I love the smell of fresh bread in the morning

It was all going so well at the Michelin workshop until their car hoist collapsed, with a major hydraulic fluid leak, with our car on it. Luckily only two of the wheels were off at the time. It was then a bit disconcerting to see all the workers scurrying around with trolleyjacks, which also kept slipping and breaking, while other workers were hanging onto the roof rack in a vain attempt to take the weight off the brake discs. Gavin took control and we located the axle stands and made everything decidedly more stable. The only apparent damage was a bent brake guard which Gavin fixed. Once they had successfully fitted and balanced our three new tyres we were happy to leave.

After stocking up on essentials, such as loo paper, powdered and fresh milk, butter and even some fresh meat we planned to depart Addis Ababa. We collected Gavin’s passport and a not so brief return visit to the Land Rover dealer to purchase some gaskets and seals for the rear diff and transfer box as he had now decided that we were losing a bit of oil. Finally we were underway, heading south to the Great Rift Valley. Despite fairly good tar seal the road was slow; littered with the usual carts, poor drivers and their poorly maintained vehicles, motor-tricycle taxis, livestock, pedestrians and cyclists. Also, as usual, our map was a little off the mark and the distances were considerably longer than indicated. So what should have been a couple of hours, to Lake Langano, turned into a night-time expedition. Not advisable considering that the other drivers seemed to think that headlights are not necessary and there were still a few carts and pedestrians on the road. We had been advised not to bush camp in this part of the world so we were relieved to find the motel we had been recommended, we camped right by the lake.

The next day it was a short journey to the hot springs at Wondo Genet. They had a couple of pools and separate male and female showering areas. Entering the ladies area was reminiscent of the Hamman I visited in Aleppo. The hot, hot water gushed out of pipes protruding from the hillside and I was greeted by the sight of a rather corpulent naked older lady sprawled over the ground underneath one of the pipes. There was also a young mother with her two toddlers enjoying a wash. It was wonderful just sitting being pummelled by the water. When we left the queue outside was quite big, it was at the end of the day and many of the locals used the hot springs as a bath house.

The southern part of Ethiopia felt like a different country to the north. Firstly the people were much larger and louder than in the north. The land management was also very different with evidence of larger crops, there were far fewer people walking, instead they rode on carts pulled by donkeys which were also much bigger than those in the north. The women however, still always seemed to carry the heavy loads such as 20 litre water containers while the men had the important job of carrying their stick.

Instead of heading to the border at Moyale we headed south west to the Omo valley which we heard was very interesting in terms of different tribal peoples and the scenery. Also it meant avoiding the infamous Moyale Road, apparently rife with bandits and big sharp boulders to trash your car on. After filling our fuel and water tanks in Arba Minch we headed to the border. Unfortunately we had spot of bother with some police at a barricade by the Bawit river.

There are a few of theses barricades dotted around and generally after waiting, someone appears and after enquiring where we are from and where we are going we are on our way. Not so here. These police officers first of all wanted a letter of some description which we were certain we did not need then they decided they needed a “fee” from us! This we were positive was not required. When the truck beside us was allowed through the barrier we also decided to go, the police however had different ideas. Out came the guns etc so we stopped. Gavin got out of the car to try to reason with them but they then seemed terrified of us and started running away to behind their fire. What was a bit more worrying was when they started sending all the locals away! I just sat in the car thinking that this was not the time for me to give someone a telling off.

So we were at a bit of a stalemate. They would not talk to us but they would also not let us through and were keeping their guns cocked (or whatever you do with guns), not a good time to test my theory that they had no ammunition. Having made sure I had parked the car in the most inconvenient place; in that it blocked the road for any more traffic, I decided to get out the chairs and sit in the shade to wait it out. Eventually a truck turned up, then another. One of the truck drivers spoke good English and helped resolve this impasse. After it became clear that they wanted a bribe for me trying to go through their barrier it also became even more apparent that they were not going to get one from us. All of a sudden we could leave, there were a few firm handshakes and everyone was all smiles and we were on our way.

We made camp that night in solitude. Not a single observer turned up. Also the area did seem to be much more sparsely inhabited than the rest of Ethiopia we had visited. When the sun set we found out why: We were in mosquito hell. Despite a smoky fire, mosquito coils, citronella candle, a useless ultrasonic insect repeller device and even resorting to fly spray, I was bitten nearly 20 times through my specially selected trousers and shirt. Thankfully I had washed before the sun went down.

The next day at Turmi we met some very friendly police officers at the barricade who asked us to take lunch to their colleagues 20 km down the road at the next barrier. Not wanting to have more guns pulled on us we happily obliged them. Or at least we would have if we could find their colleagues. After over 40miles we arrived at Omorate (a border town miles from the border). We ended up giving the lunch box to the Immigration man there and hoping for the best, just hoping that the intended recipient found some food from somewhere.

Omorate is a decidedly unsophisticated town but it did have a man with whom I could change our last Ethiopian Birr into Kenyan Shillings, whilst a kid (young goat) the size of a kitten looked on. A very helpful man told us the way to the border, the turn off was 17km back at a sign indicating that there was a health clinic down the sandy track.

We did not really know anything about the tribes living in the area but given the variety of styles of dress there seemed to be a number of different ones. Most of the women were bare breasted and clearly the Ethiopian Tourist promotional posters depict the girls with the most “fresh” figures, never the women who have had 5 or 6 children or their mothers! Many wore skirts made from cow hides which they also used as backpacks. Both men and women wore lots of necklaces and some rubbed some ochre coloured substance on their faces and into their hair. Some of the men had ornate hair dos with different coloured mud raised up at the back with a feather poking out. Apparently this indicates he has been successful with a big kill over the last year. I am not sure this big kill relates to tribal warfare or to buffalo (I don’t think it relates to tourists). In general these people presented themselves with a lot more dignity and pride than many other people we have seen in Ethiopia wearing filthy clothes and their children with filthy faces and bodies, always with the outreached upturned palms. I am not sure how these tribal people have retained their ancient ways in the face of all the temptations the modern living poses. The area is not very easy to reach but it is also not that isolated and tourists do come here. I don’t know what the tourists do, look at them, pay them to take a photo?

The children along the more main road were certainly relatively tourist wise. They would do tricks and little dances or hold up souvenirs to buy as we drove by, inevitably if nothing is given an upturned palm is offered.

Later on that day we had another odd police encounter at a barricade in the middle of a sandy plain, with a few shacks nearby (maybe they were expecting us to bring them lunch). Anyway after explaining we were going to Kenya we were told we must ask the man standing by the car his permission to go ahead. Permission Gavin duly asked. He was met with a very blank look. So we thought we would show them our passports. Again a blank look, then we were nodded through.

We drove for another 5km and made camp. Luckily I had finished my wash before the locals arrived, having followed our tracks. However, they brought good news- we were in Kenya. The strange barricade 5 km back was the border. When our next visitor arrived, with his herd of cows, I was half way through cooking dinner. He sat and watched us for a while. I think “Big Brother” has not reached rural East Africa yet, so they make do with watching us. After some time he got up to leave so we nodded and waved goodbye. Fatal mistake, he thought we wanted him to stay. So he sat down again and made himself even more comfortable. His herd wandered off while Gavin and I were admiring the full moon as our tummies were rumbling louder and louder. Eventually he got up to leave. We quickly ate dinner fearing more company and lo and behold half an hour later he returned and appeared to settle down for the night with his wooden pillow. Just as we were going to go to bed ourselves he got up came over, said something, waved and was off. We were half expecting him to find him waiting for us in the morning. Despite all this he was quite magnificent to look at; very tall with excellent deportment, wearing a bright cloth to retain some modesty with a touch of face paint here and there.

The next day we made ourselves known to the police in Ileret, a town comprising a police building, their radio antennae and not much else. The route the police suggested took us through the Sibiloi National Park, along Lake Turkana. I did ask if we had to pay Park fees and they said it should be OK because we were driving through. Not so, after driving 70 km, crossing sandy river beds and lava fields we came to the park rangers who wanted a rather considerable sum of money from us. After much discussion we turned around and went back the way we came. Only a delay of 5 hours or so.

Our brand new tyres were already receiving a bit of a hammering from the rocks and lava so at lunch Gavin again played swap the tyres, replacing the rear tyres with the old ones. As we continued on our way we saw no-one, the last vehicle we had seen was yesterday lunchtime. We were really pleased with the privacy this would offer until just before stopping for the night, on the 4^th Parallel, the transfer box lever broke. We were unable to select low ratio or apply the diff lock, essential for this terrain (for people with scant technical know-how, like me, this is what helps the car drive up really steep slippery slopes and negotiate technical routes).

The prospect of getting stuck and running out of water in the biggest middle of a dry nowhere was not appealing. We had not seen a well since before the border.

Lucky for me I married a most practical and manly chap (the Frenchies called him MacGyver) who repaired it. So after another omelette dinner we slept easily, well would have, if it had not been a howling, hot gale.

The next day we actually came to a town, North Horr. The people did look at us as if we had come from outer space but they still pointed us in the right direction for Marsabit. That night we ran our water tank dry and our reserve can did not contain as much water as we thought it did. However, my plan of having the fridge and camelbaks fully stocked with water worked and we made it to Marsabit the following afternoon with litres to spare.

We had heard, by word of mouth, of a place to camp called Swiss Henry’s Place. We had also heard that his wife set up a bakery. That clinched it for us-we had to find it. We had some co-ordinates which turned out to be a bit wrong. As we were driving around the hills beyond Marsabit a Land Rover approached and it was Swiss Henry himself. True to form the bakery was great and we gorged ourselves on fresh bread and butter. I even bought a cake to celebrate Averil’s birthday.

Gavin had been fretting for the last two weeks because we had not been able to send any text message or emails and was concerned that his family would be worrying, so he was really pleased to finally get a cell phone signal. Apologies to anyone who might have been worrying.