Backpacking

The 6 of July is the first day of my 7 day Japan Rail pass, allowing me to travel anywhere in Japan on the railways of Japan Rail unlimited for the next 7 days. In a country of expensive tourism, it’s a fantastic deal. Leaving Tokyo, I hop aboard the Hikari Super Express Shinkansen (bullet train) to Osaka, though I am disembarking at Kyoto Station.

I won’t go on about the train except to say that it is quick, comfortable and easy, and the distance from Tokyo to Osaka is similar as the distance from Toronto to Montreal. It really is a much better way to travel than flying, especially for distances that short.

Kyoto Station is a marvel. The platforms are nothing special, but entering the terminal building is amazing. It is 15 floors of shining glass with a massive atrium in the middle. I take the elevator up to the 9th floor to the tourist information center, where they provide a free map, suggested walking tours and book accommodation for the next 4 days for me. I then wander up a couple of floors to Eat Paradise, a floor dedicated to restaurants with stellar views of Kyoto. After lunch, I wander out onto the Happy Terrace to digest and plan my next moves.

Map and suggested walking tours in hand, and replenished wallet after hitting the international ATM, I wander through the temples of Higashi Honganji and Nishi Honganji. Both are beautiful examples of the more than 2000 temples, shrines and castles that make Kyoto famous. Saving the other temples for my future days in Kyoto, I head south for the Umekoji Steam Locamotive Museum.

Umekoji is an old station house that has been turned into a museum of steam powered rail. They have a bunch of old engines that you can look in, some interactive exhibits on how steam engines worked, and a few model train sets. But the big attraction is the chance to ride for 1 km on a steam train (500 m down a spur line and then 500 m back). Afterwards, they pull the engine onto the working turntable, turn it around and fuel it up, then again onto the turntable to put it into the roundhouse for the night.

The other passengers on the train were mostly young families, the children excited as the steam whistle blows and the train rolls slowly down the track. Looking at the tracks running beside us as we journey, the commuter trains journeying to the suburbs of Kyoto and the Shinkansen bullet train bound for Osaka speeds by, further exciting the children, and the train geek in me.

When I was a kid, I had a train set, and my father knew some people who worked in the rail industry. A few times I got to go out and look at the diesel engines and freight cars up close. And every summer my father, my mother and I would hop aboard the GO commuter train and ride from Burlington to Toronto to go to the Canadian National Exhibition, known as the Ex to the locals, and 3 week long national fair of rides, food and games.

The love of trains was instilled in me then, and it is a bond that I feel strongly with my father. That’s what I was thinking of as I rode that 1km journey down a seldom used spur line, being bitten by mosquitoes and listening to the joyful squeal of children, how much my father would appreciate this.

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I arrive at my Hotel, the Nishiyama. From the outside, it looks like a standard, 5 story hotel. But upon entering, one is brought into the Ryokan experience. Ryokan is the traditional Japanese guest house, the kind that you have seen in a million kung-fu movies, where the hero sits on the mat floor, painting Japanese script with a thick, black brush.

I am shown to my room, where I put on my Yukata, a traditional Japanese robe. The woman showing me the room explains the rules of staying in the Ryokan to me. Upon entering, I must remove my shoes. You never walk on the Tatami, the straw mat floor, with your shoes on, only bare foot or with socks on. If I enter the bathroom, there is a separate set of slippers to wear in the bathroom, which aren’t to be worn elsewhere. She shows me how to open and close the Shoji (sliding paper screen doors) that cut off the main room from a small alcove with the windows, and the futon lying on the floor where I will sleep. A low table sits with a tea service on it, and a book explaining in further details all the rules. Beside the table is a small cushion with a wooden back to sit at.

The woman leaves, and I flip through the rule book. In addition to the rules my host covered, the book also covers other rules, such as when to remove your shoes in other parts of the hotel, when it is appropriate to wear your yukata robe, how to use a Japanese squat toilet and also what can be stored in the tokonoma. The tokonoma is a small alcove in the main room which, according to the book, is used for hanging scrolls or putting flowers for contemplation, and not to be used for storage. In my tokonoma, however, is a TV, a phone and a mini-fridge, leading me to believe that perhaps the hotel Nishiyama is more of a “minshuku” than a ryokan. A minshuku is a more casual and usually less expensive option to a ryokan. The minifridge in the tokonoma, which I am soon using to store diet Coke, would indicate a certain casual atmosphere.

I sit at the low table and take notes on my day, and write plans for tomorrow in my notepad. I am struck by how much I feel like a shogun, sitting as his table planning a siege of a rival samurai’s castle.

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As mentioned before, Kyoto is home to more than 2000 temples and shrines, and many UNESCO world heritage sites. Many of the temples start to blend together after a while, though, and it’s easy to burn out on them, especially with the crowds of bus tourists and school groups.

Two of my favorites, though, are Nijo Castle and Shoren-In temple.

I arrive right at the 9am opening of Nijo Castle, and am able to walk quickly past the tour groups on the squeaking nightingale floors (ancient alarm system – all the floors in the castle squeak to alert everyone of intruders) and soon am ahead of them and have the place to myself. It has a beautiful large garden with old stone walls, and is very peaceful. The only time my peace is interrupted is on my brief passes of Dan and the German.

I first encountered Dan and the German outside of the main building, heading into the garden. Dan and the German were standing talking as I passed them, and I heard the following snippet of conversation.

Dan, who I am guessing is North American of some manner based on his accent, is telling the German that he is, “the luckiest guy in all the world. I have a household staff of five; a cook, a dishwasher, a gardener, a maid and a nanny…”

The German, rolling his eyes, asks Dan sarcastically, “only one maid?” Dan forges ahead with his story.

“…and their names are Dan, Dan, Dan, Dan and Dan.” Dan stops and laughs at his own joke, before continuing to tell the German how much work he does in his house, what with having to clean it and feed and care for his children. I walk quickly past, head down and out of earshot, not wanting to really listen to anyone complain about how much work it is to live their life. Dan, I am sure you already know, is not the only person in the world that needs to clean their own house and cook their own meals.

I have a peaceful walk through the rest of the garden, only occasionally encountering Dan and the German as I am walking out of an area that they are walking into. Each time, I pass a sympathetic look with German, who trails behind the constantly jabbering Dan. But I am enjoying the peace, and have no time to save the German today.

Nijo Castle

Nijo Castle

The next day I arrive at Shoren-in right at 9am, it’s opening time. I think this is the secret, arrive early. I walk in, and I have the place to myself. I kneel on the tatami mat floor and contemplate the waterfall and beautiful gardens outside. Shoren-in might not be the most beautiful of all the temples in Kyoto, but it is only as I am alone, with no sounds but the sounds call of the birds, the splash of the waterfall and the rustle of the wind through the bamboo that one gets a true appreciation of the peace of mind that meditating at these temples can bring.

Shoren-In Temple, Kyoto, Japan

Shoren-In Temple, Kyoto, Japan

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I am standing on the roof of my hotel, wind rustling my hair and flapping gentle on my yukata robe. Looking like a shogun warrior surveying Kyoto’s defenses, my brow is wrinkled. “Look,” the observer might say, “how Greg is deep in thought. He must be planning a grand adventure.”

But no, the observer would be wrong. I am standing on the roof because that is where the washing machine is, and the weather has been hot and sticky and my clothes needed to be washed. And my brow is furrowed not because I am deep in thought, but because I am stressed with worry. Two thoughts trouble me. Firstly, I am wondering how to best stand to ensure that my yukata does not blow up and expose my private bits, for I am wearing nothing underneath.

Secondly, I am deeply troubled for I am about to enter the onsen, or public bath. The onsen is the traditional public bathing area in Japan. One enters the onsen, gets naked and then squats on a stool. They soap up and rinse off using a bucket of water and a washcloth, and then, now clean, they enter the bath itself, of really hot water. It is a relaxing and liberating experience, and apparently one of the few places in Japanese society where you are free of rules, as long, of course, as you follow a set of rules in expressing your liberation.

It is a traditional Japanese practice, and so, in the spirit of using travel to expand my horizons, I am going to enter the onsen. But I am not comfortable at all with the prospect of public nudity. I have a fear of public nudity. Not other people’s public nudity, mind you, so girls keep going wild, just my own. I am hairy, chubby, lumpy and pale, kind of like a sickly brown bear with the mange. It’s not, in my mind, a very pretty sight, and I don’t like to put my body on display. But, I’m going to suck it up and do it.

I enter the onsen, and I am alone. I store my yukata, shoes and room key in a storage bin, and enter the bath room with just my little towel and a grimace. I squat on one of the 12 inch high stools, and start to soap myself up. I am trying to get as clean as possible, because it is extremely bad form to enter the onsen while still dirty, but I want to get into the water before anyone else might enter. There are mirrors on either side of the room, so I catch a sight of myself squatting on this small stool. It’s not a pretty sight.

I rinse off, and slip into the bath. The water is very hot, but the bath is nice. It’s like a hottub, but without the bubbles, and with a view through the window of a waterfall. I actual feel myself starting to relax, enjoying the hot water circulating around me, loosening muscles tired from days of walking around the temples of Kyoto.

Then, the door slides open, and a naked Japanese man enters. My peace, suddenly is shattered, and my muscles tense up again. The man squats and starts to wash up. I find myself watching him wash himself, noting how he uses the bucket and soap in a much more efficient and practiced way than I did. I’m taking mental notes on his technique when he turns to soap his side, and our eyes lock, and I am suddenly acutely aware that I am watching a naked man wash himself. I turn away quickly, and am confronted with the mirror reflection of the naked man. I turn the other way, trying to watch the waterfall through the window, but I keep catching the man’s movement in my peripheral vision, and natural instinct swings around my head to again watch the man.

I try looking down. The water is crystal clear, and I can clearly see my naked body through the water. I am suddenly very aware of my nakedness, and feel embarrassed and ashamed and queasy. I think I know how Adam and Eve felt upon realizing they were buck naked.

The man is nearly done washing himself, and soon will slip into the tub. Sweat is pouring down my face, my stomach turning circles. I can’t take it, I get up and quickly exit the room, trying, in vain, to use the small washcloth to cover myself.

No more onsens for me. The only way that I can imagine that I will end up naked in a vat of hot water anytime in the near future is either if I am drunk and accompanied by naked co-eds, or being boiled alive for someone's dinner.

Tokyo. Nice place. Shame that the North Koreans are lobbing missiles at it. I guess no place can have everything.

I once read advice that said that one should never talk about what they ate or how what they are eating is impacting their digestion when travelling. It is just boring, and in many cases gross. So I will refrain from talking about what I have eaten, except to say that it is all delicious. Walking out of Tokyo station after taking the Narita Express from the airport, the first thing that hit me was the smell. Everywhere I walked, I could smell delicious food in the air. The neon lights and throngs of people I expected, I’d seen all the pictures before. But the smell was an unexpected delight. And it confirmed what I had expected in coming to Japan, that I would be treated to some really tasty food.

I won’t talk about what I ate, but I will spend a moment on the experience of eating. The first night, after checking into my hotel, I walked back towards Tokyo station and soon found myself sitting at the counter of a Yakitori restaurant underneath the JR rail line tracks. I sipped Asahi beer and ate skewers of chicken. Every two minutes or so, the clickity-clack of steel rail wheels passing over the joints of the rail lines overhead could be heard. At tables surrounding the counter, Japanese business people chattered away, drinking and eating and laughing after a hard day at work. Off in the distance, the neon lights of Tokyo flashed. I was Deckard from Blade Runner. I kept expecting that Edward James Olmos would walk up behind me and tell me that I had some replicants that needed retiring.

Every meal since that first one has been a special experience, whether it was the sushi at 8 in the morning at the Tsukiji fish market...

...the wasabi covered nuts and Sapporo beer on the 41st floor of the Park Hyatt Hotel (the same one from Sofia Coppola’s Lost In Translation)...

...the noodle counter where you order from a vending machine that gives you a ticket that you exchange for food or the egg salad and something I couldn’t identify sandwich I had on the run to catch my train. They have all been tasty, but more importantly, they have all been adventures. Every meal has fed my gut, and every meal has fed my spirit.

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I am a giant oaf. This much I knew before going to Japan. I am constantly crashing into things, breaking things and otherwise making a fool of myself.

Being in Japan, however, has heightened my awareness of this fact. The Japanese people are so dainty, small and graceful, and they interact with each other in a structured and ordered way. I am trying to be polite and follow the rules, but I am afraid that I probably mess up more than I should like. I am in constant fear of doing something that will offend all the Japanese, and by extension will embarrass all Canadians.

In general, though, I think I have done alright. Most Japanese people ignore me. It’s a strange change from most places in the world. In most countries I have been to, a tourist is seen as a source of income with, likely, more money than knowledge or street smarts. Touts and scammers lunge upon you, whether it’s tour guides in Tanzania, Cuban pimps or three-card monty scammers in New York City. Here in Japan though, there is little interest in tourist. They are free to roam around without bother. It’s nice, in one sense, that you don’t always have to be watching out for someone trying to take advantage of you. But it’s somewhat sad in another. After all, I just travelled half way around the world, at least someone could acknowledge that fact?

The service people, though, are beyond reproach. They are friendly and attentive, and yammer on and on when serving you. Of course, I speak no Japanese, so I have no idea what they are saying. But it’s nice to have that acknowledgement. However, I’m suspicious of their friendliness. Makes me think they want something from me. I’m afraid that their cheeriness might hid a complete and utter distain for me.

I once had two friends, one from Denver and one from Toronto meet up with me for drinks. Sharing nothing in common except having me as a friend, the talk invariably turned to how stupid and oafish I was. Specifically, they started talking about my love life, and how I had such poor luck with women. I tend to only chase after the ones I can’t have, and ignore the ones that like me.

Further to this, it was pointed out that I had a physical type. I never realized I had a type of girl before this night, but apparently, I do. I tend to go for slim girls with “athletic” bodies, which my friend translated as “built like a 12 year old boy.”

In Japan, where the majority of the women are slim with no curves. And not a single one of them shows anything but indifference at my existence. Those that are forced to deal with me, for example if they are waiting on me at a restaurant or checking my ticket at the train station treat me with nicely, but I am sure they really feel nothing but distain for me. I even read in my guidebook that the strip clubs and brothels of the red light districts are off limits to foreigners. So, I am in a country where the entire female population is built like a 12 year old boy, ignores me half the time, hates me the other half and I cannot get laid. It is like the entire country is filled with my ex-crushes. I have never been more dysfunctionally in love with so many women at once!

At least the food is good.

Roatan is the largest and most populated of the Bay Islands off the coast of mainland Honduras. The Bay Islands are part of the second largest reef system on the planet (behind the Great Barrier Reef, I believe). The reef runs from Mexico down to Belize and around Honduras. The reef passes very close to the Bay Islands, very close to the shore. At many points, you can snorkel out from shore and see the reef.

I stayed 1 day in Sandy Bay, 6 days in West End and 1 day on the mainland of Honduras in the city of La Ceiba.

The trip started with flight 026 on Sky Service (5G) on 26 December, 2005 from Toronto (YYZ) to La Ceiba (LCE). We arrived over Honduras on schedule and were descending into the airport, probably no more than 500 ft from the ground. The weather was gray and rainy and visibility was low. The pilot powered back up and started to climb again, coming on an explaining that the visibility was too low to land. We circled for about 1/2 an hour and came in for another attempt, which was aborted. Another 30 minutes, another aborted attempt. The captain came on and said that the airport was temporarily closed due to weather, so we were diverting to Belize City to re-fuel and try again.

We arrived in Belize City and they refueled the plane as the passengers stayed on board. After fueling, though, the airport in La Ceiba was still closed. So we were let off the plane and into the airport in Belize City. We stayed 3 1/2 hours in Belize (beautiful day there, sunny and warm), but were not allowed to leave the international departures area. Therefore, most of the plane hit Jet's Bar in the airport. Jet's quite a character, a small man with a big presence. Most people ordered bottles of Belikin, a local brew. About 3 hours later, though, we had drunk Jet out of Belikin. Luckily they called our flight and we were off again.

We arrived back in La Ceiba and landed safely (but a bit bumpy) at 4:30 PM CST, about 6 hours behind schedule. The weather was still rainy and gray. We had planned to head into La Ceiba and catch the ferry over to Roatan (US$ 15), but we had missed the last departure at 4:00 PM. I was looking forward to the ferry, but consoled myself that I would get to take it back on the 1st of January.

So instead, we bought a ticket from Aerolineas Sosa for $US 42 from La Ceiba (LCE) to Roatan (RTB). The departure was scheduled for 5:15 PM CST, but we learnt that plane travel between Roatan and the mainland is more like taking a collectivo than an airline in North America. They go when the plane is full, not according to the schedule. The flight was very short, but very bumpy. However, we landed safely around 20 minutes after take off, and were finally on Roatan! There is a $US 1.30 airport tax for domestic flights.

For the first two nights, we had booked accomodation at Judy's Fantasea in Sandy Bay. We had paid $US 120 for two rooms for two nights, meaning rooms (single or double) were $US 20 a night. Judy's Fantasea is okay. The rooms are nice and there is a nice common area (though you need to pay an extra $US 30 to use the stove if you want to cook for yourself). The man who runs the place is called Sheldon, and is very nice. However, the beach in front of Judy's doubles as the road, and thus is very dirty and covered in tire tracks. And Sandy Bay has nothing in it, no nearby restaurants or bars. You can easily get a cab into West End for $US 1 for a 10 minute ride, but as 3 single guys we wanted to be closer to the action, and so ended up checking out early and staying in West End for the rest of the trip. Judy's would be good for a large group or family that didn't mind not being close to town.

West End is a very lively place. It is a mix of dive shops, restaurants and inexpensive hotels running right along the water front. I was told that there was a rule that no buildings could exceed the height of the trees, so there is excellent folliage coverage and the place doesn't look over developed. The best beach in West End can be found at Half Moon Bay at the north end of town. Nice sand, and the reef is just off the shore and easy to snorkel out to.

We stayed at Pinocchio's. For the 3 of us, we paid $US 45 a night for a 3 bed room ($US 15 each). It was basic - comfortable beds, a couple of fans, hot water and a hammock on the balcony. It is up on a hill, so has excellent views down to the water. The beach is a very, very short walk away (less than 30 seconds). There is a good restaurant on the first floor that is open for dinner every night except Wednesday.

For other accomodations that are a little more upscale, check out the Mariposa Lodge. $45 for a single room with AC, TV and nice location. Pura Vida also has a nice rooms, but was booked. The location is quite decent.

I had been told that because we were coming during the week between Christmas and New Years, that it would be best to book ahead as places would fill up. That is the reason we had booked the first couple of nights (I'd much rather see a hotel charging $20 before committing to it. Cheap hotels are great, but quality can vary widely). However, we found many places with vacancies once we got there. The owner of Pinocchio's (an Italian woman named Patricia) told us that business was down this year, but that could also be due to the growth of West Bay draining the higher end tourists away from West End.

For food, there are lots of good options. For breakfast, the best I found was at Blue Channel. They are a little less pricey than other places, and offer anything you might want to breakfast. Breakfast at Blue Channel was around $US 4 - $US 6 each.

For lunch, check out the Hot Chili Restaurant. Decent meals at a good price, and a location right on the water that can't be beat. If you head over to West Bay, try the Lobster Sandwich at Bite on the Beach for $US 9. It's amazing!

For dinner, the Argentinian Grill or Fosters both have good meat and seafood dishes for US$ 10 to US$ 20. Les Bouchiniers is a good meal for $US 20 to $US 25. The Seafood Soup there is amazing, and includes a full tail of lobster, a half a crab and lots of shrimp and fish for $US 21. For cheaper and decent local food, try the Lighthouse bar.

In general, though, there are lots of good places to eat. The only place that I wouldn't recommend is the Philly's Sub Shop. The fried bananas were good, but the subs were soggy and not worth the $US 5 price.

For nightlife, start at Sundowner's at Half Moon Bay. A great beach bar that is the place to be for Apres-dive. Get there early to get a seat around the bonfire. The place closed as 11, but people start leaving after 9 to head to either the Twisted Toucan or Purple Turtle. The Purple Turtle has a laid back vibe and a lot of the dive masters and ex-pat business owners hang out there. The Twisted Toucan is more lively with dancing and partying (almost like an episode of E!'s Wild On Roatan).

The nicest beaches on Roatan I am told are at West Bay, which is around 4 km from West End. You can take a cab, but if you feel up for it, the walk along the beach is interesting and you see a lot of deserted beach (though it's covered with a lot of drift wood and seaweed). The beachs are amazing in West Bay - beautiful sand obviously cleaned every morning. However, the place is much busier than West End, and when there is a cruise shipped docked in town, the place is a mad house of tourists trying to get some sun.

I don't dive, but my friend does and said the diving was incredible. He said that dives he did there were nicer than the dives in Cozumel or any of the Caribean islands he's been to. The coral reef is amazing and beautiful, almost untouched. The only problem he noted was the lack of sea life - there aren't too many fish around, which we were told by a local was due to increasing temperatures in the sea water and local fishing. It is apparently a very inexpensive place to dive, with a tank going for $US 30 or two tanks for $US 50. PADI open water certification (4 days) can be gotten for around $US 250.

English is very widely spoken on Roatan. There is little need for any Spanish.

The only complaint I have about Roatan is that the bugs are awful. I have never been bit more than on Roatan. I never really used bug spray in Costa Rica unless going into the jungle, and never on any Caribean island. So for the first two days, I didn't use any bug spray and my arms and legs soon looked like I had chicken pox. The DEET definately helped (spray both yourself and the bed), but you'll still get bit. There are mosquitos in the air, no-see-ums in the sand and bed bugs in the sheets.

After 6 days on the island, it was time to start heading home. On the 1st of January, we headed from West End to Coxen Hole to catch the ferry over to the mainland. Unfortunately, the ferry was not operating on New Year's Day, so we had to fly. Only one airline was operating on New Year's Day - Islena, the national airline of Honduras and associated with TACA. The flight that morning at 1 PM was full, but they put us on stand by. We missed the first flight, but so many people were on stand by, they full a plane over from the mainland to take us all before the next scheduled flight at 5 PM. For $US 42 we flew a short flight without issue. For some reason, though, the flight attendant took out the seat belt extender and life vest like she was going to run through the safety procedures, but then decided against it. No big deal, right? Everyone knows the drill up and down. However, upon landing, the girl in front of me didn't know how to undo her seat belt. I guess those safety briefings are worth something!

We spent one night in La Ceiba. There was not much going on, as it was a national holiday (January 1st). We stayed at the Gran Hotel Paris in a triple room with AC, hot water and cable TV for $US 58 a night. The Hotel Paris has nice rooms, a good location, an excellent pool and a pool side bar. The restaurant cannot be recommended, however. My friends got filet, which was overdone, and my calamari was salty and chewy to the point of being unedible.

Next morning we set off to the airport in La Ceiba for Sky Service 027 from LCE to YYZ. The plane was scheduled for a 10:45 departure. We arrived just before 9am to find a massive line-up at the Sky Service counter. Most of the Sky Service passengers were staying at a local all-inclusive resort, and thus were brought via bus to the airport 3 hours ahead of time. We were close to the last in line. There are a number of lines to go through to leave La Ceiba. First you line up to have your checked bags searched. Then you line up for a boarding pass. Then you line up to pay the airport tax ($US 32). Then you line up in the immigration line. Then you line up for security. Then you line up to get on the plane. Immigration was very slow, and the plane ended up leaving about an hour late because it took so long for everyone to clear immigration.

We arrived back in Toronto to a monsterous line up for customs and immigration and a mad house in the baggage area. Why is it that a great vacation has to end with a crappy experience like customs and overcrowded baggage areas? There must be a better way to end a vacation, no?

Stone Town is amazing. My first experience of an “Arabic” city. The streets are crocked and narrow, and most of them can’t accommodate cars, which makes it a great walking city. Sunset at The Africa House hotel is a must, and the sunset is also nice from Mercury’s restaurant.

For dinner, definitely hit Forodhani Gardens for the outdoor grill experience. The first night my eyes were bigger than my stomach, and I couldn’t finish my 5 skewers of lobster, tuna, prawns, calamari and oysters. Total of that meal, $US 7 dollars. The next night, learning my lesson, I spent $US 4 for lobster, tuna and calamari and was very happily sated.

Stayed at the Garden Inn on Kaunda Road. $US 20 for a single including breakfast on the rooftop patio. The rooms were nice with four-poster beds, mosquito nets, fans and hot water. It is also an excellent choice because it is on a major road, and thus easy to find. One of the places I was thinking of I stumbled on while lost in the twisting alleys of Stone Town. There is no way I would have been able to find a hotel in those back streets in the dark after a few beers.

Took a spice tour. Zanzibar is famous for growing spices, especially cloves, and taking a tour of a spice farm. The farmer takes you around and shows you various plants and their fruits. We then play a game where we try and guess what spice is made from the plant. Everyone else in the group would be sitting their saying stuff like, “is it turmeric?” The farmer would say, “Yes! It is turmeric!” And I would be thinking, “What the heck is turmeric?” A spice tour is a very, very boring concept if you know nothing about spices or cooking. All it was to me was an hour of beach time lost. The spice tour I took cost $20 including a transfer from Stone Town to Kendwa.

Kendwa, on the north coast, is a quiet and beautiful beach town. The beaches are white sand. The Indian Ocean water is blue and calm, perfect for swimming. Unfortunately I only had a day available in Kendwa. I could have stayed much longer.

I stayed at the Amaan Bungalows. It was $US 30 for a single “sea view.” It was about 20 metres from the beach. They wanted $US 50 for a sea view on the beach, but I decided that the extra $20 wasn’t worth the saved 40 steps to the beach. Very nice place – hot water, beds with mosquito nets, fan, AC. A beach bar and restaurant is on the property. Food is a little pricey.

The biggest complaint I have with Amaan is that they refused to take 30,000 shillings for the $US 30 charge. The insisted on 33,300 shillings based on their exchange rate. Even though I had to leave early the next day and would miss breakfast, they still wouldn’t budge.

I also checked out Kendwa Rocks next door. They were a little cheaper than Amaan Bungalows, but didn’t have any singles available. I liked the architecture at Kendwa Rocks better – the thatch hut look rather than the stucco bungalow look, but that’s just window dressing. I have heard that Kendwa Rocks can get a little rowdy at night – they do host full moon parties.

Attempted to climb Mount Kilimanjaro using the Rongai route. I was doing a six day climb (5 up, 2 down with the summit day being both an up and down day). Unfortunately, on the start of the fourth day it was obvious that I was not well – it looked like I was developing pulmonary edema. I had a gurgling sound when I was breathing, was coughing constantly, was dizzy, had lost my appetite and was very, very tired. The head guide of my group decided it was best that I be taken off the mountain.

Due to my bad condition, they wanted to take me down my stretcher. However, because the mountain rescue team only works on the Marangu route, I would have to walk from Mawenzi Tarn camp to the saddle. Even with the help of two guides, it took me almost 6 hours to make it from Mawenzi Tarn to the Marangu route. The mountain rescue team, who loaded me on a stretcher and took me all the way to the gate, soon met us. There an ambulance met up with us, and I was taken to Kilimanjaro Christian Medical Clinic in Moshi. Got checked out, a shot and a prescription for Dex and released.

I was completely back to normal strength within two days, with no lingering effects.

The specifics of the climb and evacuation can be found in more detail in my blog entitled "I'll be coming down the mountain when I come".

The rest of the group I was with all made it to Gillman’s point, and 8 of the 10 made it to Uhuru Peak.

Overall, my guides were excellent, both in assessing the situation and helping me down the mountain. The mountain rescue team was excellent in getting me off the mountain, even if the stretcher was not very comfortable. The $20 paid in park fees for the mountain rescue crew was well worth it to me!

The climb was booked through Africa Travel Resource (www.africatravelresource.com), locally using The African Walking Company as the local guides. The climb was more expensive than others I saw, but I do feel that the quality of guides was above that of some of the other groups I saw climbing the mountain.

The food was decent and filling, though the higher we got the less variety that we got in our diet.

The hotel accommodations at the Kibo Hotel in Marangu before and after I have no complaints about. I have often read that the Kibo Hotel is a “faded glory,” but the beds were comfortable, the showers had hot water, the rooms were clean and the beer in the bar was cold.

The Rongai route itself was not a difficult hike. There was only one section, close to the lava chute cave, where we had to use our hands to scramble up some rocks. Otherwise, the climb was mainly a slow, slow walk. The path is not as well developed as the Marangu route, but I think it adds to the appeal to have a more rugged (though entirely walkable) path. Rongai does not provide cabins at all, thus tents are the only way to go. Washroom facilities are ugly – many of the group ended up using a shovel instead of going into the squat toilets at the campsites.

The worst part of the trip was the 3 hour car ride from Marangu to the trail head of the Rongai route. The road is rough and dusty. Our car dropped a shock on the way to the trail head.

I wrote about what inspired me to climb Kilimanjaro in in this blog entry. If you would like a more detailed description of the Rongai route can be found in this blog entry.