered, we got to work. By luck of the draw, we started with my bike. This was when I noticed that gasoline had apparently leaked into the cylinder again. Puzzled as to why this has happened a couple of times now, I grabbed the laptop and fired up the shop manual. The petcocks on our bikes are vacuum operated, and the petcock is located between the fuel tank and the battery. I decided to pull off the leg shields and examine the vacuum system. I inspected the petcock and found nothing obviously amiss and couldn't find any other defects with the vacuum system. Of course, I do not have a vacuum gauge with me, so I was limited to a visual inspection. Next, Re and I pulled the float bowl to check the float needle and float. We found no crud in the bowl, and the needle and seat looked fine. Still confused, my thoughts turned to the air filter. This problem first occurred to Re's bike in North Carolina when it had about 5600 miles on it. I have neglected to clean the air filter, ever, and thought there was a possibility that a dirty air filter could somehow be involved? We removed the bottom of the air box, popped out the filter, and as there is no diesel in Malawi, cleaned it with gasoline. It was filthy. Clean, the filter weighed what felt like half as much as it did when dirty. We then oiled it with motor oil and put the whole works back together. After pulling the sparkplug and clearing the cylinder of fuel, we tried to start the bike, and this is where the real mystery began. The bike would only start with the throttle cranked wide open and refused to idle. Puzzled, I looked over everything we'd touched and made sure we'd put everything back together. Finding nothing amiss, we cranked it back up again, with the same results: the bike refused to run. Maybe the bike wasn't used to having this much clean air available? So I grabbed the screwdriver and attempted to adjust the idle speed. No matter which way I turned the screw the result was the same: bike no run. Huh. Then I decided to get stupid and randomly started twiddling the A/F screw. Carburetor settings now thoroughly screwed up, I then decided to check the spark plug. When I first pulled out the spark plug and grounded it to the cylinder head to check the spark, which was strong and regular. Huh. Suddenly, a bad feeling crept over me. I pulled the dipstick and looked in the crankcase to find the crankcase was nearly full to the dipstick opening. Well crap. We grabbed a Ziploc bag, unscrewed the oil drainbolt, and watched in disbelief as 800ccs of oil and at least 1 liter of gas came pouring out the hole. If the crank can't turn, it's kind of hard for the motor to run. I had fortunately picked up 1 liter of fresh oil a couple days before in Monkey Bay, so at least we had dino-squeezins to put in the bike. Concerned about cross-contamination, I found a straw, shoved it in the oil fill hole, sealed it with my fingers, and blew as much of the remaining gas/oil mix as I could out of the motor. After cleaning the oil screen, I refilled the motor with fresh oil, reset the carb settings to match those on Re's bike (once again, it's handy to have two identical bikes for reference), and she fired right up and purred.

By now, I was not feeling very well, so I decided to take a break and make another break for the loo. Since I was feeling warm and achy we decided to spend the rest of the afternoon researching our trip to Tanzania, and if necessary, to Mombasa. The rest of the afternoon was spent on the chaise lounges on the lawn next to the lake, books in hand. I felt somewhat better later in the day, so we went for a swim before dinner, shower, and another warm night in the tent.

0 miles, 1 liter of fuel lost to the oil. Hopefully this will be the end of it.

Second verse, same as the first. After rolling out of the tent, my first stop, once again, was Sam's office. The only thing that changed since yesterday was the price of the black market fuel. It had now gone up to 1000 kwacha per liter for the final 40 liters available. That makes it 6 USD per liter, and later in the day, a couple from Israel was desperate enough to actually pay that. Considering that camping in this idyllic spot is only 1600 kwacha per night, our decision was obvious- stay another day.

As I had pooped out (literally) before getting to Re's bike yesterday, it was the job for today. Fortunately, her bike was not having the same fuel problem as mine, so it was a relatively quick and easy task to clean and oil the air filter and adjust the chain. Since we sat at eye level with the bikes, there was no escaping the fact that they were filthy. We had picked up some cleaner in Harare but hadn't yet found the opportunity to use it. As I still wasn't feeling very well, Re volunteered to find a bucket and some water and wash the little piggies. I once again headed to the chaise lounges by the water and put my time to good use playing spider solitaire on my iPhone.



After a while, I returned to find that Re had decided to change into her bikini to wash the bikes. Given the conservative dress displayed by most Malawi women, this was perhaps, the first ever, bikini car wash (ok, motorcycle wash) ever in this country. Earlier in the day I broke into the prescription meds and began a course of Cipro. It eventually makes me feel better, but when I start Cipro, I feel “off” for the first day or two. After lunch from the market, I also put on my bathing suit and we went for a lovely swim in Lake Malawi. The water here is crystal clear, and it was the perfect temperature. What I neglected to put on this morning, was any sunscreen. Due to this oversight and my British heritage, the result was inevitable.

Later in the afternoon, now safely out of the sun, Re and I found ourselves chatting with Sam and a couple of her British volunteers. While we had heard of fuel smuggling across Lake Malawi from Mozambique via the local ferry, and while swimming earlier, I couldn't help but notice Sam's speedboat with attached 40 hp Mercury engine. So later, while we were chatting, I wondered aloud, about how many liters of fuel her boat could bring back across the lake. Doing a little bit of quick math, it was determined that, with the driver and guard along, it could haul approximately 800 liters back to Malawi. Fuel at the dock on the Mozambique side was going for the equivalent of 350 kwacha per liter, and if one could sell all 800 liters at 1000 kwacha per liter, that would net a tidy profit of over 3100 USD (less expenses). Of course, I would never advocate for breaking the law, but pointed out that this could be considered a mission of “mercy.” When we left them, everyone was smiling and laughing about the idea, but maybe the seed was planted. Then, we were back to being beach bums for the rest of the day.

Third verse, it's getting worse. With a strange feeling of deja vu, I walked up to Sam's office, asked the same question, and got the same answer. No petrol today, and no black market available at all. Maybe there will be black market fuel available tomorrow from the Mozambique ferry. And I was also “glad” to see that no one broke the law at my suggestion and made their own private run to Mozambique. Sigh.

Overnight, a new couple had arrived at the campground. Marc and Katie are an American couple who have been volunteering in South Africa for the past four years. Their time on the continent is almost up, and they decided to have one final hurrah and camp their way through southern and central Africa before heading back to the states in February. We spent several hours talking with them, and it was good to get their perspectives on Africa and the role of NGOs here.

We spent much of the rest of the afternoon out of the sun (@!#$% sunburn) working on RRs and blogposts in anticipation of finding internet access tomorrow. After a dinner of some things that Re found in the local market, good news arrived. Sam came and found us to say that petrol had arrived at the Caltex station in town and was also due later in the day tomorrow at the BP. Since she was going anyway and had a permit to buy (legally) 200 liters in jerrycans, she said she would pick up 13 liters for us at cost. I really do love this woman! This was the best news we'd had in days. Since tomorrow is Re's birthday, I decided to get her the gift of unleaded. The news got even better a little while later, when Sam realized she needed to empty one of her 20 liter jerrycans in order to take it with her tomorrow. I grabbed our cans and ran to the generator room, where she filled them with 13 liters of sweet, sweet love (in the form of hydrocarbons). Well, this changes everything. We've been stopped for so long that we were going to have to remember how to get back on the road. We headed to bed early in anticipation of forward movement.

0 miles but more tomorrow!

Since we had to repack virtually everything, we rose early and got to work. There was no repeat of my bike's fueling problem, but for some reason, the last several days we've ridden, my front tire seems to lose a bit of air and reads 25 psi every morning. In my excitement, I didn't want to get out the valve tool, but I suspect it's the valve. We hit the road around 9 am for the 250 miles or so to Mzuzu. Less than 5 miles down the road I spotted a problem: in my haste to get the jerrycans filled, I neglected to make sure that my bike was topped up. If full, the first fuel light should last approximately 25 miles, but mine only lasted for 5 miles. Oops. Considering that even with everything full, 250 miles was close to our limit, that missing liter could turn into a big problem. Consequently, today's ride would be an economy run.

As we reached Salima town, we spotted Sam, sitting on the hood of her 1980s vintage, yellow, Chevy shortbed pickup, and swung in to say hi. After again thanking her, she passed along the news that petrol had arrived about 60 miles up the road in the direction we were going. Not sure if it would still be there, we stuck to the economy run idea and cruised at 35 mph, north towards Nkhotakota and the promise of more petrol. After nearly two hours, we reached Nkhotakota and quickly found the fuel station. In fact, we couldn't have missed it due to the near riot situation going on there. We pulled in through the out door since they allow motorcycles to jump the queue and I pulled up to the pumps while Re stayed a safe distance away. I pulled up with the other motorbikes and stopped to appreciate the scene.



There was a soldier with a rifle standing next to the pumps and using said rifle to push the crush of people away, while another, much larger officer (in fact, he was the largest non-westerner I have seen in Malawi) grabbed “patrons” by their throats and physically moved them out of the way. The motorbikes kept trying to inch up in front of the cars to get to the pumps but were trumped by a pickup truck that came screeching in. The driver of the truck proceeded to push the crowd out of his way with his fenders. I thought to myself that this just isn't worth it. About this time, another uniformed police officer walked up to chat. I couldn't help but notice the chaos going on behind his back as he encouraged me to consider his friend, the black market petrol salesman. He told me the price was 500 kwacha per liter (of which, I am sure, he gets his cut) and led me to his friend. Five liters would be enough to ensure that we could make it to Mzuzu safely, and so I shelled out the cash and got the fuel.


We continued on toward Mzuzu at the same slow pace, determined to save every ounce of fuel we could. At one of the many police checkpoints, we heard there was petrol in the stations in Mzuzu. The slow ride allowed us to appreciate the scenery. Whereas southern Malawi was brown and dusty, northern Malawi was green and verdant. We passed through groves of banana trees and several rubber plantations along the way. The strangest vignette of the afternoon occurred when we stopped for lunch in some unnamed town. There was a small Cash N Carry behind the empty petrol station, and Re went in to find something cold to drink and hopefully something to eat. While she was inside, I stayed out with the bikes and entertained several of the local boys who'd shown up. Re shortly returned with some juice and digestive biscuits (which was pretty much all that was available). We had barely cracked the lid on the juice and opened the biscuits when an odd apparition appeared. I still don't know where she (he?) appeared from, but all we saw was a bony old hand reach in to snatch our juice. We turned to find a person who appeared to only be 4.5 feet tall and maybe 75 pounds after our goodies. She wouldn't take no for an answer and kept lunging for our stuff. Neither of us wanted to touch her with our bare hands and were once again, glad for our Dariens. I finally gave her some of our biscuits and she slipped away.

We made it to Mzuzu around sundown and found the recommended guesthouse. It was again, crappier than described, but it was only for one night (we hoped). Also staying there was a Canadian couple, and we spent a while comparing travel notes before we hopped back on the bikes to head out for dinner. It is Re's birthday, so I wanted to do something nice and had found that there was a good Indian restaurant in town. We had a great dinner before picking up a couple of s and heading back for the night. The bad news is that there are lines at every petrol station and none of them seem to be moving.

246 miles in about 8.5 hours. Economy run, have approximately 5 liters for tomorrow.

Somewhere, anywhere out of Malawi was our destination for today. Actually, it was Mbeya, Tanzania, which is located approximately 260 miles away. To cover that many miles and an international border crossing was an optimistic goal, so our plan was to get an early start. But once again, my plans and Africa collided. We woke to find no power. Perversely, that meant that the shower only had scalding hot water and no cold water. Huh? In Africa, it somehow makes sense. Re braved the heat and got a shower, but by the time I tried, it was too hot for me and my sunburn. Re went to inquire about the water situation and order the included breakfast while I started to pack up. She returned with the news that there might be a tiny bit of cold water soon and that they were cooking breakfast on a gas stove in the courtyard, so it might be a few minutes. I tried the shower again, and sure enough, there was a trickle of cold water, but the hot water had run out. I took a quick shower and we headed for breakfast.

We rolled out the front gate around 8:00 am and went in search of petrol. Mzuzu has at least 5 petrol stations, and every one of them had the same non-moving line as last night. We tried several stations, and at each one, the men with the huge jerrycans directed us to the next. After striking out several times, we found the BP station, where we were offered petrol for the low, low price of 1000 kwacha per liter (6 USD). Figuring there had to be cheaper fuel than 24 USD per gallon, we pressed on. We circled the central market and spied two guys carrying the ubiquitous yellow plastic jerrycan and 5 liter measuring jug. We flagged them down and found out that their rate was 700 kwacha per liter. Better, but still a lot of money. They refused to negotiate and walked away. We were then approached by two other guys who said they had 20 liters for 11000 kwacha. They agreed to sell 10 liters for 5500 kwacha, and we agreed. The ringleader jumped on the back of a bicycle taxi and motioned us to follow him. We turned off the main road into what can be politely described as a shanty town. The buildings that line the dirt roads are made out of corrugated metal and sticks. He led us down several streets before stopping in front of a stick building. The further we rode into this area, the more paranoid I got. He hopped off the back of the bicycle taxi and motioned for me to follow him through the fence and into the backyard, all the time, smiling broadly. My momma didn't raise no fool. I refused to get off the bike and told him to bring the fuel to the road. He stopped smiling and walked through the fence. I instructed Re to turn her bike around, heading from whence we came and to keep it running and in first gear. I figured that if things went pear-shaped this would give us the best chance of escape, however, given the leisurely pace with which our bikes accelerate, it would require that our pursuers either twist their ankles or step on nails while they chase us. As I watched through the gap in the fence, I saw the ringleader's head peek around the corner, followed shortly by he and another guy peeking around the corner, and then I saw a third guy peek around the corner. At this point in time, I told Re to hit it, and we “zoomed” our way back to the main road. I don't know what was going on, but I did not like it.

So we rode back to the market where yet another helpful salesman directed us to the land of 700 kwacha petrol. In the back of the BP station there is a “store” full of large jerrycans, and I was able to negotiate 10 liters for 6500 kwacha. That works out to be 16 USD per gallon! Ouch. But it should be enough to get us to Tanzania, the land of milk and petrol. Loaded with petrol and wallets lighter, we headed north.



The ride today was beautiful. Mzuzu is in a mountainous area, and we wound our way through the relatively cool air and green trees before again descending to the shores of Lake Malawi. We rode along the lake. The elevation of today's ride began around 4500 feet, descended to 1600 feet, before climbing back over 7500 feet in Tanzania.



While we were wiggling our way through the mountains, I signaled for Re to pull over so we could take a picture of another milestone: the 10,000 mile mark. We reached the border sometime after 1:00 pm and breezed through the Malawi side. The Tanzania side was another story. The guides we had consulted said the visa fee would be 50 USD, but it turned out that it had changed and was now 100 USD per person. We also met the local insurance salesmen and dealt with them in time. Approximately 1.5 hours later, we left with visas, 3 months of liability insurance, and another hole in our wallets where 270 USD used to be. Double ouch. But we were through. The scenery in Tanzania was beautiful and mountainous. We rode through pine forests, tea plantations, and rubber plantations and had plenty of time to appreciate them as we chugged slowly up the hills. The good news was that we picked up an hour of daylight crossing into Tanzania, but the bad news was that our progress was slow. Earlier at the border, we again ran into Marc and Katie, and they told us of a campground in a town approximately 40 miles shy of Mbeya. This was starting to look like a good idea, as we were tired and sore. We were sore chiefly due to the roads in Tanzania. Every small town has multiple sets of speed bumps that required us to come virtually to a stop and crawl over them. Any faster than a snail's pace, and our bikes bottomed out. If you've seen the topes in Mexico, you know what I'm talking about. The road surface was also potholed, patched, and undulating, all conspiring to jolt our spines and beat our butts. We made it to Tukuyu, the town with the campground, where we easily found an ATM and a couple of petrol stations, WITH PETROL! After stocking up, we made for the campground, where we met Marc and Katie. As we were so high up in the mountains, it was chilly enough for Re to actually put on her polarfleece while we set up camp. Because we hadn't seen a grocery store along the way, we ordered dinner from reception, and it was eventually delivered by motorcycle. There are a lot of small bikes in Tanzania, and we've even seen a couple of CT-90s and CT-110s. We enjoyed a delicious homemade dinner before heading to bed.

220 miles in about 7.5 hours. Once again, no mid-range due to the altitude, but we're chugging along.

I've read every word, and I look forward to more.

Appreciate you taking the time to share your trip with us. It's also great to see a RR written with excellent grammar!

I want MORE!!!

__________________
3mountainsadventure

Even though Tukuyu is only at about 4200 feet above sea level, this was enough elevation to give us our first truly cool night's sleep since Swakopmund (on the coast of Namibia). We were glad we put the rainfly on the tent the night before , since it helped keep a little warmth in the tent. After I rolled out of the tent, I checked the thermometer and saw that it was 61 degrees Fahrenheit! While the morning air was certainly refreshing, we were concerned as to exactly how refreshing the shower was going to be since it was a cold water only shower. Several of the campgrounds where we've stayed have been cold water only, which is fine when it's 85 degrees in the morning, but neither of us was looking forward to the prospect of a bracing shower. Fortunately for us, our rescue came in the form of the camp security guard, who approached and asked if we wanted warm water to wash with. Why yes, we said, and he hustled off behind the reception building and returned ten minutes later with a 3-gallon bucket of warm water. He motioned for Re to follow him to the ablution block, where he left the water for her. While Re went to bathe, I started to strike camp. The guard returned shortly thereafter with another bucket for me. Having never taken a bucket shower before, I grabbed my clothes, towel, and bucket of water and slipped into Re's shower stall. Re had finished lathering by the time I arrived, so I helped her rinse off before lathering up myself. After dressing, Re returned the favor, and we both ended up smelling vaguely like a fine whiskey. The warm water smelled of wood smoke, as apparently it was heated over a wood fire and now, we also smelled smoky and peaty. Note to self: Talisker would make a fine perfume.



Clean and dressed, we headed back to the campsite, only to find that approximately ten small children had arrived for school. The Bongo Campground is also a nonprofit organization that makes documentary films about social issues in the area and is also a primary school. Most of the students were young girls, who were incredibly cute in their apparent hand-me-down school uniforms that all seemed slightly too large for them. Re was greeted by a chorus of hellos and had fun with the children as they giggled and parroted everything she said. Too soon, it was time for school to begin, and their very strict teacher ordered them inside.

After our delicious dinner the previous evening, our chef asked if we'd want breakfast in the morning, and we said yes. She first offered us omelets, and since we didn't sound too excited by that, she offered us banana porridge. We like porridge, we like bananas, so we said yes, with visions of bananas, brown sugar, and creamy porridge dancing in our heads. Since our ride to Iringa was over 250 miles, we had ordered breakfast for 7:00am. Unfortunately, it arrived about 8:15, but we'd used our waiting time wisely and were otherwise ready to go. Once again, our chef arrived on the back of a motorbike and proceeded to unwrap trays and bowls and coffee service. Marc and Katie also thought breakfast sounded good and joined us for a rather unique experience. As we sat around the table and the porridge was revealed, I did not smell anything sweet and yummy, but instead, noticed the chicken bone sticking out of the surface of the porridge. Hmmm, I thought as Re and I cautiously eyed each other. As our chef enthusiastically dished up the food, we noted a look of concern on Katie's face as she dipped into her porridge. Katie is a vegetarian, and like us, was obviously not expecting chicken in her banana porridge. Rather tentatively, we tried our porridge and found it to be tasty. It took a few bites to recalibrate our expectations, but we ended up enjoying it quite a bit. The bananas were more like plantains in that they were starchy and not sweet.

Breakfast finished, we prepared to hit the road. We donned our gear and headed for the bikes. I hit my starter button, and motor no turn. My bike had hydraulic-ed again. Sigh, it obviously wasn't the air filter. Since we were parked on the campground's lovely grass, I wheeled the bike out to the dirt road to clear the fuel. Sparkplug out, bike kicked over, cylinder cleared, plug reinstalled, and it fired right up. We put the tools away, and Re went to start her bike, only to have it hydraulic as well. Well, ****ity **** ****. Suddenly, a light bulb went on over my head. From my vantage point at the dirt road, I noted that Re's bike was parked facing uphill, on its center stand, with the front wheel in the air. I flashed on the first time it happened in my parents' driveway and recalled that the bikes were parked facing uphill, and with the weight of our luggage, the front wheel would have been off the ground. I also recalled that in Senga Bay, our bikes were parked, again facing uphill, on the center stands, as they were when it happened at the campground in Citrusdal. Every time the bikes were parked facing uphill on the center stands, with the front wheels in the air. Up until now, I had suspected a fault with the vacuum petcock, but now I am fairly certain it's the carburetor, and specifically the float. I suspect that the combination of angles prevents the float needle from closing fully, and consequently, this allows fuel to dribble continuously into the float bowl. Since really no one else in the Symba community has experienced this hydraulic-ing problem but both of our bikes have, it has to be due to some set of circumstances unique to our setup, and this makes the most sense so far. The plan from now on is to only park on level ground and to block the rear tire in order to keep the front tire on the ground. I hope I am right, cause this is getting old.



We rolled Re's bike over to the dirt road, cleared the fuel, started it up, and rode the couple of miles back into Tukuyu for more fuel. Gassed up, we headed north to Mbeya, yesterday's original destination. Stopping in Tukuyo last night was the right choice, as the fifty miles to Mbeya were extremely slow going. The elevation rose to over 7500 feet, and every little town along the way had four to six sets of speed bumps, for which we had to slow to a crawl. We wound our way through the mountains, again admiring the green plantations and groves of trees. In Mbeya we turned east and the scenery changed from green to brown. The altitude and steep grades already had the bikes wheezing, but progress slowed even more when we ran into our old friend, headwind, in Makmbako. Even without the headwind, going would have been slow, with the rough roads and speed bumps. After a gas station lunch eaten sitting in the saddle on the roadside, we continued the long, slow trip to Iringa. Approximately one mile shy of Iringa, we reached the turnoff for the town center. Iringa sits on a bluff above the main road at the top of a long, twisty grade. To make the final mile even more fun, the Tanzanian road department has installed severe, tooth jarring speedbumps approximately every 500 feet. These topes required us to again come nearly to a stop before bouncing over them. After one particularly rough one, I heard a thud and turned around to see Re retrieving my MSR dromedary bag that had been ejected from beneath my Rok-straps.

We finally arrived around 5:30 pm, but were happy to see that due to the time change in Tanzania, there was still sun in the sky. We found a reasonable guesthouse, and while unloading the bikes discovered that Re had lost her towel. We have been carrying our microfiber towels in their mesh bags tucked under a Rok-strap so they can dry while we ride. Apparently her towel jumped ship along the way today. This is a bigger problem than you first may think, since many of the guest houses and none of the campgrounds provide towels, and it will be difficult to replace. We grabbed some dinner before returning to the guesthouse for a nightcap or two in the form of Castle Milk Stouts.

265 miles in about 8.5 hours. If I ever meet the person who introduced speedbumps to Tanzania, I will (in my best Eric Cartman voice) kick him square in the nuts.

10/25

After yesterday's uncomfortable ride and the stress of our time in Malawi, we decided to take a day (or two) off from the road to rest and plan where we go from here. We spent the morning sitting on the porch, drinking coffee, and talking about a wide variety of subjects. While preparing for the trip, we considered the pros and cons of a bike to bike communication system and ultimately decided against it. While this means Re doesn't have to listen to me constantly talk about the bikes, and I don't have to listen to her singing, we do miss out on the opportunity to discuss our feelings and experiences during the day. I'm not sure that skipping the communication system was the right choice, so it's good to have times like this to sit and talk for as long as we like.



Later in the morning, we met our new best friend, Titho, a local man who recently finished high school and was curious about us and our travels. He helped us with a few basic Swahili phrases, and we answered his questions about life in the west. Around lunchtime we wandered over to the local internet cafe to check our email. After lunch we returned to the guesthouse to work on ride reports and blog posts. Around dinner time, Titho reappeared and we spent more time finding out about life in Iringa before heading to dinner.

0 miles.

10/26



Another lazy day in Iringa. We uploaded the ride reports and blog posts we wrote the previous day using the very slow internet we had. We also uploaded many photos to our smugmug account while we researched further travel in Tanzania and shipping options to India. The wifi was fast enough to allow me to Skype my parents, which was a nice treat after no internet for more than a week.

0 miles. Tomorrow we ride.

10/27

In danger of growing moss in Iringa, it was time to move on. As Titho had told us that Morogor was the hottest place in Tanzania, we wanted to get on the road early to try to avoid the heat in the afternoon. I was pleased to find that after blocking the rear wheels on the bikes, there was no hydraulic-ing this morning (which proves nothing, as it's happened only very occasionally). We hit the road by 8:30 and unfortunately had to ride down the road we came up two days ago. After a slow bump, bump, bump back down the hill, we rejoined the main road and started the crazy 200 mile ride to Morogoro.

Crazy because of the traffic and the accidents along the way. The number of buses and trucks traveling the road increased dramatically from the previous days' rides, and so did the insanity of the drivers. The buses race each other to the next bus stop in an attempt to reach the waiting passengers first. The bus drivers will pass anywhere, uphill, around blind curves, through the center of town, at police checkpoints, it just doesn't matter. There is apparently a phrase in Swahili that translates to, “god willing, we will arrive,” and this must be the prayer of every bus driver and passenger in Tanzania. Unfortunately this same sentiment appears to also be shared by every semi driver and passenger vehicle driver on the roads, as they all clearly don't give a ****. This devil may care attitude shows itself in the four semi trucks we saw wrecked in the ditches today, and in the many scorch marks and puddles of metal from burned vehicles we saw along the highway.



When we weren't dodging other vehicles, we were enjoying the scenery. One stretch of the highway today rode took us through Baobab Valley. Baobabs are giant, ancient trees that we've seen all along our ride in ones and twos, but here they numbered in the hundreds. Re is especially enamored with the baobabs and really enjoyed this section of the ride.



Later, we crossed into Mikumi National Park, which motorcycles are normally not allowed to enter, but they are allowed to transit on the public road. The signs entering the park were especially humorous, as they warned it was illegal to view the wildlife from the public road. Re and I got quite a chuckle out of that and both agreed that we would not look left or right as we rode through. Well, that didn't last long. Cue Judas Priest's “Breakin' the law, breakin' the law.” Over the next many miles, we saw herds of zebras, giraffes, elephants, buffaloes, baboons, several types of antelopes, and one very large stork in its nest at the top of a strange looking tree. I normally don't stop to sightsee roadkill, but we had to make a u-turn to go back and see a completely intact spotted genet on the side of the road. Fortunately we made it out of the park without being arrested for looking at the animals and continued on toward Morogoro.

The other odd sight of the trip were the Masai people. They wear traditional garb, which for men includes a very colorful toga-like wrap garment and (for some reason) white gladiator style sandals. It seemed normal enough to see them herding cattle alongside the road, but a little more odd to see one gentleman talking on his cellphone while riding a bicycle.



We arrived in Morogoro by 2:30 and began to look for a hotel for the evening since Tanzania doesn't seem to have as much camping as other African countries. We had the name of a hotel but no map, and my GPS didn't have a detailed map of Morogoro either. Consequently, it took us about an hour to find the Mt Uluguru Hotel, where we stayed for the night. This hotel was the bargain of the trip, with air conditioning, a comfy bed, and breakfast included for around 15 USD. Since this was the first AC we've enjoyed since southern Namibia, we found it hard to leave the room. We did however, pry ourselves away from the cool air for a quick look around town, a visit to the ATM, and to purchase one delicious watermelon. We returned to the hotel for dinner and a cool night's sleep.

205 miles in about 6 hours, including countless topes.


10/28
Since Morogoro looked like and interesting town and we couldn't bear to leave the AC, we decided to stay another day. While walking around town yesterday we saw several internet cafes, and since we still need to figure out how and where we are going to ship the bikes to India, we spent a couple hours this morning looking for answers (and finding none). Mombasa, Kenya seems to be the best shipping point in the area for Mumbai, but even before we left the US, I was hoping we could do it from Dar Es Salaam. Mombasa has a reputation as an especially shitty town, Kenya has a much higher crime rate, and we would have to pay again for visas and insurance, just to ship our bikes. We now have the extra reason to not want to go to Kenya, in that Kenya has invaded Somalia, and Al-Shabab have promised to retaliate in Kenya. Yay. So our hopes are pinned on Dar. Unfortunately, ADVRider and HUBB have provided no reports of shipping from Dar Es Salaam, and we were unable to find any businesses advertising such services.

So we went to lunch. One of the things we like to do while traveling is to eat at local establishments. Unfortunately, all of the restaurant menus here are written in Swahili. Not above pantomiming and imitating the sounds of various delicious animals, we found an outdoor cafe that seemed popular with local diners. As we stared cluelessly at the menu on the wall next to the grill, a kind gentleman, who also spoke English, came to our rescue before Re had to start mooing and clucking our order. John, a Tanzanian forester who was working on his Master's degree at the local agricultural school, stepped in to help us order and then joined us for lunch. We enjoyed ugali (the local version of sadza, nsima, or mealie pap), some beef cooked in foil, and a delicious vegetable medley. We spent the lunch chatting about Tanzanian agriculture and forestry and Re's love of baobab trees, which John found particularly humorous.

After a nice lunch, we returned to the internet cafe to research hotels in Dar and catch up on the news. Later in the afternoon, we grabbed some more fruit from the local market and headed back to the room for a blast of AC. Later that evening we made our way to one of the swanky local hotels and splurged on a delicious Indian dinner. Stuffed, we waddled back to the hotel, grabbed a , and settled in for the night.

0 miles.

Since Dar was only about 120 miles from Morogoro, we were in no particular hurry to get on the road. Our plan was to stay at the Jambo Inn Hotel in Dar Es Salaam, and I found it listed in my GPS, so I set it as our destination. After another delicious breakfast at the hotel, we loaded up the bikes and headed for the nearest gas station. When we pulled in, I saw several men crowded around the pump, and one was holding what appeared to be a filter. As we pulled up to the pump, they waved us by, and as the station only had one pump, we continued down the road to another station I had seen on one of our walks. What I apparently didn't notice at this point was the GPS recalculating our route. We made it to the next station and through some sign language got enough petrol to get us to Dar.



We turned back onto the road and followed the GPS directions. Since there are so few roads in Africa, I normally don't depend on the GPS, but instead rely on the map. However, when we arrived in Morogoro, we got ourselves completely turned around while searching for the hotel, and I honestly couldn't remember the way back to the highway. So, GPS it was. After a few miles I started getting a little concerned, because I thought I had remembered from my cursory glance at the written directions earlier that morning, that it should have been under two miles back to the highway.



My suspicions were confirmed when the road turned to hard-packed dirt. I'm pretty sure I would have remembered riding on a dirt road coming into town. We pulled over, and I took a better look at the route and realized that yes, in fact, the GPS recalculated our route due to our side trip to the petrol station. It appeared that the dirt road would last for about 6.8 miles before rejoining the highway. Re and I discussed it quickly and decided that (in light of my hatred of backtracking) we would continue down the dirt road. The road was very rough and rutted and became more so as we rode on. Our average speed fell to under 20 mph as we picked our way through the rocks and ravines.

After about 5 miles, we came upon a crossroads and an odd road feature. It appeared that someone had planted a row of stones across the width of the road. These stones stuck up about 8 inches out of the dirt, but there were a couple of motorcycle size gaps between them. I aimed for one of the gaps that was about 10 inches wide and did not make it. Re however, made it through with no problem. As I passed between the rocks, I felt a sharp impact, and the bike lurched sideways. After clearing the gap my bike slowed drastically. Well now, this can't be good.


(This is what it looked like after I pried it off the footpeg)

Before I even hopped off the bike, I looked down and saw the damage. I'd hit one of the rocks with my rear brake lever, and it bent back so far that it was now caught on the footpeg. This was also causing the rear brake to bind, hence the slowing. We hopped off the bikes and looked underneath to see the deep gouge in the rear brake lever. As we were on a dirt road in the middle of nowhere, we needed to effect a quick repair. Not wanting to remove the rear brake lever at the time (and not really knowing how to remove it) we did the next best thing and got out the hammer. I pounded on the brake lever, trying at least to free it from the footpeg, but was only able to move it about 1 inch. As it was now at least 4 inches farther back than it was supposed to be, it made for a difficult ride. After stowing the tools, we got back on the “road” and made our way to the highway.


(This is what it should look like, as seen on Re's bike)

Back on terra firma, we pulled into the first layby and inspected the bike for any more damage. It seems the lever took all the impact and was just deformed. The good news was that the brake was not binding, the bad news was that I had to ride the next 115 miles with only the very tip of my boot on the footpeg. If I shifted my foot any farther forward, it applied the rear brake. When you're a big man on a little bike, you don't need your riding position to be restricted any more than it already is.

Fortunately, I did not remain focused on my brake problem for too long, as traffic today was even worse than the ride to Morogoro. As we frequently took to the hard shoulder to dodge oncoming traffic and to pass slower vehicles in order to prevent being run over from behind, we decided this was good practice for our upcoming rides in India. The closer we got to Dar, the more insane the other drivers became. At one point in time, I was “passed” by a UN Toyota Land Cruiser that came within two inches of my handlebar as he jammed in beside me. As I was already at the edge of the pavement and there was about a 6 inch drop off to the dirt below, I was a little irate. I'm glad to hear that the US will be withholding some funds from UNESCO. To add to the excitement, there were suicidal baboons everywhere.

We lived in California for about 18 months many years ago, so I'm fairly comfortable with lane splitting. Re however, never got used to it and doesn't enjoy it. Once we reached the outskirts of Dar, lane splitting was the only way to go. Dalladallas are what the local minibus taxis are called here, and they are many and aggressive. Also, many of the intersections are uncontrolled (or at least people treat them that way). If the traffic signals are working, no one seems to care what color they are, they just go. So we ducked and dodged, weaved and wiggled the next 10 miles into town. We found the Jambo Inn Hotel on Libya Street and liked it except for the lack of motorcycle parking. Re spoke with the manager, and he agreed to let us park the bikes behind a locked gate at night. She has discovered that in Tanzania, the best negotiating tactic is to walk away. It's amazing how many times that has resulted in better service or a lower price. We sprung for the air-conditioned room, and as an added bonus, the hotel has wifi from noon until 11:30 pm for 3 bucks a day. As today's ride was especially hot and sweaty, we collapsed into the room, turned on the AC and set the ceiling fan for takeoff speed. After we recovered, we headed downstairs to get some lunch and have a quick walk around the area. Back to the hotel for some more AC and wifi before dinner, and then off to bed for an early night.

120 miles in 4 hours. I'm going to need to fix that brake lever.

On our journey so far we have covered nearly 11,000 miles, 18 US states, and 9 countries. Not too shabby for two little Taiwanese underbones. After 93 days on the road, our average daily cost is 62 USD total (not per person). This does not include air freight, air fares to Africa, and health insurance, but it does include every other expense incurred on the trip.

We spent the morning looking at the map and trying to plan our time in Dar (and maybe beyond). Unable to locate the shipping port on the map, we walked down Morogoro Road to the water. Lo and behold, it was the port! We walked north along the water, past the docks for the ferries to Zanzibar, and around to another local ferry dock. I was extremely disappointed to see one particular boat in the harbor. We stood and watched one of the Hoegh Autoliner RORO ships back away from the jetty. I had found out that this ship comes to Dar once a month, and eventually makes its way to Mumbai, but couldn't find the schedule. We watched as the one option I knew of sailed away. Well, crap.

As we walked back to our hotel, we once again passed the ferries to Zanzibar. This area is full of touts who want to “help” you get a ticket to Zanzibar, or if you're not interested in Zanzibar, they have the safari “just for you.” after repeating no Zanzibar, no safari a few dozen times, one tout asked us, “well then, what do you want?” Figuring it would get him out of our faces, I told him we wanted to ship our motorbikes to India. I almost guffawed when he said, “India? You need to speak to this guy.” He grabbed me by the hand and led me to a tiny office that “unsurprisingly” sold ferry tickets to Zanzibar and to safaris. The tout said something in Swahili to a person in the front office who then led us to the back office and to Mr. Msuya. We were motioned to sit down in his chairs, and he asked us what we wanted. I said we needed to get to India by ship, and he laughed and replied in very good English that there were no passenger ships to India. I explained that we actually wanted to ship our motorbikes to India, fully expecting the same laugh, but instead he said, “we can do that.”

Surprised and suspicious, I asked how they would go about doing that, and he proceeded to explain that he works with cargo consolidators who could “stuff” our bikes in a consolidated container and get them to Mumbai. They would simply need our documents and a deposit, and he could get to work. I asked how much this might cost, and he said he figured maybe 300 USD per bike based on the fact that he had shipped a Land Rover some time in the past, and it was around 1200 USD. Intrigued, I said we would think about it and talk with him tomorrow. He said he would check further into prices and the schedule before we met. Re and I left excited but a little nervous at how irregular this seemed.

As it was nearly 12 noon and we would have wifi, we headed back to the hotel to try and get some quotes on air cargo rates. Since it was Sunday, we didn't expect to get a response from the airlines but hopefully would hear something on Monday morning before we met with Mr. Msuya again. We also found the location of the India High Commission, as we need to apply for visas tomorrow as well. We spent the rest of the day reading about India and a possible trip to Zanzibar.

0 miles. At least we may have a shipping option.

The first order of business today was to procure our visas for India. There is no point in shipping the bikes there if we can't get there as well. The High Commission of India branch in Dar Es Salaam is approximately 3 miles north of our hotel. We did discover one problem when reviewing the visa requirements, namely, our passport photos. Knowing that we would need a bunch of passport photos on this trip, we snapped some photos before we left home and had them printed at the local Ritz Camera. According to the US State Department website, glasses are now okay in passport photos, but according to the High Commission, they are not. Of course in our photos, we are wearing our glasses. But this problem was easily solved when reception pointed us to a local film processor and camera store. For about 3.50 USD we had new pictures taken and each received four prints. If I ever look as bad in real life as I do in the photo, it's time to cremate me.

New photos in our grubby hands, we hopped on the bikes and headed north. The High Commission only accepts visa applications between the hours of 9:00 and 10:30 am, and we arrived at 9:35 am. They apparently only allocate 25 slots per day, and we were fortunate enough to be 22 and 23. After surrendering our helmets and my Swiss Army knife (whoops) to the machine gun-toting guards, we made our way inside the building. It was when we began to fill out the visa application form that we got a little nervous. The application for an Indian visa wants you to provide the names of two referees from the country you are leaving (in this case, Tanzania) and two referees in India. Of the four total required, we had exactly zero. When you submit your application, you are also supposed to show proof of an onward ticket (proof that you will leave the country). Since we are traveling by motorbike and plan to ride out of the country and into Nepal, we also don't have onward tickets. We also discovered when looking at the application fee chart, that since we are American, we are citizens of the only country lucky enough to get to pay an extra fifty percent for our visas. Yay.

Our numbers were finally called, and we headed to the counter. There, the officer questioned our lack of referees, to which we lamely explained, we're riding motorcycles...we don't know nobody. And when asked for proof of an onward ticket, we explained that we don't have them because we will be riding into Nepal. Met with a raised eyebrow, we explained that we could show that we had sufficient funds in our possession for the duration of our trip. At this, she made a cryptic notation on each of our applications and sent us to the next window to pay. Feeling rather unsure at this point, we went to the next window, where the cashier could answer none of our questions and simply took our money. She was able to tell us that the notation was an instruction to collect and extra 9 USD from each of us since we didn't have any referees. I was glad I brought some extra shillings with me in the morning. We left that morning expecting to pay 82 USD, but when all was said and done, we left with our wallets 142 USD lighter. We were instructed to return on Friday between 4:00 and 4:45 to retrieve our passports and hopefully, our visas as well.

We rode back to the guesthouse to pick up some more paperwork and then rode down to the ferry dock to see Mr. Msuya. Mr. Msuya was not in, but he had left instructions with an associate to have them call him when we arrived. I was having a hard time understanding Mr. Msuya over the phone, but the one fact I was able to understand was that the ship would not leave until November 10th, which is 10 days from now. I also understood that the transit time would be 21 days. Bad news, everyone. That means our bikes would not arrive in Mumbai until December 1st. We thanked Mr. Msuya for the information and said we would be in touch with him tomorrow.

By the time we returned to the guesthouse, it was nearly noon, which meant that wifi would soon be available. While Re walked out to get lunch, I got the wifi activated. We checked Re's email and found that she had received a couple of responses from the airlines she contacted. Qatar Airways had a maximum height of 84 cm, which is too low for us. Emirates Air had no problem with the size but gave us a quote of nearly 4 USD per kg. Mind you, we paid 6.52 per kg from Toronto to Cape Town, which is almost three times the distance. Including all the fees this would make shipping on Emirates almost 1500 USD (not including a crate). We spent the rest of the afternoon discussing the new reality of what to do for the next ten days, and more importantly, what to do without the bikes for 21 more days. We decided that we would head to India shortly after our bikes left and spend a couple weeks as backpackers while we wait for them to arrive.

For dinner, we tried a new restaurant called Mamboz Corner BBQ. We had walked by last evening and saw them cooking hundreds of pieces of chicken on giant charcoal grills. It smelled delicious, but we'd already eaten, so tonight we gave them a try. It was delicious! We got the combo plate that included a quarter chicken and three types of beef. We also got an order of the deep-fried fish and shared it all. Everything was delicious, and we vowed to return.


8 miles of crazy lane splitting.

After breakfast we walked back toward the ferry dock to see Mr. Msuya and find out more about shipping our bikes with him. Along the way, we spied the office of a freight forwarder bearing Hellmann logo, which Re recognized from her days in cargo. To compare prices, we stopped in and inquired about shipping our bikes with them. The agent we spoke with said it could take up to 45 days to locate a shipment with which he could consolidate our bikes and could not estimate the cost without more information. I asked what it would cost for our own 20 foot shipping container, and he guestimated it to be around 1500 USD to Mumbai, not including any wharfage, other port fees, or document preparation.

Knowledge in hand, we continued on to see Mr. Msuya. Mr. Msuya had done further checking and had prices for fumigation, “stuffing the bikes,” document preparation, and port fees. I had expected the 600 USD we were quoted to go up (obviously), but when he gave us the grand total of 1300 USD, we were a little shocked. Seeing our faces, he assured us that some of the things, like “stuffing,” were negotiable. So negotiate we did. I pointed out that for that price, we could very nearly ship them by air and gave him the Emirates quote details. Of course, I failed to mention the crating, dangerous goods fees, documentation fees, and delivery to the airport fees. Somehow, they slipped my mind. At this, Mr. Msuya pulled out his phone, made a few calls (of course, in Swahili), and came back with his rock-bottom price of 850 USD and the assurance that it would take less than 21 days to get to Mumbai. He was unable to say how many days less, but less he assured us. Re and I stepped outside to discuss the new deal and decided to commit to this. I will say, Mr. Msuya seems like a very honest and straightforward man, but it was with some trepidation that we left him our Carnets and motorcycle titles in order for the export documents to be prepared. We also left him a deposit of 425 USD, which honestly, was the least of my worries. Re and I walked back to the guesthouse, both feeling a little unsure about what we had just done. But Mr. Msuya provided us with multiple ways to contact him and a receipt.

Later in the afternoon, Re emailed Alan and Maggie (fellow travelers from our time in Malaysia) for advice on India. Alan and Maggie are an amazing couple who have traveled extensively over the last 20-plus years and have spent a considerable amount of time in India. After returning from dinner, we found a return email from Alan, and shortly thereafter got an incoming Skype call from him as well. I spent an hour or so catching up with Alan and Maggie, telling them about our travels, and getting advice on all things India. It was a nice way to end the day. We headed to bed with visions of thalis dancing in our heads.

0 miles. A little nervous about surrendering our Carnets and titles (at least I have a receipt...).

While we have too much time off in Dar Es Salaam waiting to ship our bikes, I thought I would do two special posts about our gear and our impressions of Africa. As the gear requires some less thought, I decided to start with that.


This is not another gratuitous bikini shot, if you look very closely you can see how fast the rear tire is wearing...

SYM Symbas. Life in Africa has not been easy for the Symbas. The roads have been rough, and we've spent most of our time at or near wide-open throttle, but the bikes continue to chug along, asking only for petrol and periodic oil change. Overall, we've been happy with our choice. They have made the trip entertaining, to say the least. The drawbacks have been the occasional hydraulic-ing issue (which we've hopefully figured out), the sprocket carrier bolt problem (which Loctite seems to have fixed), and the limited fuel capacity (which our bigger jerrycans solved). Additionally, a little surface rust has begun to show in some areas on the exhaust and on other areas where the chrome or paint has cracked. Some of the bolts and other fasteners are getting a little furry from corrosion. Re's factory front rack bent under the weight of the 10-liter jerrycan to the point where it contacts the front fender, but surprisingly, none of the welds have cracked. The paint and plastic have done well, with just a few wear marks and scrapes that were mostly our own faults. The white plastic leg shields show some staining and marks from our boots that don't wash off. After replacing the crappy stock chains in the US, daily maintenance has dwindled to checking the oil level and tire pressures. We are still running the stock front tires and they have yet to reach the end of the wear bars with over 11,000 miles on them.

Michelin Gazelle M62 tires. These are the tires we used to replace the stock rears. While handling and grip have been good, the wear has been poor. Whereas we got more than 5,500 miles from the stock rears, the first set of Gazelles only yielded 3,300 miles, and the second set appears to be wearing at the same rapid pace.

Garmin GPSmap 60CSx. The surprise of the trip for me. Initially we did not plan to bring a GPS and only bought it two weeks before we left. I'd never used a GPS before and found the learning curve a little steep. But after using it for a couple of months, I can't live without it. It has made our lives easier many times, finding fuel stations, guesthouses, and campgrounds. Our maps are the freebies from OpenStreetMaps.nl, and they have been pretty good. There were some problems in Zimbabwe, but we muddled through with paper maps. It is also durable, as I have lost count how many times I have dropped it.

Pelican Storm iM2600 top cases. Work as advertised. So far, they are 100% waterproof and dustproof. The two padlocks have given us peace of mind when we are away from the bikes. Re's suffered some scrapes and gouges in her 30mph desert oopsie, but they continue to work perfectly.

Ortlieb 49-liter waterproof duffel bags. Very happy with their performance, also 100% waterproof and dustproof so far. White, however, might not have been the best color choice, as they have discolored a bit where the spare tires rub. Combined with the Pacsafe covers they have given us secure storage.

Rok-straps. 100% bombproof, even when muddy or sandy. Just make sure they're cinched tight.

Darien Lights. Can't say enough good about them. They are waterproof and comfortable for extended wear in a variety of temperatures. Re discovered that they crash well, with no damage from her 30mph faceplant in the sand. They armor is stiff when it's cold, but that hasn't been of much concern in Africa. The amount of air they flow when riding has made the very hot days tolerable, but they do get sweaty when standing in them for 1.5 hours at a border somewhere.

Nolan N90 helmets. Overall, we're happy with the helmets, though they are noisy at higher speeds (which usually isn't a problem for us!). The built-in sunshield is great, and the flip-up chin bar has served us well at petrol stations and police checkpoints. The liner is easy to remove and wash, and it dries quickly too.

Vasque hiking boots. We opted for these boots in lieu of specialized motorcycle boots due to our limited carrying capacity and the amount of time we plan to spend off the bikes. They have worked well as riding boots as they have relatively stiff soles and are Gore-tex. They are also comfortable for walking but can be a little hot for extended hikes.

Gloves. My Aerostich elkskin ropers have held up well but are getting rather dirty. Since the Aerostich gloves do not come in a size small enough for her, Re bought a couple pairs of gloves at a local motorcycle store. One pair of deerskin gloves lasted less than 3,000 miles before the leather wore through. She has had better luck with a pair of Tourmaster summer weight gloves, but even they had a few stitches pop loose (easily repaired with her sewing kit).

Mountain Hardwear Drifter 2 Tent. We chose this tent for the small size and claims of 100% waterproofness. The size has been a positive and a negative. It certainly packs small and is lightweight, but it is also very small inside. Essentially, the tent is wide enough for our bags and pads but no more. We have enough space at our feet for our daypacks and helmets, but that's it. The cramped quarters give us no room to bring anything else in out of the weather and require us to be creative with other “endeavors.” Other than the size issue, the tent has been great- 100% waterproof and good ventilation with or without the rainfly. If we had to do it again, we would upgrade to the 3-person version of the tent, the Drifter 3.

Big Agnes Yampa sleeping bags and Air Core pads. Love the system. The bags are an oversize mummy design, which gives a little more room to roll over. We ordered ours so that they zip together on chilly nights. They pack extremely small and are lightweight to boot. We had an issue with Re's pad very slowly leaking air, but eventually found an outdoor bathtub(?) in which to submerge it, where we located an apparent weak spot in the material. We used the included patch kit to fix it- so far, so good. We tried to get the Big Agnes Air Core pillows before we left, but they were out of stock everywhere, so we ended up with the REI dogbone shaped, inflatable pillow, which is not great. It's too small for either of us, and we've taken to wrapping our polarfleeces around them to give them a bit more size and fluff.

Sea To Summit silk sleeping bag liners. Shortly before we left, we sprung for a pair of these bag liners and are very happy we did. They pack to the size of a can but unfold to a spacious size. On hot nights, we've slept inside of these on top of our sleeping bags, and on cold nights have used them as an extra layer inside the sleeping bags. They are definitely worth the money.

Coleman Exped 442 stove. Has worked well, but doesn't simmer as well as we'd hoped. It seemed to work better in the US, so it may be due to the variable quality of petrol in Africa.

MSR Quick 2 cookset. Disappointed in the quality. Overall, it's worked okay, but the nonstick finish on the one pan is flaking and peeling. The bowls are getting discolored where they rub against the nonstick pot, and the cup lids stopped fitting tightly after only half a dozen uses.

First Need XL water purifier. Extremely easy to use and fast. We can fill our 10-liters of capacity in less than five minutes, and no drops are required. Screws directly to our MSR Dromedary bags and Nalgene bottles. It removes everything from the water, including bad tastes and odors.

MSR 4-liter Dromedary bags. They work great and are easy to strap to the top of the pile. Re's developed a small leak as a result of her oopsie in Namibia, but she was able to turn it inside out and repair it with the patch kit from the Big Agnes pads. Over a month later, there are still no leaks.

All in all, we are happy with most of our choices in gear. We are especially glad that we brought good quality binoculars, a hammer, flashlights, extra passport photos, Cipro, clothesline and clothespins, and a laptop. There are a few things we wish we had brought, including a bigger tent, a DSLR camera, and waterproof gloves. We could have left behind our Big Agnes chair kits and our poop trowel (we fortunately have not needed it (yet!)).