Wednesday 4th November - Friday 6th November 2009
Days 129 - 131
We'd read about the problems associated with the Tazara Express the famous train that runs from Zambia to Dar Es Salaam on the east coast of Tanzania. Funnily enough in the book Dark Star Safari by Paul Theroux, which Id incidently just finished, he had given up hope of the train restarting after a serious breakdown, so opted for an alternative mode of travel halfway through the trip. This and other warnings fell on deaf ears. We wanted to experience the Tazara even though we could have caught a luxuary coach to Dar Es Salaam from our current location in Mbeya (in south west Tanzania) which would have taken half the time. Approximately 12 hours.
We were in fact on a Dar Es Salaam bound coach from the Malawi-Tanzania border but opted to get off and spend a couple of nights on a coffee farm before leaving on the Wednesday departure.
As we rolled into Dar es Salaam a full 24 hours late, the train taking double the time to get to it's destination we were hot, sticky, tired but with an adventure we'd remember for some time to come.
The journey had started like a dream, stocking up on supplies in Mbeya, we got a lift to the Tazara train station from a Namimbian family we'd befriended on the coffee farm. The station was a huge Chinese-made block design station which was a whole lot busier than when we'd picked up our tickets two days ago. Once here we boarded first class which was a cabin made up of two sleeper bunk beds. Layla managed to wing our own cabin which we sat in watching the boarding with interest waiting for the train to depart.
The station was full of street-sellers. Bags lined the departures lounge in an orderly queue. People were everywhere. Luggage was everywhere. We then got the ok to enter the platform. The problem was we'd board the train from the other side of the rails. This meant everybody and their luggage clambering down the giant ledge onto the rails, over the rails and back up the ledge on the other side. This was a difficult enough task for the young and fit with little baggage. This category of person was certainly in the minority.
We then experienced our first of many delays with the train departing Mbeya three hours late due to a problem with the wheel bearings and a new carriage needing to be fitted.
Another battle then commenced with a ticket inspector that looked like a fat Forest Whitaker whose nipples were exposed either side of his wife beater as he tried to persuade us to move cabin. We were having none of it. Correction - Layla was having none of it.
Next door we befriended a two year old girl named Precious, a gorgeous girl with braided hair who greeted us both with a hug. A BBC film crew were also on board made up of Sean Langham - an ex front-line diary documentary maker who'd been captured by the Taliban during filming in Afganistan and won awards for his documentaries in areas of conflict and war. He was accompanied by cameraman Claudio who shot to fame in the series staring Ewen McGregor Long Way Around. They were filming for a BBC season on Africa to be aired early next year and had already done one unscathed return journey the entire length of the Tazara.
Once the train got going I'd put this up there with one of my favourite travel experiences. Train travel seemed to make sense to us on this first day. Despite the delay we were chugging along nicely on this vintage train, being overtaken by cars but that didn't matter. We were going where cars couldn't and exploring Africa's backgarden silently and subtely calving in a relaxed, comfortable and peaceful manner.
Through tunnels we passed and autumnul-coloured vegetation we continued passed mountains and tree-filled craters, waving to excited villagers as we passed delighted to get a return wave particulary from a Merzoungo.
We ordered soup followed by a beef and chicken meal accompanied by a Kilimanjaro beer brought to our cabin by friendly waitstaff as the sun set. To open the window, stick your head out, read, write, listen to the radio, chat to fellow passengers, enjoy the cabin. This really was too good to be true. The ultimate luxuary.
However in any walk of life there are people like our Forest Whitaker friend. Our first night was interupted by Whitaker throwing his considerable weight around our carriage demanding we split into male female cabins. The only way around this was to purchase the entire cabin. It was midnight so many people would have paid up which could well have gone into his back pocket. He certainly seemed put out when we decided to go into seperate male female cabins for the night.
Layla slept alone in her female cabin so I just joined her in the morning where the train was at a standstill. It had stopped here in the early hours and got moving again around 9am. You could hear the strain of the old trains limbs as it was awoken into action.
Over breakfast Layla got chatting to the BBC crew and was filmed by Claudio. However as we spoke the train grinder to a halt. A theif had got on board and had climbed onto the roof when spotted. He was now being chased into the nearby village by security guards. As the train pulled off the theif was being bashed around by the villagers. We didn't fancy his chances much.
Around one hour later (12:30 approximately) the train stopped once again and here we stayed. Word filtered through that a cargo train had derailed in front of us which would mean a long delay. An African long delay was like comparing years with dog years.
It was piping hot so we pottered around the carriage a little playing with Precious, chatting tongue BBC boys and fellow passengers.
A little later we went for a walk to the front of this colossal train with us located at the backside. We walked through the markets of the local village and back onto the track to see the maintenance vehicle which looked, to be honest, a little inadequate for the job of moving the derailed cargo train.
Back at the cabin we were entertained by local children singing, dancing and making fart noises with their armpits. Kids will be kids. We left the train again and chatted to a local teacher who spoke about the education system here in the village. It wasn't long before BBC Sean tagged along and asked to film in the village. After getting the all clear from the chief the three of us went for a walk through the village chatting to other teachers and children bringing their English excercise books out for us to look at. However the light was fading which wasn't any good for the filming sonar said our goodbyes and got on the train.
Over dinner rumours spread that we'd get going again at 9pm. It was now 8 so we were obviously extremely sceptical. We would eventually get going at 5:30am.
The night' sleep was pretty dreadful. The air was so hot, stil and sticky. We were awoken by the Call of Prayer from the nearby mosque at first light followed by the sweet sweet sound ofnthe train's horn indicating it was about to get going. And much to our relief it did.
Despite the train running out of food, water to drink and shower in, the remaining journey was extremely pleasant. Outside as we drove through a national park we spotted giraffe and zebra which was nice to see from the window ofna slow moving train.
A number of station stops were relatively brief but extremely interesting as we witnessed a variety of different townships before entering the sandy slums of Dar es Salaam. We rolled into the station at around midday. Not quite 24 hours late but close enough.
This had been some journey. Our clothes were glued to our skin, we were knackered, we stank. thirsty, hungry and beat. Would I have got the 12 hour luxuary coach in retrospect? Not a chance in hell!
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Sunday, November 8, 2009
The many faces of the Ilala Ferry
Friday 30th October-Sunday 1st November 2009
Days 124-126
As the sun set on the first day on board the Ilala all was well and peaceful as we toasted the red ball in the sky with a Carlsberg sundowner. This was, however, quite literally the calm before the storm. No sooner had the final rays of light disappeared the wind picked up an almighty force knocking a German chap's cap clean off his head and forcing us all into the shelter of the bar area on the top deck of the boat.
The wind continued to grow stronger and didn't let up as we descended below deck to the restaurant. Here over some gristle and fries the storm outside was symbolized by a map of Malawi swaying frantically in tune to the colossal waves outside.
Sleeping on a matress on deck would certainly be interesting tonight as rain kicked in to add insult to injury.
The Ilala Ferry is a 60 year old beast of a boat originally built to transport cargo up and down Lake Malawi. These days it takes passengers up the majority of the 300 km long 50 km wide 600 metre deep lake stopping at 12 ports over the course of its three day journey which it takes once a week northbound and southbound.
The boat is considered by the sentimental to be an engineering marvel, a talisman of Malawi, an African icon, a gift from the Gods. By others it's considered an illfated, unsafe, unreliable dinasaur roaming the lake if stars and guzzling a ridiculous amount of fuel in the process.
What is safe to say is it's a great way to experience the lake and is, rightly so, becoming an integral part of the well trodden traveller's trail up or down southern Africa. But word has it you better be quick as younger, fitter, economic ferries are being lined up to take the place of this Lake Malawi legend.
On board the first day was Layla and I, a group of three Germans, an eccentric 62 year old French lady called Jocelyn and Till, a Swiss freelance journalist on board to cover the Ilala in a pre-commissioned newspaper article whose proceeds would help fund a friend's aid project to build schools in Malawi. We certainly were an unlikely bunch thrown together.
As the Ilala pulled into each port the excitment was tangible for those locals who had come out especially to see the boat. As though the boat were here once a year rather than twice a week. As soon as the boat stopped absolute chaos commenced with people scrambling to get off the boat, people scrambling to get on, tradesman selling goods on port, visitors coming to tour the ferry while it was docked, those on board hanging over the edge to observe what was going on, those off the boat peering from the dock, off the edge of dugout canoes or by simply swimming out towards the boat to see what was going on. Utter chaos but somewhat organised chaos with the boat sounding its piercing horn before pulling off with everything seemingly sorted.
A pleasant day followed by the storm meant waking up on day two with not too many winks and a bit of a sore head from a Danish friend called Carlsberg. The waves were still choppy which caused a quizziness Id never experienced before. However, nothing a tea and a shower couldn't fix.
Things started to quiten down and all sorts of goods started being loaded onto the boat at its first stop of the day. A choir boarded the ferry along with some other interesting people , mostly locals, who we had s good chat to before the choir started belting out tunes.
The majority of passengers got off at the popular Limkome Island where a new contingent got on board pacing the boat to the rafters. Travellers, locals and drunk army guys filled the top deck drinking, chatting whilst we tried to find a spot to sleep.
We awoke the next day to the sounds of everybody leaving and hustlers on board trying to entice travellers to their lodge through their means of transport. When we finally awoke the deck was back to normal with Layla, me and Till the only originals left. We set off with a set of new passengers including some US students who were on a University excursion. They were all on the African Studies course.
It was a beautiful day and the students were hitting the beer pretty hard. What a course! They ended up departing at a tiny bay which had apparently been voted in the top 10 most remote places to get a beer. Tempted as we were we stayed on board and made do with a cheeky Carlsberg before the night drew in and the waves became not too unlike the first nights.
We managed to get a small bit of shut eye before being awoken to the lights of the final port Chilumba.
It was 1am on Sunday when we got off the Ilala ferry where we were greeted by Harold, the port security warden who amused us no end in our delirious state whilst also showing us a lump of concrete where we could lie until the first minibuses arrived at 4.30am.
We said our goodbyes to Ilala as Harold claimed to be my long lost son. 'My father was named Matthew. Maybe you are my father. I have met my father off the Ilala today. I have found my father. Hello Matthew I am your son Harold.' Harold was 60 years old. Harold was completely bonkers.
We'll never forget our time on the Ilala and we certainly will never forget Harold.
Days 124-126
As the sun set on the first day on board the Ilala all was well and peaceful as we toasted the red ball in the sky with a Carlsberg sundowner. This was, however, quite literally the calm before the storm. No sooner had the final rays of light disappeared the wind picked up an almighty force knocking a German chap's cap clean off his head and forcing us all into the shelter of the bar area on the top deck of the boat.
The wind continued to grow stronger and didn't let up as we descended below deck to the restaurant. Here over some gristle and fries the storm outside was symbolized by a map of Malawi swaying frantically in tune to the colossal waves outside.
Sleeping on a matress on deck would certainly be interesting tonight as rain kicked in to add insult to injury.
The Ilala Ferry is a 60 year old beast of a boat originally built to transport cargo up and down Lake Malawi. These days it takes passengers up the majority of the 300 km long 50 km wide 600 metre deep lake stopping at 12 ports over the course of its three day journey which it takes once a week northbound and southbound.
The boat is considered by the sentimental to be an engineering marvel, a talisman of Malawi, an African icon, a gift from the Gods. By others it's considered an illfated, unsafe, unreliable dinasaur roaming the lake if stars and guzzling a ridiculous amount of fuel in the process.
What is safe to say is it's a great way to experience the lake and is, rightly so, becoming an integral part of the well trodden traveller's trail up or down southern Africa. But word has it you better be quick as younger, fitter, economic ferries are being lined up to take the place of this Lake Malawi legend.
On board the first day was Layla and I, a group of three Germans, an eccentric 62 year old French lady called Jocelyn and Till, a Swiss freelance journalist on board to cover the Ilala in a pre-commissioned newspaper article whose proceeds would help fund a friend's aid project to build schools in Malawi. We certainly were an unlikely bunch thrown together.
As the Ilala pulled into each port the excitment was tangible for those locals who had come out especially to see the boat. As though the boat were here once a year rather than twice a week. As soon as the boat stopped absolute chaos commenced with people scrambling to get off the boat, people scrambling to get on, tradesman selling goods on port, visitors coming to tour the ferry while it was docked, those on board hanging over the edge to observe what was going on, those off the boat peering from the dock, off the edge of dugout canoes or by simply swimming out towards the boat to see what was going on. Utter chaos but somewhat organised chaos with the boat sounding its piercing horn before pulling off with everything seemingly sorted.
A pleasant day followed by the storm meant waking up on day two with not too many winks and a bit of a sore head from a Danish friend called Carlsberg. The waves were still choppy which caused a quizziness Id never experienced before. However, nothing a tea and a shower couldn't fix.
Things started to quiten down and all sorts of goods started being loaded onto the boat at its first stop of the day. A choir boarded the ferry along with some other interesting people , mostly locals, who we had s good chat to before the choir started belting out tunes.
The majority of passengers got off at the popular Limkome Island where a new contingent got on board pacing the boat to the rafters. Travellers, locals and drunk army guys filled the top deck drinking, chatting whilst we tried to find a spot to sleep.
We awoke the next day to the sounds of everybody leaving and hustlers on board trying to entice travellers to their lodge through their means of transport. When we finally awoke the deck was back to normal with Layla, me and Till the only originals left. We set off with a set of new passengers including some US students who were on a University excursion. They were all on the African Studies course.
It was a beautiful day and the students were hitting the beer pretty hard. What a course! They ended up departing at a tiny bay which had apparently been voted in the top 10 most remote places to get a beer. Tempted as we were we stayed on board and made do with a cheeky Carlsberg before the night drew in and the waves became not too unlike the first nights.
We managed to get a small bit of shut eye before being awoken to the lights of the final port Chilumba.
It was 1am on Sunday when we got off the Ilala ferry where we were greeted by Harold, the port security warden who amused us no end in our delirious state whilst also showing us a lump of concrete where we could lie until the first minibuses arrived at 4.30am.
We said our goodbyes to Ilala as Harold claimed to be my long lost son. 'My father was named Matthew. Maybe you are my father. I have met my father off the Ilala today. I have found my father. Hello Matthew I am your son Harold.' Harold was 60 years old. Harold was completely bonkers.
We'll never forget our time on the Ilala and we certainly will never forget Harold.
The race for the boat
Wednesday 28th October - Thursday 29th October 2009
Days 122 - 123
The Ilala Ferry is legendary in Malawi. This colossal cargo ship travels northbound once a week up Lake Malawi taking three days. We wanted a piece of Ilala action but the problem was it left on Friday and today was Wednesday. We were a long way from the Malawi border let alone Monkey Bay at the southern tip of the lake where the boat departed.
The plan was to travel by chapas to Beira 450km north of Vilankulo. From here we would take an afternoon internal flight to Tete, the closest city to the Malawian border where we'd somehow get to the border, hopefully get through ok and travel the remaining 400km north to Monkey Bay. This was a big ask.
We woke at 3.30am and took the 4.30am chapas to Beira. We actually set off in daylight with ridiculously early sunrises the norm in Mozambique at this time of year. Whilst we had the leg room thanks to the luxuary of a trailer on this chapas we were sat directly above the engine so were utterly sweltering in the heat. Our mind was taken off this thankfully by the buzz of activity in all the villages with today election day. There was also the other distraction of the chickens making an appearance shortly into the trip.
The roads were appalling with chapas-sized potholes causing the driver to via off the road at times. On one occasion he hit a pot hole with an almighty bang. He stopped the vehicle with our hearts pounding as we'd left very little room to manouvre between arriving in Beira and catching our flight. We then heard a hammer clinking and feared the worst. However, on getting out of the vehicle we were relieved to see it was actually the vehicle behind us that had the problem. Our driver had just kindly stopped to help.
Onwards we pressed with bum in the numb stage of travel and sleep simply not possible on this bumpy ride.
We arrived in Beira, retreived our bags and got a taxi to the derelict airport. Here we boarded our plane with the four other passengers from Beira to Tete.
On arrival in Tete we haggled down a cab driver to take us to some accomodation. He offered us a good price to get us to the border the next day. With the sun setting over the Zambesi river en route to our hotel we felt we were on track but were still unsure of transport in Malawi.
Our hotel was frankly disgusting. It was the hotel equivalent of Trainspotting's toilet scene. We longed for our tent. Tete itself was full of drunk locals maybe celebrating or drowning their sorrows over the election result. We found a bar where we humoured some hammered blokes called Mario and Moses. 'The question iz diz....The question iz diz.......What iz the question?' Moses slurred. This was about the most sense we got from them. Nice chaps though.
The next morning we were picked up by Ibrihim who picked up his dolled up wife for the trip. We crawled back over the bridge crossing the Zambesi which opened at 7am having been closed overnight. We then pushed on through secluded villages on sparse roads potholed in places but mainly tidily tarmaced which pleased our all too anxious driver careful not to damage his modified Mitsibushi.
On border arrival we battled through the swarm of black market money exchangers and got stamped out of the country into no mans land which covered 5km between Mozambique and Malawi. We picked up a reduced rate cab with passenger door loosely hanging by its hinges and were dropped at Malawian immigration.
Once through we were put into the sticky paws of two young drivers Oscar and Godfrey. Over the course of the journey our relationship with these lads turned into a rollercoaster ride. It started well before spiralling as they became all too greedy en route attempting to scam more money out of us. We weren't best pleased but over the course of this ride managed to compromise and get them to drive us further than the closest town to a major junction town two hours away which benefitted their pockets and our travel comfort to Lake Malawi.
They felt we'd haggled them down too much but couldn't refuse the extra cash so were a little moody. However a coke apiece and long football conversation got them back onside allowing an insight into their real personalities and not just the opportunistic taxi drivers. We left them with smiles, shakes off the hand and a tip as we clambered on board a 30 seater bus which would take us the remainder of the journey. We had timed it perfectly arriving at the junction just as the bus was setting off. The boys had done us proud.
After many stops we arrived in Monkey Bay around 4pm where we enquired about the ferry the next day (all ok) and found a quaint half finished accomodation in an idyllic setting offering camping at a cheap rate. We spent the night in this quaint little cove releived to be back in the tent and a beautiful setting. A far cry from last night. Here we listened to the owner talk about his big plans for the site. Next door was the presidents holiday home which gives you some idea of the goldmine he was sitting on. A lot of work and red tape involved though.
We'd made it and tomorrow would set off on the Ilala ferry up Lake Malawi at 10.30am.
Days 122 - 123
The Ilala Ferry is legendary in Malawi. This colossal cargo ship travels northbound once a week up Lake Malawi taking three days. We wanted a piece of Ilala action but the problem was it left on Friday and today was Wednesday. We were a long way from the Malawi border let alone Monkey Bay at the southern tip of the lake where the boat departed.
The plan was to travel by chapas to Beira 450km north of Vilankulo. From here we would take an afternoon internal flight to Tete, the closest city to the Malawian border where we'd somehow get to the border, hopefully get through ok and travel the remaining 400km north to Monkey Bay. This was a big ask.
We woke at 3.30am and took the 4.30am chapas to Beira. We actually set off in daylight with ridiculously early sunrises the norm in Mozambique at this time of year. Whilst we had the leg room thanks to the luxuary of a trailer on this chapas we were sat directly above the engine so were utterly sweltering in the heat. Our mind was taken off this thankfully by the buzz of activity in all the villages with today election day. There was also the other distraction of the chickens making an appearance shortly into the trip.
The roads were appalling with chapas-sized potholes causing the driver to via off the road at times. On one occasion he hit a pot hole with an almighty bang. He stopped the vehicle with our hearts pounding as we'd left very little room to manouvre between arriving in Beira and catching our flight. We then heard a hammer clinking and feared the worst. However, on getting out of the vehicle we were relieved to see it was actually the vehicle behind us that had the problem. Our driver had just kindly stopped to help.
Onwards we pressed with bum in the numb stage of travel and sleep simply not possible on this bumpy ride.
We arrived in Beira, retreived our bags and got a taxi to the derelict airport. Here we boarded our plane with the four other passengers from Beira to Tete.
On arrival in Tete we haggled down a cab driver to take us to some accomodation. He offered us a good price to get us to the border the next day. With the sun setting over the Zambesi river en route to our hotel we felt we were on track but were still unsure of transport in Malawi.
Our hotel was frankly disgusting. It was the hotel equivalent of Trainspotting's toilet scene. We longed for our tent. Tete itself was full of drunk locals maybe celebrating or drowning their sorrows over the election result. We found a bar where we humoured some hammered blokes called Mario and Moses. 'The question iz diz....The question iz diz.......What iz the question?' Moses slurred. This was about the most sense we got from them. Nice chaps though.
The next morning we were picked up by Ibrihim who picked up his dolled up wife for the trip. We crawled back over the bridge crossing the Zambesi which opened at 7am having been closed overnight. We then pushed on through secluded villages on sparse roads potholed in places but mainly tidily tarmaced which pleased our all too anxious driver careful not to damage his modified Mitsibushi.
On border arrival we battled through the swarm of black market money exchangers and got stamped out of the country into no mans land which covered 5km between Mozambique and Malawi. We picked up a reduced rate cab with passenger door loosely hanging by its hinges and were dropped at Malawian immigration.
Once through we were put into the sticky paws of two young drivers Oscar and Godfrey. Over the course of the journey our relationship with these lads turned into a rollercoaster ride. It started well before spiralling as they became all too greedy en route attempting to scam more money out of us. We weren't best pleased but over the course of this ride managed to compromise and get them to drive us further than the closest town to a major junction town two hours away which benefitted their pockets and our travel comfort to Lake Malawi.
They felt we'd haggled them down too much but couldn't refuse the extra cash so were a little moody. However a coke apiece and long football conversation got them back onside allowing an insight into their real personalities and not just the opportunistic taxi drivers. We left them with smiles, shakes off the hand and a tip as we clambered on board a 30 seater bus which would take us the remainder of the journey. We had timed it perfectly arriving at the junction just as the bus was setting off. The boys had done us proud.
After many stops we arrived in Monkey Bay around 4pm where we enquired about the ferry the next day (all ok) and found a quaint half finished accomodation in an idyllic setting offering camping at a cheap rate. We spent the night in this quaint little cove releived to be back in the tent and a beautiful setting. A far cry from last night. Here we listened to the owner talk about his big plans for the site. Next door was the presidents holiday home which gives you some idea of the goldmine he was sitting on. A lot of work and red tape involved though.
We'd made it and tomorrow would set off on the Ilala ferry up Lake Malawi at 10.30am.
A mozy around Mozambique
Friday 23rd October 2009 - Tuesday 27th October 2009
Days 117 - 121
Mozambique was over all too quickly as we sped up the coast in a tin can public chapas - or minibus to you and I. The luxuary coach from Johannesburg to Mozambique's capital Maputo was the last bit of comfortable transport we would experience for quite a while. Unlike the coach you don't get ample leg room in a chapas. In fact the only way of achieving comfort is to have your kneecaps surgically removed. You don't get cute kids playing peekyboo from the seat in front of you like we did on the coach. The only interaction is with the live chickens being dangled by their feet by the large Mozambiquan ladies squished either side of you as a beak brushes your foot. And you certainly don't get a Hollywood blockbuster like Bulletproof Monk being shown on TV as we did on the coach. Try UB40 on dodgy cassette.
But in saying all this the chapas were good fun and it felt somewhat liberating to be back on public transport with our belongings firmly strapped to our backs meeting fellow travellers and locals alike.
In fact we ended up travelling up the south east coast of Mozambique with the travellers equivelent of a supergroup. This was made up of Belgian Franek (prennounced Frank) a seasoned traveller who had been there and done it in some of the most crazy no-go destinations and was now cycling up Africa alone; and a New York couple who had every gizmo and gadget under the sun. Nicky an English girl with Polish heritage and Mike from DC but with Equadorian ancestory. In fact the last Equadorian I met was Villa's Ulisses De La Cruz in a white muscle vest on Birmingham's Broad Street.
Mozambique truly was a different kettle of fish. The women curvacious and the blokes stacked with ear to ear grins. The country itself 20 million in population stretching thinly up the south east corner of southern Africa had strong Portugese influence speaking the lingo as their first language, loving their footy and most importantly piri piri being their condament of choice. What's more the country oozes natural talent in the beach department.
Not sticking around the capital Maputo we set off at 5.30am the following morning to Tofo, eight hours north in a chapas to a huge beach home to surfers, divers and anybody else that enjoys a bloody good beach. We camped on grounds located literally on the beach, we swam in the sea, ate seafood, we watched Wolves Villa (ok not as glamarous as the previous) but our time here was pathetically short as we reluctantly continued up north.
This next leg pretty much summed up travel in Africa.
We started our journey at 7am where we waited for a chapas to be loaded before getting to the nearest big town Inhambane 15km away where we walked 500 metres to the port to wait an hour or two for a ferry to take us across a 2km stretch of water to Maxixe. Here after lunch we boarded chapas number two which slowly filled up with people to breaking point before travelling at a painstakingly slow speed north, bones chattering over the corrugated roads from plugged potholes, chickens crying with pain largegly down to the awful 80s music blarring through the stereo until five hours later with 250km covered we arrived in Vilankulo.
Vilankulo itself was a bit rough especially with lots of boozed up blokes around celebrating some kind of election party gathering. However, the next day we arranged an overnight trip to the Bazaruto Archepolagio. A series of islands where the fish-filled turquoise sea was asking to be snorkelled and fished in. We travelled around in a dhow camping out not altogether legitimately on a tiny island with one lonely tree.
The next day we were back in Vilankulo where we had a lot of the day to organize our onward travel which involved a journey up Lake Malawi on the Ilala ferry which was primarily a cargo boat which took passengers too. The problem was we'd left ourselves little time to get to the ferry which left weekly. It would prove to be an interesting and adventurous race for the boat.
Not suitable for parents
Unfortunately a sour taste was left in the mouth that evening as two lads hassled the girls for money as they walked out of a materials shop close to the beach. Fortunately Mike had advised we stick around so were able to use the five of us to outnumber the two crims. Still they persisted following us with lines like 'I am a gangster,' 'Don't make me shoot you' and my favourite 'I will show you what we can do.' Fortunately for us they were all mouth and didn't show us what they could do which I sense was not all that much.
Days 117 - 121
Mozambique was over all too quickly as we sped up the coast in a tin can public chapas - or minibus to you and I. The luxuary coach from Johannesburg to Mozambique's capital Maputo was the last bit of comfortable transport we would experience for quite a while. Unlike the coach you don't get ample leg room in a chapas. In fact the only way of achieving comfort is to have your kneecaps surgically removed. You don't get cute kids playing peekyboo from the seat in front of you like we did on the coach. The only interaction is with the live chickens being dangled by their feet by the large Mozambiquan ladies squished either side of you as a beak brushes your foot. And you certainly don't get a Hollywood blockbuster like Bulletproof Monk being shown on TV as we did on the coach. Try UB40 on dodgy cassette.
But in saying all this the chapas were good fun and it felt somewhat liberating to be back on public transport with our belongings firmly strapped to our backs meeting fellow travellers and locals alike.
In fact we ended up travelling up the south east coast of Mozambique with the travellers equivelent of a supergroup. This was made up of Belgian Franek (prennounced Frank) a seasoned traveller who had been there and done it in some of the most crazy no-go destinations and was now cycling up Africa alone; and a New York couple who had every gizmo and gadget under the sun. Nicky an English girl with Polish heritage and Mike from DC but with Equadorian ancestory. In fact the last Equadorian I met was Villa's Ulisses De La Cruz in a white muscle vest on Birmingham's Broad Street.
Mozambique truly was a different kettle of fish. The women curvacious and the blokes stacked with ear to ear grins. The country itself 20 million in population stretching thinly up the south east corner of southern Africa had strong Portugese influence speaking the lingo as their first language, loving their footy and most importantly piri piri being their condament of choice. What's more the country oozes natural talent in the beach department.
Not sticking around the capital Maputo we set off at 5.30am the following morning to Tofo, eight hours north in a chapas to a huge beach home to surfers, divers and anybody else that enjoys a bloody good beach. We camped on grounds located literally on the beach, we swam in the sea, ate seafood, we watched Wolves Villa (ok not as glamarous as the previous) but our time here was pathetically short as we reluctantly continued up north.
This next leg pretty much summed up travel in Africa.
We started our journey at 7am where we waited for a chapas to be loaded before getting to the nearest big town Inhambane 15km away where we walked 500 metres to the port to wait an hour or two for a ferry to take us across a 2km stretch of water to Maxixe. Here after lunch we boarded chapas number two which slowly filled up with people to breaking point before travelling at a painstakingly slow speed north, bones chattering over the corrugated roads from plugged potholes, chickens crying with pain largegly down to the awful 80s music blarring through the stereo until five hours later with 250km covered we arrived in Vilankulo.
Vilankulo itself was a bit rough especially with lots of boozed up blokes around celebrating some kind of election party gathering. However, the next day we arranged an overnight trip to the Bazaruto Archepolagio. A series of islands where the fish-filled turquoise sea was asking to be snorkelled and fished in. We travelled around in a dhow camping out not altogether legitimately on a tiny island with one lonely tree.
The next day we were back in Vilankulo where we had a lot of the day to organize our onward travel which involved a journey up Lake Malawi on the Ilala ferry which was primarily a cargo boat which took passengers too. The problem was we'd left ourselves little time to get to the ferry which left weekly. It would prove to be an interesting and adventurous race for the boat.
Not suitable for parents
Unfortunately a sour taste was left in the mouth that evening as two lads hassled the girls for money as they walked out of a materials shop close to the beach. Fortunately Mike had advised we stick around so were able to use the five of us to outnumber the two crims. Still they persisted following us with lines like 'I am a gangster,' 'Don't make me shoot you' and my favourite 'I will show you what we can do.' Fortunately for us they were all mouth and didn't show us what they could do which I sense was not all that much.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Kruger Park - a glorified West Midlands Safari Park?
Saturday 17th October - Thursday 22nd October 2009
Day 111 - 116
Why go to Kruger Park I hear you ask when you've got Twycross Zoo, Drayton Manor Park & Zoo and West Midlands Safari Park on your doorstep in Birmingham?
The difference is in Kruger the animals were there first with the park set up as a huge conservation effort to protect the area and its wildlife. Oh yeah - Kruger Park is also the size of Wales.
Kruger was good fun. As well as seeing elephants and buffalo up close(a little too close for my liking actually) we still hadn't seen any lions or leopards. In fact the only cat we'd seen so far was Pushka, Roni and Ivor's Siamese. However, we got to see lions at Kruger which was an honour.
Out of the park we drove up into the mountains with a quick stop off at Blyde River Canyon (the third largest canyon in the world) before finding a delightful little campspot set on the Sabie River which flows into the park. It was so delightful we ended up staying for two nights.
We're currently back at our friends Roni and Ivor's place in Johannesburg getting spoilt rotten with their fantastic hospitality. We've managed to get loads sorted for our onwards travel and also said a sad farewell to the Yaris who we handed back 9,973 kilometres worse off than when we picked it up. Solid as a rock she was!
Tomorrow morning we strap our backpacks firmly on and set off to pastures new. Maputo, the capital of Mozambique is our next destination with the plan to travel north up the coast before cutting inland towards Malawi. That's the plan anyway....
Without a car this feels like a new chapter in our travels and we're both really looking forward to this next step into the unknown. Speak soon.
Day 111 - 116
Why go to Kruger Park I hear you ask when you've got Twycross Zoo, Drayton Manor Park & Zoo and West Midlands Safari Park on your doorstep in Birmingham?
The difference is in Kruger the animals were there first with the park set up as a huge conservation effort to protect the area and its wildlife. Oh yeah - Kruger Park is also the size of Wales.
Kruger was good fun. As well as seeing elephants and buffalo up close(a little too close for my liking actually) we still hadn't seen any lions or leopards. In fact the only cat we'd seen so far was Pushka, Roni and Ivor's Siamese. However, we got to see lions at Kruger which was an honour.
Out of the park we drove up into the mountains with a quick stop off at Blyde River Canyon (the third largest canyon in the world) before finding a delightful little campspot set on the Sabie River which flows into the park. It was so delightful we ended up staying for two nights.
We're currently back at our friends Roni and Ivor's place in Johannesburg getting spoilt rotten with their fantastic hospitality. We've managed to get loads sorted for our onwards travel and also said a sad farewell to the Yaris who we handed back 9,973 kilometres worse off than when we picked it up. Solid as a rock she was!
Tomorrow morning we strap our backpacks firmly on and set off to pastures new. Maputo, the capital of Mozambique is our next destination with the plan to travel north up the coast before cutting inland towards Malawi. That's the plan anyway....
Without a car this feels like a new chapter in our travels and we're both really looking forward to this next step into the unknown. Speak soon.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Country Off - Namibia vs Botswana
Sunday 11th October - Friday 16th October 2009
Day 105 - 110
It seems unfair to pitch two countries off against each other but for some reason Layla and I found ourselves comparing and contrasting the two even though they were extremely different.
Whilst I preferred Namibia, Layla sided with Botswana. I loved the arid feel of Namibia, the desert, the rock and the peacefulness. Then heading up north things started to go insane. Birds the size of light aircrafts with nests we'd be quite comfortable for size in, ant hills the size of mountains and all this before we'd even reached Etosha National Park.
However, Layla has a good point in that we've definitely had a better rapport with the Botswanan people. They like a bit of banter and we found them far less serious than the Namibians. This was even evident at the border crossing where we were stamped out of Namibia by a grumpy chap who we disturbed reading his newspaper. It was a twitchy time actually as he wasn't impressed we didn't have a stamp into his country (fair enough) but he stamped and threw us back our passports and back to his crossword. On the contrary we got to the Botswanan office to be stamped in and were greeted by a giggly group who wished us well and happily stamped us on our way.
30 minutes into our drive and we'd seen an elephant cross the road and Layla had an officer in hysterics at a foot and mouth dipping station. 'What are you checking for?' Layla asked the lady who asked us to remove our baggage from the car to be checked. 'Meat, shoes and drugs' she replied. 'What a crazy combination' Layla said. 'I know!' said the lady and burst out laughing.
There was also a lot more order to Botswana. Evidence of this could again be seen at the border crossing. We arrived at the Namibian side on dirt road and left the other side on freshly laid Tarmac. There were designated dumping grounds and bus stations in each town. Something Namibia lacked. But what got Layla more than anything was the greenery. With the major national parks based around natural water systems the size of small countries (the Ovokango Delta, the Chobe river, the Zambesi and Victoria Falls) this place was illuminous green, dayglow green, Bermuda short green. Botswana was green.
The Ovokango Delta was a nice lazy experience travelling through the giant reeds of the delta guided by Tombo, our poler. What the man lacked in words he made up for with arm muscles. He negotiated us through the complex passageways of these shallow waters in our dugout canoe knowing the area like the back of his hand (which was also pretty big).
The drive from Ovokango Delta to Chobe National Park took us east for around 300km then north for around 300km on roads the worst we'd experienced in Africa so far. Yaris sized potholes lined the roads waiting for its victim. Construction was taking place but it looked like slow progress. The problem became clear when we saw a roadwork sign. The one we're all familiar with. One guy sillouette digging a mound. Well behind the sign was literally one guy with a shovel with 300km of road behind him.
It certainly made us appreciate the Dunlop SP10 passenger tyres that have done a sterling job so far. Did I mention I used to be in the tyre game?
A couple of Windhoek beers and some Tbone on the braii was just the tonic after a treacherous drive. If the Tbone was the tonic the accomodation was the gin as we pitched our tent on the grounds of a luxurious lodge paying a few dollars for the priviledge of using all of their facilities.
The next day we decided to do three countries in one day. We took a tour of the border to Victoria Falls. Unaware of which side of the falls we would visit (Zambia or Zimbabwe) the welcome to Zimbabwe sign on arrival at the border gave it away. Here I was penalised for being a Brit charged 50 bucks as opposed to the thirty everybody else paid. When Layla remonstrated the tour guide responded with 'Britain make Zimbabweans pay 80!' Only the Canadians and Angolans had to pay more. Lord only knows what they've done to rub Mugabe up the wrong way.
It was a great day. The falls were colossal but there was a great rainforest walk you could do to view the falls from all different angles. We also decided to cross the suspension bridge passed the bungee jump rope and into Zambia. Here we were pounced on by touts selling bungee jumps, wooden carvings and other things to earn a swift dollar. It was hot. We felt a little harrassed so retreated to the comforts of the Victoria Falls Hotel where we were picked up and taken back to Botswana.
It's funny when travelling how a day can turn on its head. Disaster start to the day spilling coffee all over my front before driving to Chobe National Park where they took one look at the Yaris and shook their head. You needed a 4x4. Back at the lodge things didn't get any better as the river cruise into the park was full. We were at a loose end before Layla persisted and managed to get us a sunset cruise with a small operator.
I had visions of a dingy/canoe. However, while everbody queued for their cruise we skipped past the line on to a small tinny with a powerful motor and a friendly guide who proceeded to show and tell everything he knew about the Chobe river and the animals in and around. From why crocodiles bake to the hunting techniques of the sea eagle right through to the resiliance of the buffalo and as he explained with a straight face 'the hippo is the most dangerous animal in the river. It can knock you out the boat then cut you into pieces with teeth like scissors' But on the brighter side he explained 'hippo only use teeth for battle. They eat grass with their lips' and pointed to a freshly lip mowed stretch of grass.
The boat journey itself would have given us our money's worth but the animals we saw up at close quarters was almost surreal in this setting. Hippos bobbing up out the water to get a breather. Crocs baking in the setting sun. Elephants and buffalo coming down to the riverbank to get their drink at dusk. Giraffe in the distance Our first sight of the warthog and plenty of zebra coming out to say hi to the three people in the tinny. Hands down highlight of the trip so far.
The day was topped off with a meat buffet from the heavens at the lodge.
The following day we set off at 6am driving past some of the iconic images we'll remember Botswana for. These included elephants chewing trees on the side of the highway, impala crossing the road and election campaigners preaching through megaphones down the streets (nationwide voting would take place the next day.)
Onwards we would drive clocking up the kilometres through the buzz of Francistown where election fever had definitely took hold. Lots of activity, people dressed in their party's colours as well as dancing. Layla asked a guy at the petrol station whether he would be voting 'Of course' he said. 'I vote for the ruling party. The democrats. The reds.' He would be one of only 20% of Botswanans who vote. We would certainly have to read up on the outcome at a later date.
Over the border back to South Africa we travelled into amazing boulder landscape, through the small city of Polkane, surely the smallest city to host World Cup group games but a whole lot of chaotic atmosphere to boot. And up into the hills where we fell upon a lovely town called Haenertsburg with a lodge down a small gravel track. Arriving after dark and insisting we would be ok putting up our tent the owners would have nothing of the sorts giving us a log cabin that overlooked the mountains for the price of the campspot. Lovely lovely people and only our second night outside the tent since starting our African journey.
Day 105 - 110
It seems unfair to pitch two countries off against each other but for some reason Layla and I found ourselves comparing and contrasting the two even though they were extremely different.
Whilst I preferred Namibia, Layla sided with Botswana. I loved the arid feel of Namibia, the desert, the rock and the peacefulness. Then heading up north things started to go insane. Birds the size of light aircrafts with nests we'd be quite comfortable for size in, ant hills the size of mountains and all this before we'd even reached Etosha National Park.
However, Layla has a good point in that we've definitely had a better rapport with the Botswanan people. They like a bit of banter and we found them far less serious than the Namibians. This was even evident at the border crossing where we were stamped out of Namibia by a grumpy chap who we disturbed reading his newspaper. It was a twitchy time actually as he wasn't impressed we didn't have a stamp into his country (fair enough) but he stamped and threw us back our passports and back to his crossword. On the contrary we got to the Botswanan office to be stamped in and were greeted by a giggly group who wished us well and happily stamped us on our way.
30 minutes into our drive and we'd seen an elephant cross the road and Layla had an officer in hysterics at a foot and mouth dipping station. 'What are you checking for?' Layla asked the lady who asked us to remove our baggage from the car to be checked. 'Meat, shoes and drugs' she replied. 'What a crazy combination' Layla said. 'I know!' said the lady and burst out laughing.
There was also a lot more order to Botswana. Evidence of this could again be seen at the border crossing. We arrived at the Namibian side on dirt road and left the other side on freshly laid Tarmac. There were designated dumping grounds and bus stations in each town. Something Namibia lacked. But what got Layla more than anything was the greenery. With the major national parks based around natural water systems the size of small countries (the Ovokango Delta, the Chobe river, the Zambesi and Victoria Falls) this place was illuminous green, dayglow green, Bermuda short green. Botswana was green.
The Ovokango Delta was a nice lazy experience travelling through the giant reeds of the delta guided by Tombo, our poler. What the man lacked in words he made up for with arm muscles. He negotiated us through the complex passageways of these shallow waters in our dugout canoe knowing the area like the back of his hand (which was also pretty big).
The drive from Ovokango Delta to Chobe National Park took us east for around 300km then north for around 300km on roads the worst we'd experienced in Africa so far. Yaris sized potholes lined the roads waiting for its victim. Construction was taking place but it looked like slow progress. The problem became clear when we saw a roadwork sign. The one we're all familiar with. One guy sillouette digging a mound. Well behind the sign was literally one guy with a shovel with 300km of road behind him.
It certainly made us appreciate the Dunlop SP10 passenger tyres that have done a sterling job so far. Did I mention I used to be in the tyre game?
A couple of Windhoek beers and some Tbone on the braii was just the tonic after a treacherous drive. If the Tbone was the tonic the accomodation was the gin as we pitched our tent on the grounds of a luxurious lodge paying a few dollars for the priviledge of using all of their facilities.
The next day we decided to do three countries in one day. We took a tour of the border to Victoria Falls. Unaware of which side of the falls we would visit (Zambia or Zimbabwe) the welcome to Zimbabwe sign on arrival at the border gave it away. Here I was penalised for being a Brit charged 50 bucks as opposed to the thirty everybody else paid. When Layla remonstrated the tour guide responded with 'Britain make Zimbabweans pay 80!' Only the Canadians and Angolans had to pay more. Lord only knows what they've done to rub Mugabe up the wrong way.
It was a great day. The falls were colossal but there was a great rainforest walk you could do to view the falls from all different angles. We also decided to cross the suspension bridge passed the bungee jump rope and into Zambia. Here we were pounced on by touts selling bungee jumps, wooden carvings and other things to earn a swift dollar. It was hot. We felt a little harrassed so retreated to the comforts of the Victoria Falls Hotel where we were picked up and taken back to Botswana.
It's funny when travelling how a day can turn on its head. Disaster start to the day spilling coffee all over my front before driving to Chobe National Park where they took one look at the Yaris and shook their head. You needed a 4x4. Back at the lodge things didn't get any better as the river cruise into the park was full. We were at a loose end before Layla persisted and managed to get us a sunset cruise with a small operator.
I had visions of a dingy/canoe. However, while everbody queued for their cruise we skipped past the line on to a small tinny with a powerful motor and a friendly guide who proceeded to show and tell everything he knew about the Chobe river and the animals in and around. From why crocodiles bake to the hunting techniques of the sea eagle right through to the resiliance of the buffalo and as he explained with a straight face 'the hippo is the most dangerous animal in the river. It can knock you out the boat then cut you into pieces with teeth like scissors' But on the brighter side he explained 'hippo only use teeth for battle. They eat grass with their lips' and pointed to a freshly lip mowed stretch of grass.
The boat journey itself would have given us our money's worth but the animals we saw up at close quarters was almost surreal in this setting. Hippos bobbing up out the water to get a breather. Crocs baking in the setting sun. Elephants and buffalo coming down to the riverbank to get their drink at dusk. Giraffe in the distance Our first sight of the warthog and plenty of zebra coming out to say hi to the three people in the tinny. Hands down highlight of the trip so far.
The day was topped off with a meat buffet from the heavens at the lodge.
The following day we set off at 6am driving past some of the iconic images we'll remember Botswana for. These included elephants chewing trees on the side of the highway, impala crossing the road and election campaigners preaching through megaphones down the streets (nationwide voting would take place the next day.)
Onwards we would drive clocking up the kilometres through the buzz of Francistown where election fever had definitely took hold. Lots of activity, people dressed in their party's colours as well as dancing. Layla asked a guy at the petrol station whether he would be voting 'Of course' he said. 'I vote for the ruling party. The democrats. The reds.' He would be one of only 20% of Botswanans who vote. We would certainly have to read up on the outcome at a later date.
Over the border back to South Africa we travelled into amazing boulder landscape, through the small city of Polkane, surely the smallest city to host World Cup group games but a whole lot of chaotic atmosphere to boot. And up into the hills where we fell upon a lovely town called Haenertsburg with a lodge down a small gravel track. Arriving after dark and insisting we would be ok putting up our tent the owners would have nothing of the sorts giving us a log cabin that overlooked the mountains for the price of the campspot. Lovely lovely people and only our second night outside the tent since starting our African journey.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Cape Town, South Africa to Okavango Delta, Botswana
Tuesday 29th September 2009 - Sunday 11th October 2009
Day 93 - 104
Yes a lot of water under the bridge since we last spoke.
Highlight of the trip so far came yesterday when we crossed the border from Namibia to Botswana and were happily driving along the road when an enormous elephant crossed the road in front of us. Normal road, no other cars around just a big fat (nb:I wouldn't call him that to his face) elephant stopping across the bitumen. 'Cor Blimey' you could hear us cry from our car...or words to that effect.
So last time we were able to get onto a decent internet system we were staying in an Eco Village in Cape Town. It was a nice little spot in the burbs where a lot of students seemed to hang and we were able to pitch our tent and explore the city. All I can say is Cape Town will do SA proud as the hosts of the World Cup 2010. Beautiful looking city and surrounds and the Green Point Stadium is coming along a treat.
I don't know why we persist with mountains though. It was too windy to climb Table Mountain which we were gutted about. The Cape Doctor, as it's referred to was too strong blowing away the smog from Cape Town's skyline. You couldn't even access Robben Island, where Nelson Mandela was held for many years which we were again disappointed about, especially because we've been listening to the Walk to Freedom audiobook narrated by Lethal Weapon's Danny Glover in the car.
We loved Cape Town but it was good to get out of city and into the African wilderness as we head into the Northern Cape which was a stunning driving through orange tree plantations and wineries heading into scenery not too unlike Australia's Red Centre. No people, no cars just us and stunning scenery. We had one stopover at Springbok before crossing the border into Namimbia. Here we felt we had the country to ourselves with only 1.8 million inhabitants compared to South Africa's comparitively colossal 47 million.
Our first day in Namibia was quite eventful. We crossed the border, visited the second largest canyon in the world, saw an ostrich running full pelt alongside us as we drove, spent most of the day on dirt road, drank shots with some locals at a German bar in a random little town, stayed overnight at one of the most peaceful campspots I've ever stayed at and saw one of the most dramatic sunsets.
The following day after the Chelsea Liverpool game I sat at a bar drinking alongside the locals who were talking footy before heading to a local eatery that was blasting out Richard Ashcroft and where we had an amazing steak dinner. Where else could we possibly be but Windhoek, Namimbia's capital. OK, points I missed here were the steak was cooked in bamboo shoot sauce, the locals were talking footy in their local dialect..I could only understand the odd word like Gerrard and Droggy and the beer was Hansa, the local tipple. I still can't explain Richard Ashcroft though!
Next up was Swakopmund, billed as Namibia's extreme sport capital...only set in sand dunes. I don't know whether we were missing a trick or something but the place was like a ghost town. However, unique setting where the dunes of the Namib desert met the Atlantic Ocean and a friendly guy we got to know running the campsite based on the beach.
Our next night was the highlight of Namimbia for us camped out in a small community campsite well off the beaten track underneath the stunning Spitzkoppe Mountain Range. The rock formations were a lot like Uluru, that burnt orange colour and soft smooth rock in curvacious shapes all around us. Needless to say we got another mindblowing sunset.
It was then onwards to a sort of DIY safari at Etosha National Park in northern Namibia which allowed independent travellers to choose their tracks for the day, pick a campsite and go and seek out wildlife at the various watering holes. We saw animals by the bucketload - giraffe, zebra, elephant and rhino. We also saw a lot of other creatures I had only seen on TV, safari tours made up of people in more khaki than is safe with stupidly huge binoculars the 'must have' accessary. We stayed here for three days but could have stayed much much longer. But it was onwards to Botswana where we are currently into our second day and have just completed a trip down the Okavango Delta in a sort of poor man's Gondola. It was a wooden canoe to be frank but did the job and we got a frog's eye view of this massive delta which is utterly fascinating.
Yaris Report - She's taken a pounding clocking up the kms and driving on more dirt than tarmac of late but doing us proud nonetheless.
Sign of the week - Warning Road Experiment!
Day 93 - 104
Yes a lot of water under the bridge since we last spoke.
Highlight of the trip so far came yesterday when we crossed the border from Namibia to Botswana and were happily driving along the road when an enormous elephant crossed the road in front of us. Normal road, no other cars around just a big fat (nb:I wouldn't call him that to his face) elephant stopping across the bitumen. 'Cor Blimey' you could hear us cry from our car...or words to that effect.
So last time we were able to get onto a decent internet system we were staying in an Eco Village in Cape Town. It was a nice little spot in the burbs where a lot of students seemed to hang and we were able to pitch our tent and explore the city. All I can say is Cape Town will do SA proud as the hosts of the World Cup 2010. Beautiful looking city and surrounds and the Green Point Stadium is coming along a treat.
I don't know why we persist with mountains though. It was too windy to climb Table Mountain which we were gutted about. The Cape Doctor, as it's referred to was too strong blowing away the smog from Cape Town's skyline. You couldn't even access Robben Island, where Nelson Mandela was held for many years which we were again disappointed about, especially because we've been listening to the Walk to Freedom audiobook narrated by Lethal Weapon's Danny Glover in the car.
We loved Cape Town but it was good to get out of city and into the African wilderness as we head into the Northern Cape which was a stunning driving through orange tree plantations and wineries heading into scenery not too unlike Australia's Red Centre. No people, no cars just us and stunning scenery. We had one stopover at Springbok before crossing the border into Namimbia. Here we felt we had the country to ourselves with only 1.8 million inhabitants compared to South Africa's comparitively colossal 47 million.
Our first day in Namibia was quite eventful. We crossed the border, visited the second largest canyon in the world, saw an ostrich running full pelt alongside us as we drove, spent most of the day on dirt road, drank shots with some locals at a German bar in a random little town, stayed overnight at one of the most peaceful campspots I've ever stayed at and saw one of the most dramatic sunsets.
The following day after the Chelsea Liverpool game I sat at a bar drinking alongside the locals who were talking footy before heading to a local eatery that was blasting out Richard Ashcroft and where we had an amazing steak dinner. Where else could we possibly be but Windhoek, Namimbia's capital. OK, points I missed here were the steak was cooked in bamboo shoot sauce, the locals were talking footy in their local dialect..I could only understand the odd word like Gerrard and Droggy and the beer was Hansa, the local tipple. I still can't explain Richard Ashcroft though!
Next up was Swakopmund, billed as Namibia's extreme sport capital...only set in sand dunes. I don't know whether we were missing a trick or something but the place was like a ghost town. However, unique setting where the dunes of the Namib desert met the Atlantic Ocean and a friendly guy we got to know running the campsite based on the beach.
Our next night was the highlight of Namimbia for us camped out in a small community campsite well off the beaten track underneath the stunning Spitzkoppe Mountain Range. The rock formations were a lot like Uluru, that burnt orange colour and soft smooth rock in curvacious shapes all around us. Needless to say we got another mindblowing sunset.
It was then onwards to a sort of DIY safari at Etosha National Park in northern Namibia which allowed independent travellers to choose their tracks for the day, pick a campsite and go and seek out wildlife at the various watering holes. We saw animals by the bucketload - giraffe, zebra, elephant and rhino. We also saw a lot of other creatures I had only seen on TV, safari tours made up of people in more khaki than is safe with stupidly huge binoculars the 'must have' accessary. We stayed here for three days but could have stayed much much longer. But it was onwards to Botswana where we are currently into our second day and have just completed a trip down the Okavango Delta in a sort of poor man's Gondola. It was a wooden canoe to be frank but did the job and we got a frog's eye view of this massive delta which is utterly fascinating.
Yaris Report - She's taken a pounding clocking up the kms and driving on more dirt than tarmac of late but doing us proud nonetheless.
Sign of the week - Warning Road Experiment!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
