We've just completed our full circuit of the globe! The plane journey from Honduras to home was happy in that we didn't have to go all the way to Lima to get home but sad as we reflected on being three quarters of the way through our trip, we've had some great experiences. A week in Scotland for me and a week in Bromyard for Eleanor followed by two days in London soon reminded us of how cold, pale, and tired we usually are.

So, we resolved all of that by boarding the early Friday morning plane to Arusha in Tanzania. This was after not going to bed on the Thursday night except for 2 hours on a seat in Terminal 5. On landing we found it was Saturday and were met by a taxi man with a little plaque who drove us the hour to our hotel where we passed out for our first real sleep in far too long.

The next day we went for breakfast where we spotted some other whiteys and made an educated guess that they worked with the same charity that we were here to support. Correct. Following some general meeting-for-the-first-time chat we went for a general induction in the Charity's office and a guided wander around Arusha which was nice enough - pretty big, lots of shops, lots of people and not many sealed roads outside of the centre. But, as we've discovered more and more this trip, we were already itching to get out of the city and into the countryside which we did the very next day after a night out in Arusha.

We got the bus with John, a permanent contact in Tanzania for the charity. The bus wasn't bad as far as developing country buses come and we discovered a new trick. This is to have all your touts stand outside your bus and scream for you to get on as the bus revs and does all its best to look like it is leaving any second. You can run to jump on, sweat pouring, to find you remain very stationary for the next hour.

Anyway, bus boarded, and as we got to about five or so hours from Arusha it began winding up into the mountains along thin, unsealed roads with sheer drops to the edge. We'd been told of two lorries toppling over the edge in the last week but tried to forget that as we occupied ourselves with watching the vegetation grow more and more lush. Finally, we pulled up next to small cement block on a rutted, red dust road and it was announced, 'Welcome to Usangi', your home for the next two months.

We hopped off the bus and a man instantly grabbed our backpacks, one on his back and the other balanced on his head. We began a protest, we don't need someone to carry our bags and we certainly didn't want to pay him but we quickly stopped when we came to understand that that was this man's only real job and that being in a place where only a handful (literally) of tourists come each year.

Instantly, the locals walking by recognized John. One of these was a smiley, friendly bloke who turned out to be the son of the man we were to live with for the immediate future, some introductory Swahili and a coke later we left for the walk to our new home. This was about forty minutes uphill, deeper into the mountains. The dusty red and rocky road was fringed with palms, banana trees and maize and up until that point if you had just dropped me there and asked where I was I would have confidently stated somewhere in South East Asia, probably Laos.

When we arrived to our home, a little house with a sitting area, a blackboard and filled to bursting with kids games from teachers who had been here to volunteer in one of the 7 local schools. Mr Ishmaeli, our host, met us in the doorway and straight away we realised what a friendly and helpful guy he'd be, an ex-nurse he also used to be village chairman and pretty much knows everyone here. From what we can gather most people seem to be related in some way or another. Across from the house is a view to kill for, a small valley then straight onto the opposing slopes. On these are scattered huts and houses of other villagers. Behind us to the left is where Mr Ishmaeli lives and to the right is a little hut that houses the wood burning stove of the kitchen as well as a cow… that's how they keep them here to protect them from the Tsetse Flies which can pass on all kinds of nasty diseases. As we walked past that particular hut for the first time and noticed the bovine head in what we thought was the kitchen we stopped dead and stared. As the cow took us in and tried to decide if these two funny looking people were grass bearers our eyes met and then it began a massive fit of moo-ing. A very serious Mr Ishmaeli could be heard in the distance:

'No, nonono, don't look at it! Don't look at the cow!'

Fearing Medusa like powers we hid our eyes and ran. Then we discovered it was simply to keep the sound down.

So, we'd arrived, in Africa, in Tanzania, in the Pare Mountains, In Usangi. On first impressions we liked it a lot.

Little did we know that less than a week later I was to be attacked. By a caterpillar.