the kenfessions tour - day 1

[Ken Gargett]

Day 1 – 7-12-1987

“We were on the outskirts of Paris when I heard the first vulture.” So reads the first entry in the journal, or one of them. The evening of the second day of the journey – the first was spent in a dodgy campground near Calais when we got off the ferry from England. No, I was not on anything illegal, although I do remember that at that stage, I had not slept for at least 48 hours before I joined the truck. But there they were – squawking, screaming vultures. I could hear them clearly. Fans of the late, Good Doctor will appreciate the reference, though swap Bairstow for Paris and bats for vultures.

How did we get here? How far back do I go? The beginning?

I cannot remember a time when I was not fascinated by animals and especially Africa. Always wanted to go. Never missed a Wild Kingdom, Tarzan flick, Jungle Jim or anything of that ilk. Books? The same. Any African adventure I could find, I read. Gerald Durrell? Most of them many times. Kept all manner of creatures when young, from finches, parrots and quails to snakes and lizards. Eventually, of course, reality intervenes. Always retained the interest but school, sport, university, work took over.

I do remember, however, watching Attenborough and in particular, the episode where he sits with the gorillas in central Africa. It was a life-changing moment. Immediately told my folks that I was going to do that before I died. The term, bucketlist, was yet to be concocted but if it had been, this immediately went to the very top of mine. Never wavered. My parents told me to stop being an idiot and go and finish my homework. But I never forgot it.

Some years later, I had been studying and working in London. It was coming to a close. As much as I loved it, and especially living at a place called London House (I had more fun there than any human deserves in three lifetimes, but yes, I was also studying), it was time to head home and get serious (I'm sure I'll get serious one of these days).

But how to get there? My sister – she got the idea from me – joined a truck and did the London to Kathmandu overland about 6 months before I was going. She enjoyed it. I realised that this was my chance. I could do Africa. But money? I can slum it, but some would be needed. Once, I was extremely diligent with every dollar. Saved well. But wine, travel, the good life knocked all that for six. Ever since, money goes through my fingers like sand. I'd be lying if I said I regretted it – though I really would like to avoid paying huge credit card interest et al, every month. That is boring.

I'd saved some. Figured I could get a bit from the folks – they have been kind, but really did not want to tap that well.

In the lead-up, I mentioned an idiot bank. When in London, I banked with one of the majors. When I stopped studying and started work with a law firm in the City, I transferred my account. Went into the new branch and did all the paperwork. All done. As I left, the teller asked me if I wanted to know how much was in my account. No, I told him, I knew. 52 pounds (or something very much like that). No, he said, two thousand and fifty-two pounds. Bloody bank. Now I have to go through the mess of returning their error. Advised him to the contrary. No sir, it is in your account. Yes, it might be, but it is not mine. I rang them. I visited branches. I wrote. To no avail. Seriously?

Eventually I wrote saying that it was not mine but that I would be leaving England in around 12 months and if it was still there – I would not touch it at this stage – I'd use it. I was happy to pay it back when I got home, but it would be sans interest and over a schedule of which I'd advise them. Nothing ever happened. So toss that into the pot (hey, you have to be lucky occasionally and who deserves it more?), and for once, over the last few months in London, I did additional locums and so forth to help boost the coffers, there was enough to do this in a modest manner. I should say, as will be revealed, that even though I never heard from them again re this, that very same bank managed to cause me enormous problems with some other matters, a few months down the track. Because they were truly incompetent gibbering morons. What goes around… swings and roundabouts.

Anyway, remembering that these were pre-internet days, I did as much research on every possible way of ‘doing Africa’ as was humanly possible. I doubt Stanley was so well prepared to seek Livingstone. I looked at every mode of transport, talked to anyone and everyone with any knowledge, poured over maps. In the end, joining one of the semi-organised overland expeditions seemed by far the best option. I assure you I went over every company and every trip with a fine-tooth comb. Encounter Overland ‘EO’ seemed to be the best but there were pluses and minuses across the board. They were also a bit more expensive than most. But oh boy, nothing prepares you for reality. Over the next few months, the stories I heard from people on other trips with other companies were mostly hair-raising. If I ever got anything right, it was going with these guys. One thing they offered was that the price included all meals. That seemed the way to go and in retrospect, most of these trips collapsed due to fights among the participants over this very issue. Anyone doing this must pick a company that has this as a policy.

But, of course, there were all manner of trips to all manner of places. I researched every one. So much to do, so little time. There was, however, one I kept going back to – the ‘Grand Overland Expedition’ (GOE, for short) with EO. It took in so much, though it was by far the longest. I think three months was the longest offered by any company bar the GOE. It was over seven months, and the thought was very much present that if I ended up with a dud group (my mates kept telling me that I should make it a condition that I knew how many Kiwis were on board before I signed), it could be hell.

The basic plan was to leave London and race through Europe to cross to Morocco (as will be explained, that came immediately unstuck as we arrived in Paris to grab our visas for somewhere – getting visas was always an issue through the entire trip – and bugger off, pretty much that afternoon, but sadly, the Paris to Dakar race was on and every man and his camel wanted visas, so we ended up stuck in Paris for several very cold, very wet days, until we were processed). Around Morocco and then over to Algeria, then through the Sahara, which would take the best part of a month. Come out over at Niger and then through Nigeria, the Cameroons, central Africa (with luck, possibly see a gorilla?), on through the Serengeti, the Ngorongoro Crater and the Nyiragongo Volcano before climbing Kilimanjaro and then to Nairobi. There was a shorter trip, which was ‘aligned’ with ours, which would finish there. We set off together and often ran into that truck but then might not see them for weeks.

After Nairobi, we’d dump the truck, fly into Addis Ababa and head down to the lakes and the Ethiopian birdlife (extraordinary) before flying into the Sudan and Khartoum. Then a train up through the Sudan, to Wadi Halfa (I think), before boarding a ferry, which we missed by an hour and then had to wait in that place for a week – there is not a jail on this earth that would not have been preferable. We’d run out of water purifying tablets and could not even boil it, so for a week, of well over 100 C, we drank muddy water scooped from the Nile. A ferry (turned out to be run by smugglers) up the Nile to Aswan and on another truck up through Egypt, across into Syria, up through Jordan, into Turkey and then across into Iran – that was not uninteresting. From there, into northwest Pakistan – Quetta – and then drove all along just under the Afghan border. Down into Lahore, across into India at Amritsar, all around India including Delhi, Jaipur, the Taj and most extraordinary of all, Srinagar and Dal Lake. This was a few months before the beheadings started in Kashmir, so we were very lucky. It is heartbreakingly beautiful. Then up to Kathmandu, where the trip concludes. I stayed on there for the best part of a month, with trekking and kayaking on the Sun Kosi, with, I am delighted to say, quite a few of the team from our truck, so despite some massive interpersonal problems amongst some, overall, we had a great group. After, I spent nearly two months in Thailand, mostly on Koh Phangan. I had planned to go up through Tibet and try and get across to Korea to coincide with the Olympics but unfortunately, the Chinese were throwing a wobbly about something and they had blocked the road to Tibet.

Okay, a great deal more to tell at this early stage, not least to let Fuzz know how Daryl Hannah fits into this story, so more tomorrow, I hope.

But to finish, the vultures? Daylight revealed that the camping ground we were staying at (I remember it being seriously freezing, below zero mostly all day, and soddingly wet and muddy), a travelling circus was also there.

KBG

[LordAnubis]

Hey what’s the background behind this? You were a lawyer at the time? Bad case? Were you already into cigars and wine at the time?

Looking forward to the stories of explosive diarrhea.


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[Ken Gargett]

2 hours ago, LordAnubis said:

Hey what’s the background behind this? You were a lawyer at the time? Bad case? Were you already into cigars and wine at the time?

Looking forward to the stories of explosive diarrhea.


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they'll come, i promise. dysentery is a joy!

mus, first year in london was at london uni, kings college doing a masters. then worked for richards butler in their international shipping and aircraft finance dept (sounds way more impressive than it was).

wine definitely. cigars in a very very minor way.

[Fatshotbud]

An interesting start to what I expect to be a saga only equalled by Lev Tolstoy - carry on good Sir!

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[Ken Gargett]

bugger. i was just about to give up.