Salimos lo más temprano posible del hotel, después de un desayuno que emergió de la cocina paso a paso, lo que nos permitió disfrutar cada elemento a la vez; cuando el valor de la comida fue inferior al valor de la espera, elegimos partir.
We left the hotel as early as possible, after a breakfast which emerged from the kitchen bit by bit, although this did permit us to appreciate each component fully. When the value of the food had dropped below the value of the time involved, we left.
La ruta continuó hacia el sur con la misma calidad observada en los días previos, 117 km después al llegamos al cruce hacia Dodoma, todo cambió y en frente de nosotros teníamos una cicatriz de tierra roja proyectada en el espacio, entre el verde de los árboles, hasta el infinito.
Teníamos por delante a ese momento 498 km, esto sería un desafió, la noche anterior habíamos dormido en el marco de uno de esos aguaceros tropicales, que hacen recordar la delicia de los aguaceros en Manizales, los que invitan a dormir placenteramente, como quien quiere que la noche no termine nunca para no tener que levantarse y caminar bajo la lluvia al colegio. El suelo es arcilloso y como estaba húmedo era liso cómo una pista de patinaje, comienzaron los huecos y pequeñas lagunas a hacer presencia, sin embargo por una extensión considerable la ruta fue fluida y altamente divertida. En toda el día cruzamos 3 camiones, un bus, una pick up, algunas bicicletas, cargando agua o madera, y cientos de personas de todas las edades que van y vienen permanentemente, creando una sensación de compañía en todo el viaje.
The road continued with the same quality we had experienced the previous day, then after 117 Km we arrived at the junction at which the other road led to Dodoma, however in front of us lay a red earthen scar which headed off to infinity between green banks. We had in front of us 498 Km., which would be a challenge. The previous night we had slept through a tropical downpour, which had reminded us of the delight of rainstorms in Manizales, which invite delicious sleep, and a wish to sleep endlessly in the rain, and not have to get up and walk to school in the wet. The earth is clay, and when wet is as slick as an ice rink; potholes appeared, which were water-filled, however at first the route was passable and enjoyable. In the entire trajectory we passed 3 trucks, a 'bus, a pickup, a few bicycles carrying water or wood, and hundreds of people of all ages who came and went the whole time, creating a sense of company throughout the journey.
Runwa, hora de almuerzo. |
After four hours we arrived at Rungwa, a key intersection between the road south and the road northeast to Tabora; an obligatory 'bus stop, and the biggest town (village) in the area. We found a market at the 'bus stop (for the only 'bus on the road); various stands were selling their delights. We walked around and found that they all sold the same thing - chip omelette, kebabs, and fried banana. So this was our lunch - everyone did his / her best to look after us, scaring away the flies from the available table and bench, cleaning same with a coffee-coloured (once white) cloth, a metal slice to divide the banana and a black plastic bag each for our halves of the lunch, and three toothpicks with which to eat. Everything was delicious, we ended up full, and when we had finished we were shown the urn from which to wash our hands, soap included, the full service.
Luego de nuestra pausa continuamos hacia el sur, entre dos o tres reservas naturales, teníamos la expectativa de ver algunos animales, pero solo pudimos ver algunos micos, en esta zona los árboles son más frondosos y altos, y progresivamente la ruta se empezó a deteriorar, 4 horas más tarde encontramos la primera estación de servicio en 8 horas, paramos a comprar diésel, cuando estábamos listos para seguir, el carro no encendió, ahora qué? Barak el chico de la estación, sacó la batería del generador de las bombas para cargar la nuestra, nada pasó, cogió la moto de un amigo y fue a buscar un carro, revisamos las baterías y todas indicaban carga apropiada, la hipótesis de Alan tomaba más fuerza el motor de arranque estaba bloqueado, intentamos las maniobras disponibles y no logramos encender el carro, así que Elia y Barak, comenzaron a contactar al técnico más cercano, él se encontraba en Lupa, una villa a 40km del lugar, y empezó su destino en moto hacia nosotros.
After our break we continued south, passing between two or three natural parks. We hoped to see a few animals, and did see a few monkeys. The trees became more riotous and thicker, and the road began to deteriorate; 4 hours later we arrived at the first filling station in 8 hours, and we stopped to buy fuel. When we were ready to continue the car wouldn't start - now what! Barack, the filling station guy, brought out the battery for running the pumps to try jump starting, however this did not work. He borrowed a friend's motorbike to find a car which could provide more power for a jump start, meanwhile we checked the batteries which appeared to indicate adequate power, lending weight to Alan's theory that the starter had jammed, then we tried various remedies without success. Via Elia and Barack we made contact with the closest mechanic, in a village 40 Km away, for whom a motorbike was despatched.
Aprendiendo los nombres |
During this process boys and girls arrived, looking at us as strange beings, and when we said "hello" ran off, so we began a game of chase with them, following which we had a Kiswahili lesson. We learned everyone's name and finally the names of colours. One of the kids arrived with a football made of rubber and string so we played a game of football, or to be more honest they played and we ran after them.
Dos horas después llega el técnico, para descubrir que con las dos horas de reposo, el motor había despegado y estábamos listos para continuar, ahora mover todo, para organizar la silla de atrás y llevar al técnico y su ayudante de regreso.
Two hours later the mechanic, with an assistant, arrived, for us to discover that two hours of rest for the car gave it sufficient interest in starting that it started upon our seeking to demonstrate the problem... so now we were ready to continue, however we then adjusted the bed to allow the rear seat to be used to carry the mechanic and his assistant home again to Lupa.
Barak camiste azul, primer plano. Elia camisa a cuadros blacos y negros. |
Desde Lupa nos faltaban 25 km a Makongolosi, decidimos continuar con la expectativa de llegar a la intersección y encontrar una mejor ruta. Dos asuntos nos sorprendieron, lo primero es que la ruta empeoró considerablemente y no fue posible manejar a más de 12 millas por hora, el segundo punto fue que en la intersección la ruta no mejora, sigue deteriorándose. Eran las 10 pm, decidimos buscar a 13 millas en único campsite anunciado, avanzamos y luego de 15 millas, llegamos a Matundasi, elegimos entrar y buscar un lugar en donde pudiéramos parquear el carro para dormir, nos encontramos con New Achinwene hotel, en él tenían una habitación con baño, cerca de las 11:00 pm los estándares se flexibilizan radicalmente y cualquier lugar es cariño.
From Lupa there remained 25 Km to Makongolosi; we decided to continue with the hope that at the next intersection we would encounter a better road. Two things surprised us: first the road got worse and it was impossible to drive at more than 20 Km/h; second, once we reached the junction the road got even worse. It was now 2200h, we decided to continue the 20 Km to the only campsite advertised, after 24 Km we came to the New Achinwene hotel, which had a room with a bathroom; at 2300h one's standards become radically more flexible and anything will do.
Un hombre entusiasta, por los efectos del alcohol, nos recibió y se encargó de asegurar que fuéramos acogidos apropiadamente, él es Frank, el profesor de arte de la escuela, el hotel además de ser su lugar de recreación es el negocio de uno de sus alumnos. El profe nos gestionó comida, 5 dólares de cordero al carbón, la forma tradicional Masai. Nos sentamos en una mesa, cerveza en mano, música como si fuera viernes, por fin descansando, así que el profe comenzó su relato de vida, un hombre de 41 años profesional en artes plásticas, hijo de una familia de profesores desde su bisabuelo, frustrado por sus aventuras fallidas, pintor, escultor y Músico cuyas canciones han sido robadas por otros, lleva 15 años siendo profesor de una pequeña escuela con 150 alumnos, desgastado con los desafíos cotidianos: grupos gigantes, padres de familia que no le encuentran valor a la educación, chicos y chicas que no entienden el valor del arte, gobiernos que no dan soporte, supervisores regionales que se roban las ideas y las oportunidades, ex alumnos más exitosos que él, ahora en el negocio de la minería con la tierra y las licencias sin capital para invertir. En todo su relato, nos deja ver sus sueños frustrados de vivir como un famoso artista del mundo, tanto como sus ganas de éxito. Así que conversamos por un tiempo, que parecía eterno. Durante las historia apareció Mike, un hombre Masai alto y discreto que fue enviado a chequear algo. Tiempo después un gesto de aprobación habilita la entrada de la comida. Un plato verde de plástico al centro con trozos de cordero, lo pruebo estaba delicioso, así que los cuatro continuamos la conversación mientras el cordero desaparecía rítmicamente entre una mano y otra. Frank comenzó a prepararlos la agenda del día siguiente, buena señal para parar la conversación, clarificar las expectativas e irnos a dormir, eran ya las 12:30 am.
An enthusiastic gentleman, under the effects of alcohol, approached us and took charge of ensuring that we were appropriately accommodated. This was Frank, the local Art teacher, for whom the hotel was not only his "local" but was also owned by one of his ex-pupils. He arranged food - 5 dollars-worth of lamb, cooked in traditional Maasai style, we sat at a table, beer in hand, music playing as if it were Friday night, finally relaxing, while the teacher began his life story, a 41 year old professional in plastic arts, son of a family of teachers since his grandfather, frustrated by his failed adventures, painter, sculptor, and musician whose songs had been stolen by others, 15 years teaching at a school of 150 pupils, worn down by daily challenges: huge classes, parents who saw no value in education, governments which gave no support, regional supervisors who stole his ideas and opportunities, ex-pupils more successful than he, now in the business of mining and land licensing, with no capital to invest. Throughout his story we could see his frustrated dreams of being a world-famous artist, as well as his need to succeed. So we talked for a while, which seemed eternal. During his relating appeared Mike, a tall discreet Maasai, who had been sent to check something; a little while later a gesture of approval heralded the arrival of the lamb, which proved delicious, and so the four of us continued conversing as the lamb disappeared. Frank began arranging our agenda for the following day, a good moment to bring the conversation to a close, clarify expectations, and go to bed. It was already 0030h.
La habitación será descrita de forma simple, cama limpia y limitada, toldillo rosado, todo los demás es mejor no describirlo. Caímos cómo piedra pero 20 minutos después me despertaron las reacciones pruriginosas en las rodillas, los mosquitos me estaban comiendo, así que desplegué el glorioso toldillo rosado, y cómo buena princesa de cuentos de hadas, dormí con mi amado hasta que la música del pueblo se activó a las 6:30 am para levantarnos a todos y recordarnos que la vida sigue.
The room can be described simply: clean and limited bed, pink mosquito net, everything else best left unsaid. We fell to sleep like logs however 20 minutes later Marce awoke, being eaten alive by mosquitoes, so that the glorious pink net was unfurled, and then like a good princess in a fairy tale, she slept alongside her prince until woken by the village music in the morning at 0630h, reminded that life goes on.
Besos
Alan y Marce
Photos may be used for non-commercial purposes with credit to alanymarce@gmail.com
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