I don't think I've ever had as many puddings as when staying with Pat & Ed. Perhaps I was looking a bit too skinny, but we had puddings with lunch and dinner, and even breakfast was a 3 course affair. My full rest day was a very relaxing affair to be honest - just a bit of a lie in as birds (either the ground hornbill pecking on the patio doors, or the southern bulbul flying into the bedroom window), ensured full relaxation after dawn was impossible. I basically spent the day pottering about and trying to accomplish things using the wifi, with limited success. We drove out to a great little pan for sundowners, passing giraffe, kudu and a few other bits and pieces along the way, a cold beer, then back for dinner (and pudding). The next morning was up fairly early, but no huge rush as Pat was going to drop me on the tar road on the Kasane side of town. We passed baobabs lit up by the early morning sun, looking very impressive and eerie. They're protected in Bots, so even in Pandamatenga where they have cleared blocks for agriculture, these trees remain stubbornly protruding out of the fields of sorghum and cow peas. We also saw a couple of Kori Bustards, which was nice. They're the heaviest flying bird in Africa so quite impressive watching them getting airborne. I guess I was under way at about 8am, with just under 90km to go to Kasane (at the top of Bots). I couldn't decide whether to go all the way to Kasane for 2 nights or break the journey up by stopping at a lodge 20km before Kasane which an overlander I had been stopped by had recommended. I called them and I can't say I was left with a very favourable impression - I would be risking my life cycling to them as game area etc etc, and wanted to charge about R100 to pick me up. They also didn't do food. Thus, initially I was all for the full run to Kasane, but after a few more kms thinking about it, I decided it would be nice to see an extra place and I could eat noodles for supper. The cycle went very well indeed. The headwind wasn't out in full force that day, so I was averaging about 25kph on the tar and a nice relaxed effort level. I was running along at about 110/20bpm on the HR strap, and I think the only time it spiked was when the roadkill snake I was in the process of photographing, starting slithering towards me. It was only little, but I think it was a puff adder (bites are quite often fatal) and I was still awkwardly astride Tina. Cue some rather frantic shuffling - I don't think the Jesus Sandals had moved that fast before! I came across another snake later on, and I made very sure it was dead before approaching too closely as this one was rather large. Such was my serene progress that before long I'd done 70km and was at the turning off for Senyati camp. I decided it wasn't worth bothering trying to wangle a free lift, so set off up the dirt road to the village Lesoma. I asked for directions a few times, and there were some deep sandy patches which ruined my very respectable average speed, but I got to the camp without too much bother. It was a nice spot with a bar and viewing deck overlooking a waterhole, and the even cooler feature of an 'elephant bunker' where you go through a tunnel into an ankle level viewing point about 3m from the watering hole. The campsite is also pretty fancy, with an ablution block or campsite and electricity. However, I was unable to make any camping buddies this time. In fact, the check in lady seemed to think I should have been arrested for cycling with skulls on my bike (a particularly odd notion seeing as the camp she worked in was similarly adorned with bones everywhere), and management made me pay a deposit for a blanket, despite it being very clear that I wasn't going to haul an item of their bed linen across Africa on my push bike. She also wouldn't let me use her kettle for making my noodles, which upset me further. It's funny because when you travel alone, your interactions with strangers influence your day a lot more, and although obviously not 'bad' experiences, they put your nose out of joint more than it would otherwise. All in all though, I'm glad I gave it a go and visited the place as the watering hole game viewing and elephant bunker were very cool. There seemed to be a lot of youngish French men about, which could well have been on a homosexuelle tour of sorts. I couldn't be sure, but they were certainly well groomed. I consumed my 3 minute noodles (made on the stove and fancy bowl) overlooking the waterhole, watching about 20 ellies come and have a drink. Apparently they'd had wild dogs 3 days earlier, and although there was nothing quite that exotic, they are fascinating creatures to just watch. There were a few large phalluses on display, which put me off my noodles a bit (and probably explained why the Frenchmen moved into the bunker for a closer look). I'd been expecting to grab a lift with the night shift back to the village at 8:30, but decided to watch the sun up by the waterhole. Nothing much exciting happened until a juvenile martial eagle (thanks Joost) tried to wallop an Egyptian goose. I am not a fan of those ugly, noisy birds so it was a shame to see it escape with its life, honking belligerently for all it's worth. The eagle then turned to harrying impala, which although amusing, I thought rather ambitious. The ride turned out to be at 7:30, so I had to pack up camp sharpish, and after collecting the R300 deposit management insisted on taking for a blanket, we loaded up into a suspiciously long Land Cruiser bakkie. It was confirmed as a home modification, and wasn't bad, although not as cool as the 6-wheeler I'd seen on the cycle from Gaborone. The guys kindly dropped me on the tar road rather than in the village, so I bunged them some petrol money and then set off. Not a long cycle - only about 25km - but it was quite interesting. I'd just recovered from being dive-bombed by 3 Lilac Breasted Rollers when there was a family of ellies to negotiate. Swiftly after that there was a dead nightjar, and then the queue of trucks for the Kazungula border crossing began. I was cruising past them when a herd of warthog crossed in front of me. What an exciting ride! I checked into Chobe River Lodge campsite and booked myself on the afternoon river cruise. I then spent a while chatting to neighbouring campers, but failing to generate an offer of breakfast, pedaled up to the Choppies in town. Here I bought some supplies for that day and the cycle to Livingstone the next. It consisted mostly of cakes and biscuits. Then I went to the offy and bought some beers. Classic! My canvassing for fridge space got me in with the other neighbours, and if they were bothered by me asking for a cold one every half an hour they didn't show it. Hoffie and I were kind of opposites - myself lithe and travelling with minimal equipment, and he was a little more corpulent with a bush lapa fancy caravan of epic proportions. They were on a 5 week trip across Bots & Namibia and had all the gear. I ran into a strange ginger French Canadian with a horrible tache and oddly German accent who I had met at the Francistown taxi rank, and there was a bit of obligatory small talk (mostly about how expensive his visa for Vic Falls was) and then I had to meet his motley assembly of fellow odd ones. I was immensely relieved to find out we were not on the same boat so I scuttled off on the pretext of finding a good seat on the edge. The cruise was very cool indeed. Lots of birdlife which I enjoyed - Pied Kingfishers for days! Also the usual crocs, elephants and some buffalo thrown in. Saw a couple of fish eagles, giraffes and vultures too. Then watching the sun set over the river was the cherry on top. It did take on a rather romantic hue at this point, which enhanced my loner status. I'd been umming and aahing about what to do for dinner for the whole day. I was obviously losing my touch as no dinner hosts were forthcoming so I could either make my own again, or take on the hotel buffet. It wasn't cheap so I sidled up to the buffet manager Victor and asked him what his doggy bag policy was. He took a rather dim view of them and explained that any takeaway must come from the a la carte menu. My status of charity cyclist left him similarly unmoved. I did enjoy sparring with him, but left feeling he was a bit of a jobsworth. Upon collecting my last beer from the neighbour's fridge, we made a plan and I departed for the buffet with 5 ziplock bags stuffed in my pocket. I made sure to pace myself carefully, but felt that I got my money's worth in the end. I took care of probably 4 plates of food in the restaurant and surreptitiously filled 3 bags with a mixture of steak, miscellaneous snacks, duck and apricot tart. Upon departing I decided to try my luck with a more brazen attempt - I asked the chef to shove a steak in the last bag over the counter. As I sauntered off Victor shouted at me. Oh shit! I readied myself to flee but to be fair to him he sent me back for another one (which the chef had already plonked on his own plate). This meant that I could do the 80 odd km to Livingstone without stopping for food - a big plus as I wasn't sure how long the border crossing would take, or what the road conditions (and roadside provision situation) would be. As it happened, the border was an absolute breeze. I don't think anyone really enjoys border crossings and I must admit that they feel me with a sense of unease; you're at the mercy of officials and in Africa there's the added spice of a bit of a shakedown. Luckily I think it's far easier on the bike, and they don't see an opportunity to extort you in the same way compared to if you pitch up with a fancy overlanding rig. I bagged up the skulls again in order to avoid any complications, but sailed through the Bots side and then timed it perfectly for the ferry. It was a stinky noisy thing, but it didn't sink so I was pretty happy all in all. They are building a bridge, and in fact I cycled with a Philippino the other side of the border who reckoned it would be done by 2020. The verdict is out on that one! There was also an absolute dude on the Bots side who was running fuel across dodging customs. Petrol is subsidised and very cheap in Bots, so he was loading his push bike up with about 6 Jerry cans at a time. The bike was an absolute piece of crap, but it had a rebar pannier rack and he reckoned it could take 220kg when he loaded it up. I should point out that he didn't ride it like this, but just pushed it. Why he didn't prefer a wheelbarrow I'm not sure. Perhaps that's just too brazen! There were the usual guys hawking currency (in this case kwatcha) and I didn't like the look of some of them, so I locked Tina up outside the police station next to a great oldschool police motorbike and sidecar and trotted off to the immigration building. I had to have a health temperature scan and obtain a 'healthy' coupon, which was rather novel. I then just queued and asked for a KAZA Univisa, which allows unlimited travel between Zim and Zambia for $50. It all seemed ridiculously easy and I was waiting for the snag; it never came, and I was through the border in about 10 mins without even touching a pen or filling out a form. Easy peasy, and I was on the road again by 8:30. The Zambian side was an absolute pleasure - There were immediately a lot more cyclists on the road compared to Bots and I passed a few live goats, feet tethered, and then plonked on the rear rack of the bikes. Some bleated their indignation pathetically, but for the most part they bore it with stoicism - so much so that I thought the first one was dead! There was a fair bit of roadkill about, most of it birds and snakes and it was nice to be in new territory with some undulations and views - I got a nice shot of Tina with a descent sloping away and the Zambezi in the background. It was quite interesting seeing the contrast between the tar roads I was on and the neglected sandy tracks and goat paths leading off down to the various villages on the way. There were also a lot more stalls and thatched rondavels, with both charcoal sellers and schools featuring heavily. The roads were also great, which nice smooth tar and a decent shoulder - not that I needed it often as the roads were quiet. There was also some welcome variety in the form of hills! I came to call Botswana 'Big Ring Bots' as all I did was sit in the front ring and use the bottom 3 gears, churning along the flats. I like hills as I'm good at them, and you feel like you've earned a rest once you're at the top, whereas with flats I struggle to decide when to, or indeed justify stopping at all. I got to about 15km outside Livingstone when I saw a combine harvester in action along with a John Deere with planter on the back. I pulled over for some pics and was chatting to the workers when the owner, Greg, turned up. It was interesting chatting to him about the difference of government support between Zambia and Bots. He had about 320ha, all under irrigation from a pipeline he'd put in from the Zambezi, and was growing soya beans as well as trying out some haricot (baked) beans. This is an interesting option as fertiliser is very expensive this side, and the beans are nitrogen fixing and would be sent to the little cannery in town. Hopefully the trial is a success! The rest of the way was mostly through another National Park/Reserve (my seventh in 5 days). I just jumped the queue of cars and the barrier, and the official didn't seem bothered about me - the one at the entry even shouting encouragement! It turns out it was Big 3 (elephant, buffalo, rhino) but I saw absolutely nothing so was none the wiser. I got to Livingstone at about 12 and checked into Jolly Boys. I think it's fair to say I'm not really a hostel guy, mostly regarding those strange traveler types as not my cup of tea: there were some very dubious haircuts and outfits knocking about. Thus, it was with some relief that by complete chance a friend who now lives in Melbourne for the last couple of years came round the corner with a couple of others. They were here for a wedding in SA and doing a bit of a trip. We decided to be very cultural and trot off to the David Livingstone Museum, spitting distance from the hostel. It was a rather surreal affair, and not very impressive apart from it's bizarre village display, including bicycle mechanic, and some 'crap taxidermy', featuring a full size duiker to match the one on my handlebar bag.
There were some other nice people at the hostel though - I also met a cool Swiss guy who was just driving around the world in his Defender 300tdi. He was stuck in Livingstone as he had come to see Foley's (a renowned LR mechanic apparently) about his cam shaft. It sounds like he was going to be in for a rough time as it was bent and had to be sent up to Lusaka to be remachined etc. But who wants a Toyota anyway! Now it's just time for a bit or R&R in and around Vic Falls along with a bit of route planning for getting to Milibizi for the Kariba ferry.
3 Comments
Brad
13/5/2017 12:20:59 am
Sam, I must say we're all massively impressed with your journey so far. It's quite a feat. And you seem to be motoring - I took the mountain bike out the other day and 10km in I realised you are definitely not messing about with some of those epic stretches.
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Ian Bowland
15/5/2017 02:36:22 pm
We (Maggie and I) went to the David Livingstone Museum about 25 years ago. Looks like it hasn't changed a bit!
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Fahiem Esack
15/5/2017 08:22:37 pm
Keep pedalling Sam! After Francois told me about your trip I am glued to this blog for updates. What you are doing is absolutely epic mate.
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AuthorSam Brook - A mildly Africanised Pom about to cycle from Joburg to Nairobi. Archives
August 2017
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