The Superior Striptease Show

A week of rest in Arusha does wonders for us: we forget the heat, the stones, peeing blood, the punctures, the wind, the pain and the exhaustion. Luckily enough there are some new disturbances, like the out of tune sounding muezzin who - at the start of the Ramadan - made up his mind to make our life a burden, day and night. The mosque, with loudspeakers a bit too large to our taste, is situated right across the road from our guesthouse. We admit, it was an inattention of our part while choosing the accommodation.
We also have to admit that it takes us some time to get used to the East-African way of exercising your faith, as well the Christian as the Islamic faith. In the Islamic Middle-East we were used to the calls for prayer five times a day, at a reasonable volume. A few thousand kilometres to the south people haven't really recovered from the extensive possibilities a electrical volume-control offers. The louder the better seems to be the device.
And being used to the restrained hymns coming out of the well-insulated churches in the weekends in Europe, here we are forced to listen to the hysterical sounding psalms of believers and the loud (demonic?) crying and screaming of the - in our ears satanic sounding - ministers of the dozens of religious communities. Here the churches don't have windows that can be closed and people prefer to exercise their faith in the evening or in the night for one reason or another. The time we always try to get some sleep.

A normal and right-thinking human being cycles from Arusha to Moshi via the eighty kilometre long fantastically smooth tar-ribbon that connects the two towns. In our curious stubbornness we decide to branch off to the north after twenty kilometres, to cycle past Mount Meru, through the mountainous Arusha National Park and then go south again along the Kilimanjaro. This way we aim to see a little bit more of the beautiful surroundings. This turns out to be right, we do see a whole lot more, but it takes some hard labour to do so. After a few kilometres we suddenly understand why other world-cyclists preferred to take the tar-road: the smooth black tar is replaced by rocks that are imbedded in dustpowder. Our speed diminishes by two-thirds. No problem, we're not in a hurry. Big advantage of this route is the slackening of traffic with about 99%.
We pass a few small villages before climbing the flanks of the over four and a half thousand metres high Mount Meru and entering Arusha National Park. Sweat gushes from our bodies when we stop to take a break. To the right we spot zebra, warthogs, buffalo and giraffe at a short distance. The climb and the nasty rock-road have paid off already.

Then it is quiet for quite a while, when we drag ourselves and our bicycles over the long rocky ascents, sometimes cycling, sometimes walking. We are being watched by a troop of baboon and colobus-monkeys, that scream enthusiastically at us when we pass. By now the path is no more than a dry riverbed, a fantastic route for Frank van Rijn (a famous Dutch cyclist). We are overtaken by a Landrover filled with white people staring at us, completely flabbergasted. The last kilometres to the top are suddenly luxuriant green. Hundreds of butterflies in just as many colours flutter cheerfully around us. In the descent we can see the whole wooded eastern flank of Mount Meru. Our speed is just as low as during the climb, cycling faster isn't an option because we'd like to arrive downhill in one piece.
In the untidy village of Ngare Nanyuki we catch a glimpse of the snow-cap of Kilimanjaro, who rises up from the insignificant landscape like a giant.

The next morning Africa's highest mountain is wrapped in clouds again. Between the tiny dried-out fields we cycle out of the village and after ten minutes we already have to walk. The path consists of volcano-sand, black-greyish in colour. After the volcano-sand there are the undulating hills with a meandering rock-path to the south-east. The rocks are so big that we have to walk for a few kilometres. Carefully we evade the many acacia-branches that are greedily on the lurk for our tyres. Slowly the path becomes somewhat smoother, so we can cycle more often instead of walking besides our means of transport. The landscape is bone-dry, only some small acacia-bushes manage to survive here. Still there are people living here as well; on both sides of the 'road' there are the boma's of the Masai, here and there in the landscape. Where they earn their livelihood and where they get their water remains a mystery to us. Their only possessions are small herds of emaciated goats and cows. Despite their hard life the people radiate joy of life and greet us cheerfully when we pass by. A group of Masai-children keep a sharp eye on the two white ghosts from a safe distance behind a big rock, when we are lunching with a nice andazi. Frightened they run away when we get up to continue our journey.
Four hours later we arrive at the tarmac at the village of Sanya Juu, where we see our first cars of the day. We really enjoy cycling on the tarmac: we swish down in the descend, whistle whilst going uphill and are able to look around us as much as we like, without cycling into a hole, over a rock or into a thorn.

The real reward we receive in Moshi. From the balcony of our fantastic room in guesthouse Tamama (which we recommend) we see how just before sunset the Kilimanjaro performs a perfect striptease. After having removed her grey skirt and blouse, she - with a dashing move - lets her knickers and lace bra vanish into thin air.
Aaahhh…