We rose in the dark and Charlie (my hero) produced a mug of tea which fuelled us through boiling and eating eggs before packing our bags in readiness for the days trekking in search of Chimpanzees. After Charlie had returned from his morning swim we met up with our guide and set off into the hills.

It was quite comfortable walking in the cool of the morning but after an hour or so the sun appeared over the mountains and things started to get sweaty. At the end of a long slow uphill I evidently looked bad enough to warrant our significantly overweight guide offering to carry my small rucksack. This caused much amusement amongst the group and my negative reply was brief if a little breathless.

We continued on the narrow winding trails, gradually gaining height as the temperature rose and we soon met up with a group of trackers who were poised on a ridge, listening out for chimp vocalisation. We sat there for 4 hours and the professional conclusion was that 'the chimpzees are hiding'. Fortunately during our period of monitoring Charlie had sectioned a beautifully ripe pineapple and we ate it watching an elegant pair of swallowtail butterflies cavort up and down the narrow ride in the trees.

With no leads on the chimps locations we returned to base and thanked our guide for his efforts. Frustrated, but understandingly realistic, we headed down to the lake for a swim to cool off but by the time Bob had made a cup of tea the beautifully maintained motor dhow from the Nomad Camp appeared and beached in our bay allowing its chic occupants to disembark and hurrying into the jungle. Intrigued we continued to watch as our guide then appeared, hurrying up the beach. Appearing out of breath he bought news that chimps had been spotted an hour away so we put down our books and cajoled our tired legs back into the disgustingly sweaty gear which we had removed just 20 minutes before. We forced our minds not to linger on the cool relief of the lake, instead focusing on the fact that chimps were the reason we were here.

Our guide tracked the Nomad group, possibly by the smell of their lingering perfume, and before long the jungle telephone confirmed that we were in the right spot. We scanned the canopy and saw a mother with a 6 month old baby and her adolescent child dancing around in the top of a very tall isolated tree. The day was not lost after all.

One pair of our group at a time was allowed to go closer and join the Nomads who were clustered in the prime watching spot but this did involve comparing Bob and Charlie's chipolata camera lenses with the rich gentlemen's bratwursts. The baby chimp put on a superbly photogenic show in the lower branches and as the Nomad's times expired we got the best seats in the house as the chimps took to the ground and ambled off into the undergrowth.

We returned to the Bandas elated, we had seen chimps and still got back to the beach in time to see the sun set. Charlie and I swam and dragged together wood for a beach fire before heading back in the dusk to shower and see what the girls had concocted for supper. The result was an odd dish of assorted vegetable spaghetti into which we dared to mix in a pack of indestructible beef sausages which we'd bought frozen in Kigoma. With a notable amount of scotch bonnet chilli in attendance as well it made for a novel filling supper if not a very tasty one.

We returned to the beach to light the pile of dry driftwood and watched mesmerised as the flames took hold on the lake's edge. We sat back, very proud of ourselves and watched the stars, chatting about everything and nothing, and generally loving being in one of the most remote locations on the globe. After most of our huge wood supply had been turned to embers we retired to bed and the fire was taken over by a group of locals who arrived by boat. Their gratitude for the smouldering fire circle did not extend to partying quietly though there was also something in residence in the roof space above our heads which seemed determined to get through the ceiling but fortunately I fell asleep before it did.