By 6:30am the ferry was docking and cramped legs were unfurled and necks stiff from a bent sleep were righted. A throng of passengers were already pushing at the lower deck door eager to leave. We’d wait it out and make our move when the danger of being crushed alive had passed.

By 7:30am we’d said farewell to Steve at the dock and were heading to one of the main streets in Dar with Ingo to grab a well needed coffee and a little while later had wished him well on his continued travels.

Waiving down a taxi and jumping in we headed back to Silver Sands ready to pick up our gear, load the bikes and head back to the Royal Palm Hotel. The bikes, to our relief were exactly where we ‘d left them. It was good to see them again. The plan was to bring the bags out, load up and get moving, well that didn’t happen as 3 hours later and despite everything I could think of my big GS was not starting. Power was there but pressing the start button did nothing. I was guessing that the heavy rain of the last few days had meant that water had got to the electrics. Eventually with a bit more ‘poking and prodding’, a spark of life returned. Pistons moved and a plume of breath shot from my exhaust.

The last bag was strapped down to Lisa’s bike as another deluge of heavy rain plummeted earthward.

The white-gloved doorman unable to hide his confusion as to our unusual dress and large motor-cross boots opened the heavy glass doors of the Royal Palm Hotel. Standing at reception we’d have received less stares had we strolled in butt naked, singing at the top of our voices ‘come by yah, my lord’…. it was tempting?

20 minutes later and we’d been met by Visia (Noli’s secretary), who’d already prepared us a hand drawn map with directions to Noli (from Greece) and Gill’s (an English lass) house.

The imposing wooden gates of their beautiful home were opened by the gateman as if by magic. Gill met us like old friends and put us at ease instantly, bearing in mind that prior to turning up here our previous encounter was limited to a few minutes conversation in isle 7 of Woolworth in Cape Town.

Gill had already arranged with her staff to have a room prepared ready for our arrival. Luxury. An immaculately presented room with an en-suite bathroom and it’ own small patio leading down to the pool and over-looking the sea. Not for the first or last time, both Lisa and I were left speechless by such wonderful hospitality and trust. We also pondered our journey and the radical diversity we’ve experienced. Tonight we’re enjoying the wonderful company of new friends in the elegant comfort of their home and yet only last night we were trying to sleep on wooden benches and vying for space with several hundred passengers and more than a few squawking chickens, on an old Russian ship, well past its sell by date, that was seeing out the last of its sailing days on the Indian Ocean, all because of a chance meeting in a Cape Town supermarket.

Breakfast was served to us as we sat on one of the balconies watching Dhows sail out of one of the small ports to sea. The old Palms of a large tree rustled by the wind, just off to our left and Lisa and I just smiled as we sipped on the freshly brewed coffee. Somebody pinch me!

Gill greeted us in the same effervescent manner as yesterday again made sure that we knew to feel at home.

11am came round and saw us parking up in front of the Mozambique Embassy (found at GPS: S6 48.815 E39 17.445) and double-checking our documents in readiness for our visa applications. $35 dollars each for a 1 month Visa. Didn’t seem to bad when compared to others that have set us back $55. We’ve been told to come back tomorrow at 2pm to collect.

With breakfast enjoyed in the same manner as yesterday we headed back into Dar to pick up our passports now stamped with our new Visas.

Back at Gills I got down to sorting out some web stuff and Lisa and Gill did…err, girlie chatty stuff and watched Wimbledon on TV.

With a few jobs completed by 11am, Gill had mentioned she’d arranged a luncheon with a few friends and asked if we’d like to join them. Initially reluctant as we didn’t want to impose any more than we were already and concerned that Gill may be asking out of politeness, we were soon corrected. Gill’s great; “If I didn’t want you there I wouldn’t have asked you”, she explained with a wry but determined smile. We happily accepted.

Julie and Amne, arrived at 1pm and our consummate host made a few introductions. Noli and Gill enjoy the company of interesting neighbours. As the wife of ex-Tanzanian Prime Minister and the wife of The British High Commissioner, Amne and Gill were no exceptions.

As we took our seats at the large dark wood dinning table, Noli and Gill’s staff organised themselves in the background immaculately dressed in their thin pin striped grey uniforms. Again Lisa and I were delighting in the easy company and elegance of the situation, which contrasted so distinctly with other aspects of our journey to date.

By late afternoon conversation had flitted easily between politics, the pros and cons of living in Tanzania, motorbike travel and a host of other topics. Amne had mentioned that her son Achmed (probably spelt wrong…sorry) would probably enjoy a ride on one of the bikes and so it arranged that tomorrow I’d take him for a spin. As the son of an Ex-Prime Minister I wondered if we’d be followed by a fleet of highly-strung agents in black Mercs. We’ll see.The idea was making me smile.

Amne said her farewells and soon after Julie followed suit but not before offering us an invitation when we return to Dar on our Southward return to SA. Something to look forward.

As evening drew in the four us made our selves comfortable and settle back to watch the unreleased ‘Shrek 2’ movie on a dodgy pirate copy. As Price Charming threw himself from his horse removed his knightly helmet and shook his long blonde hair out, in the shampoo commercial way, I knew I was doomed. Lisa, Gill and Noli all burst into simultaneous laughter, and as if rehearsed all pointed at me and laughed some more…bastards.

By the end of the evening, it had been determined that Noli was Shrek, Gill-Princes Fiona and Lisa was Donkey. Mmmmm makes you think.

Not a bad day.Finally finished an article for the British Bike magazine ‘Motorcycle Sport and Liesure’.

Lisa spent time with Gill by the pool and by 5:30pm I was racing round the Coast line of Dar Es Salem with Achmed (Amne’s son) on the back of the big GS. Achmed turned out to be a really nice guy and ‘no’ we didn’t have the company of the bodyguards.

As evening rolled by we all headed upstairs to the TV room to watch the Euro 2004 footy final. With Greece winning I thought Noli was going to Explode. Brilliant.

Packing away as quietly as possible we ended up leaving Gill and Noli’s at 6:30am and set off to back track the 100km back up the A7 before taking an obvious right onto the A14 and later a left onto the B1 which would see us all the way to Kilimanjaro. We were heading for a campsite/lodge on Kili’s foothills, Marangu Hotel in Marangu.

70 km out from Marangu and with the harsh dirty green scrub contrasting with the orange-red dry earth of our surroundings, Kilimanjaro made it’s dramatic entrance, perched regally above the cloud line allowing us to only see its snow capped peak…stunning. Nothing but nothing was budging the smiles off our faces, which remained all the way until we twisted our ignition keys, flick down the side stands and unburdened our bikes in Marangu.

Marangu Hotel’s camping area had a nice feeling about it. Owned by the same family for several generations, the well-kept lawn was perfect for a quite afternoon drink watching the sun set on the Worlds Tallest ‘free-standing’ mountain…so we did

With one of my short runs into the Marangu centre for vegetables I’d picked up a nail in my back tyre, which was leaking air so a quick repair was in order. By mid afternoon it was fixed and Lisa and I had ridden the last few Km up to the Gates of the Kilimanjaro park, from where most of the climbing starts. Well it does if you can afford it; it doesn’t come cheap at $30 per day park entrance fee, $50 per night as hut fees and $20 per day rescue fee (just in case). Bear in mind that each climber will also need at least 3 porters to carry kit at an added expense, it all adds up. We’d sit this one out and maybe, who knows come back one day?

Time was getting on and this evening we were out to dinner courtesy of Jasper and Helen, a local couple we’d met in Marangu a few times and who’d insisted we join them for food. Living way up in the hills we’d been a little concerned about getting there on the bikes. Not a problem insisted Fionala (one of the owners of Marangu Hotel), why don’t you use the Land-Cruiser? Well it’s been a while since I’d driven but it sounded good. We accepted and so by 5pm we were making our way up the potholed and scared track and thankful that we weren’t on the bikes, especially in the dark. The track got worse and narrower as we made our way up the tightening and rocky path.

Helen greeted us with a warm smile and Jasper’s grinning face soon made an appearance. Inside and pots of great smelling food had been laid out on the table, each dish prepared on hot coals from small metal pots kept on the floor. A feast; rice, Vegetables, noodles and meat cooked in coconut milk with spices. Conversation was easy as we learnt more about our host. Jasper had been taken under the wing of a German couple that he’d helped climb some years back and in turn had decided to help him with his career. We could see why; Jasper tells it like he sees’s it, is honest and instantly likeable. Life here is not easy and he’s taking every opportunity to better his lot for his sake and Helens. As our evening went on our respect for our host grew.

We wound up our evenings conversation talking about the various mountains Jasper had climbed and discussed a few of the countries we’d ridden through.

Lisa and I had enjoyed a wonderful evening and had been given an insight into life here.

With the bikes loaded we made our way to reception in the hopes of finding Fionola and Desmond and thanking them for their hospitality, not to mention the loan of a Land-Cruiser. Fionola had already mentioned several days ago that they weren’t going to charge us for camping, which to Lisa and I was a big deal and a saving of $40, the price of a Visa. Unfortunately we’d missed Des, who was out, but managed to catch Fionola and express our thanks. You can find Marangu Hotel at GPS: S3 17.778 E37 31.423.

A relatively short 90-mile ride would today see us stopping outside Arusha at the ‘Snake Park’, a legend in Over-land terms and home to Ma and BJ. We’d first heard of the place when talking to Vic in Silver Sands, who’d described the Snake Park as their (over-landing drivers and crew) spiritual home and BJ and Ma as surrogate parents. We had to pay the place a visit.

North of Arusha the dry, barren savannah seen in so many movies lay to our left and right. Massia were herding cattle between the distorted shapes of trees in the distance. On a long right-hander three young Massai ran to the edge of the road as the roar of the bikes caught their attention. With huge grins two of the Massai started jumping, now I’ve sent the TV documentaries but wow, these guys can jump. The fact that they were jumping because of excitement we’d caused was wonderful and something we talked excitedly over the Autocom as we continued to Snake Park.

By mid afternoon we’d seen the sign and were pulling up the gravel track into the park.

A selection of low palm roofed buildings to our right and a two-storey workshop to our left, ready for use. The tent went up under the shade of a few trees and next to a low white painted wall. Kit was thrown in and bikes parked up, as we started to head back to the buildings, a close, loud and deliberate hiss caught our attention. We walked back over to the white wall behind the tent and peered over nervously, a large crocodile stared back up from right in front of us. Holy-shit, we’d made home right next door to the crocodile enclosure. Five other large croc’s paddled over to see what was going on.

These guys are big and we wondered if the small wall was sufficient to keep them in. We’d find out I guess?

A great few days…

Do yourself a favour and find Snake Park at GPS: S3 24.601 E36 28.979

Ma and BJ delivered the warm welcome Vic had promised us at Snake Park and we immediately felt at home. A large area around the corner from the bar made parking up easy for the large over-landing trucks with plenty of space for their dark green domed tents erected for their clients.

‘Christie’ the Dragoman truck driven by Vic, whom we’d met in Dar Es Salem, was parked up in the workshop and it wasn’t long before we’d met her new owner and driver Kara and had found out that Vic arrived safely back in the UK two days ago.

BJ had given me a wicked smile, which said ‘of course you can and why are you even bloody asking’ when I’d asked his permission to use the workshop. Lisa’s bike had blown a left fork seal on the way up and I wanted to replace it. Replacing the ATF fluid in both forks also seemed like a pretty good idea, as they were still holding the ‘temporary’ fluid I’d put in Northern Senegal. The fork gaiters were also ripped and pretty much useless so would need to be changed. This wasn’t going to be easy as Steve the head of maintenance from the ‘Royal Palm Hotel’ in Dar in an attempt to help remove the brace bolt, had actually managed to strip the Allen key hold from the inside and then weld the bolt to the upper fork yolk. Several days later it was only with help from Marcus, the driver from the Exodus truck that we managed to loosen the bolt, with a hammer and chisel and that I could finish replacing the gaiters and renew the oil. ‘Cheers Marcus’!

Ma and BJ make the Snake Park Camp. Both South Africans who moved up here and started the ‘Snake Park’ 11-years ago and haven’t look back. BJ says with a degree of pride that he hasn’t been back to SA in his 11-years here.

Our days have been spent working on the bikes or laptop and our evening spent enjoying the company of Ma and BJ and the constant groups of passengers brought by the trucks. The palm roof bar is testament to the fun had here as flags from every nationality and T-shirts, each one written with a messages of thanks, hang from the ceilings, beams and bar. The place has a eclectic ‘TGI Fridays’ style, only more genuine than TGI’ could ever dream of. The mixture of wild and wonderful decorations that adorn it, all have a genuine history and were given by clients who wanted to remain part of the history and are not just thrown up to make it look ‘cool’. A badly damaged and twisted propeller hangs from the centre of the ceiling and written on one of the blades in black permanent ink it says ‘John crash landed here in 1998 and was here for 3 months’, scrawled underneath it continues to say ‘bollocks he didn’t leave until 1999 and he keeps coming back’. We haven’t met John but we know why he keeps coming back.

Hospitality here is a way of life. From our first night here Ma took us under her wing and as she arranged to feed her adoptive ‘driver and crew’ family she added two more to the numbers for dinner and fed us each night from either the Kitchen or BBQ. To top it off, when we came to pay for camping, she simply refused it. “years ago we had to charge”, she said in her still distinct South African accent, “but now it’s nice that if we don’t want to we don’t have to…so just enjoy it”, she continued. Thanks Ma!A big thank you also to Marcus and Kara for your company and advice.

PS: Kara, we had a vote and it was decided that you are in fact a…’cool truck chick’, voting members were dragoman, Exodus and AOC crew.

PPS: sorry for calling you a ‘BUS BABE’J