Taking Taking the Long Road to Cairo: One audacious journey, one improbable bet

Excerpts Ocean Storms Here on deck, the noise of the monstrous hissing waves continued. The waves surged up, poured over the deck, adding their voices to that of the wind, the rigging and the the vibrating yacht. From deep troughs between giant swells, the yacht would strain with the force of the gale to climb up the mighty mountain-high waves, taking some time for that climb to the crest, where it would waiver, like a ballerina on point, then suddenly the bow appeared to dip, leaving the stern momentarily upper most, before racing down the other side, only to be wrenched up again like an enforced lift, again be assaulted by the following mountain of water. The helmsperson had to tuck their head down to their chest as the swell, following closely behind the yacht, spilled angrily over the crest. It was not only threatening, it was terrifyingly ferocious. The sounding line on the stern desperately raced to jump aboard. It was difficult to face the bow while on the helm with menacing swells over the shoulder. Skipper had to shout frequently to the helm, ‘Keep your friggin’ eyes forward,’ a matter of safety to prevent the yacht being hit by a wave and broaching. Slightly off-line, angled across the swell, the yacht could roll. The safety of the entire crew weighed heavily on the helmsperson, hour after hour in an unforgiving sea. Baboons The most appealing fauna to me were several troops of vervet monkeys, highly sociable, attractive, silver-grey coated with black faces and dark legs, although the troop of unattractive, rugged-looking baboons left a lasting impression. We’d bought a packet of large peppermint odd-fellows to suck when we breathed in too much dust. We stopped and watched the five or six baboons in front of the car and sucked on the peppermints. A large male baboon wandered up to the driver’s window, pulled himself up onto his hind feet and looked long and hard at us. We stared back in an attempt to get some sort of amusing response. The baboon didn’t flinch. Jim lowered the window slightly and gave the baboon a peppermint which he put into his mouth and stretched out his hand for another. Jim repeated the exercise about eight times, until the baboon’s cheeks were bulging. The baboon hadn’t swallowed one peppermint. When finally we ignored his pleading look and outstretched hand, the baboon used both hands to slap his cheeks and out shot all the peppermints, like projectiles, hitting the car. I wondered at the time whether the baboon scooped the peppermints up after we left.

About the Author :
Author Ann Balcombe is a story teller and some might suggest the stories in this book come from a fertile imagination. But her resource was a stack of diaries, in which she faithfully recorded her experiences and from which she was able to recount her tale. It took her decades to find the time to write this first book. Ann grew up on a farm in south Auckland where her adventuring started. She lives in Wellington today, is an avid gardener, a close follower of environmental issues and international events including Africa. She is a self described ‘Afrophile’ and since her first adventure has returned to the continent seven times and traveled extensively in other parts of the world. She holds a doctorate in social science, has worked extensively in the education field at secondary, tertiary and adult education levels and has a particular interest in Maori education and health.