On the 30th Bhav and I traveled to Lilongwe in Malawi, meeting up with Craig that evening in our backpackers. The next day was spent catching up on the internet and in the end I didn’t think Bhav wanted to leave. Craig on the other hand was eager to head north to Nkhata Bay for his PADI open water course and we decided to head east to Senga Bay. It was one of those last minute decisions made on the street quite late on in the day. We were very lucky to make it to Murandy Lodge.
Monthly Archive for August, 2008
The night before we’d been told that we should go to the market for some good local food so that’s where we went for breakfast. We found one of the most run down ramshackle buildings I’ve ever seen and ordered the local staple food mealie/nshima (maize with the appearance of mashed potato but the actual texture of a dough). Bhav had fish with it and I had chicken. The chicken was definitely the best bit by a long way but for Bhav it was one of the best meals she’s ever tasted (second only to Nasi Lemak in case you were wondering).
After breakfast we wanted to arrange something to do that day but all the organised trips weren’t running as we were pretty much the only tourists in town.
After taking in the lake from the waters edge we decided to take a taxi along to the dam. The dam forms a land border between Zambia and Zimbabwe (although it wasn’t designed to) so we had to leave our drivers licences with the Zambian immigration officer before they would let us in.
Whilst we were walking down to the dam we met a group of Zimbabweans returning home after some shopping. Many of the shelves are bare in Zimbabwe so they paid for what they bought with the profits of bying food for others, a practice they did once a week. In the current political climate I was justifiably both nervous and excited to be at the Zimbabwean border but I needed have worried as after some introductions we were told that one of the group was called “Lucky”. Another appropriate name just like the woman we’d rented the car from in South Africa being called Prudence.
Later that afternoon we went for a sunset cruise on the lake. We felt a bit out of place to begin with due to everyone else being on a conference but for a bunch of tax collectors they were a good laugh. For most of the cruises 2 hour duration the debated how the dam generated electricity.
The boat arrived back in the dark, a time when it’s difficult to arrange transport especially for such a distance as the one from Siavonga to Lusaka. We took a taxi to the local BP garage from where people wait for lifts in that direction. Our taxi driver wasn’t rating our chances as apparently there was a computer problem at the border and they weren’t letting any vehicles across. During the time we waited outside BP (maybe 45 minutes) there wasn’t a single vehicle that went past. Amongst the group of people waiting at the roadside with us was 2 guys that had travelled all the way from Durban in South Africa. Bhav, very much used to the bargaining that’s required to buy anything in Africa saw their desperation as a a bit of leverage when they quickly came up with the idea of hiring a minivan. Normally they leave when full but at that time of night there was no chance of that. The driver wanted 100,000 Kwatcha (£16) each which was a lot more money than we had and 58,000 more than it would have cost if we’d caught a minivan earlier in the day.
Our options were limited and it would have cost more to stay another night, so we agreed to 75,000 (£12) and we thought it was sorted. The next problem was that the driver was drunk/stoned and that the other 2 refused to get in. They also didn’t have licences themselves so asked if either of us would drive. We both have licences but Bhav actually has a car back home so I suggested she should do it but they didn’t want a woman driver! In the end it was out of sheer frustration that I went round to the drivers side, pulled the drunk guy out and got in.
The minivan would definitely fail a MOT. Ignoring the obligatory cracks in the windscreen, the fuel gauge read 0 as did the speedo and the headlights were jammed on. It had obviously been a while since it had been plying the roads of Tokyo.
It was a strange drive, what with being both a customer and the driver. The real driver, acting as a spotter for potholes, animals and other misc obstacles would keep a near running commentary of the road round the next bend. About half way along the road we changed over after him proving his sobriety. We must have passed at least 3 accidents after that normally involving overturned trucks. Not all of the accidents being “accidents”.
We finally got into Lusaka after 11 pm (most hostels close their receptions at 10 pm and we hadn’t been able to book ahead). So after all the journey there was a very real chance we’d have no where to stay. Thankfully we weren’t the only people waiting at the hostel when (after a great deal of searching) we eventually found it. Between the security guard and a waiting taxi driver they managed to get us our own hut to ourselves. We definitely felt lucky!
Bhav eating her chambo and nshima
As much as it wasn’t tempting we never went any further
Lake Kariba Dam
Our bus from Livingstone dropped us of in the pitch black at a police checkpoint somewhere on the road just short of Kafue. Craig was staying on to the final destination of Lusaka so he could continue on to Malawi and the PADI diving course he planned to do. His course will probably last for 4 days and since we don’t want to hang around while he does it and also that we don’t want to rush through Zambia, we thought we’d visit Lake Kariba.
The lake was created by the damming of the Zambezi river in the 1950’s and is one of the largest lakes in Africa. We were heading to Siavonga, what the Lonely Planet guidebook described as a small village. Our onward journey to Siavonga wasn’t planned but our earlier success in hitchhiking and the insistences of the young men operating the bus that we’d be ok filled us with enough confidence to watch the bus drive off into the night.
The police at the roadblock had been instructed to get us a lift from anyone going in the right direction. It was only about 20 minutes before we got into a white toyota corola owned by a local called Agrey. He didn’t take us all the way but instead dropped us at an even smaller police checkpoint. It was another short wait before we were picked up by a ute and driven directly to our hotel, the Eagles Rest Camp.
We’d (well Bhav had) found the accommodation online earlier that morning but due to Bhav’s phone running out of credit just as she was about to confirm the booking, we didn’t know if there was any space when we arrived at 10 pm. Thankfully there was a twin bed en suite semi-detached chalet available but it was rather expensive at 190,000 Kwatcha (£30.50). We’d been quoted 150,000 earlier before the phone cut out but that was before the receptionist realised that that rate was only for Zambians. I didn’t have 190,000 and there wasn’t an ATM for miles so I found myself asking “is there anything we can do to rectify the problem?”. Thankfully all we had to do was give our permanent addresses as being somewhere in the Zambian capital.
View from outside the chalet
I’ve never done whitewater rafting before and the Zambezi river is famous for it. I quite like the idea of trying new things at their birth place for places heavily associated with them. Perhaps I should have done what Bhav and Craig did by having their first go at it in New Zealand and on lower class rivers. Rapids are graded 1 to 6 with 6 being a stomach upsetting experience. My insurance covers 1-4.
Rapid 1, about 50m away from the shore where we got into our boats was a grade 4. So much for my gentle introduction. Out of the other 4 boats out raft guide Simba wanted to go through it first. Safety briefing going through my head we paddled our boat towards it.
The rapid was quite long and was at a right angle to us which required us to paddle quickly through it with the aim of not travelling down it towards the rather large rock at the bottom. It started ok, but being perched on the side of an inflatable boat it was a rather precarious place to be, especially when the boat was being beaten in seemingly random directions. It didn’t take long before I was the first person of the day to take a dip. Not the most inspiring start, especially with 24 rapids and the rest of the day to go.
The occupants of our boat consisted of us 3, 2 American student nurses, a Spanish lawyer and our guide. A group of English 18 year olds and some Poles were in the only other boat to do the full day. After rapid 1 I was starting to wish I’d opted for the half day too.
Rapid 1 was definitely the worst, despite me leaving the boat a further 2 times. At least those times I managed to hold onto the rope going around the boat. The final time I went for a swim was when our boat capsized on rapid 13. The whole “experience” was caught on camera and makes for some interesting pictures/footage!
White water rafting from John on Vimeo.
The motley crew
I woke as we arrived at the Zambian border. My bed consisting of cardboard boxes, a bag of potatoes and other misc stuff had allowed me to sleep for about 5 hours, which is a lot longer than the seats in the Emirates flights. Even with the half-decent sleep it was still 7 am, so I wasn’t exactly at my best. We made out way to immigration then walked to the ferry over the Zambezi river to the Zambian side. I emerged from the Zambian immigration lighter to the tune of US$140, suffice to say I wasn’t exactly happy especially when Kiwi’s such as Craig are charged $50 and Malaysian passport holders such as Bhav are charged nothing. It seems they dislike their former colonial masters.
Zambia is the first country to openly advertise things in US dollars and not in their local currency, the Kawacha. The Kawacha seems to have suffered from some pretty severe inflation. Before we even stepped onto Zambian soil we were approached by a taxi driver offering a lift to Livingstone for 60,000 Kawacha. With so many countries with different currencies we had to guess the current value of the Kawacha against the US dollar to make sure we weren’t being ripped off. We didn’t arrive with any Kawacha so we had to take a detour to an ATM en route where we all decided to become instant millionaires. Later I realised it was about £156.
The only accommodation available at the backpackers lodge we tried (how could we not go to a place called Fawlty Towers?) was a small en suite room with 4 bunk beds. It was just good to be able to catch up on some sleep in peace!
In the afternoon we decided to visit Victoria Falls, so the day wasn’t wasted. It turns out that no mater how amazing the falls are half a day is enough, especially with the aggressive baboons that have free roam.
Victoria Falls
The top of Victoria Falls
Angry locals at the falls
Most Africans are very religious and at this end of the continent most are Christian. That didn’t bode well for trying to travel about 600km to a different country (Zambia) on a Sunday.
We’d asked about buses and minivans plying the route but when we arrived in town we were still relieved that it was business as usual. We took a minivan about half the way to a place called Nata. In typical laid back African style it left when it was full (something I’d rather it didn’t since we were trying to make the border before it closed at 6pm). At Nata we had a bigger problem, it was a smaller town with no organised transport to the border at that time of day. If we wanted to go anywhere we’d have to hitch. The problem with that was on a Sunday there’s less traffic. After a 20 minute wait we managed to get a lift from a truck driver.
Humphrey was a Zambian travelling with mining equipment from South Africa to the Congo. Picking up hitchhikers is a common and safe (especially in Botswana) way for people to get around and for the drivers to make some extra money. Withing 20 minutes of getting into the truck Humphrey had broken about 5 laws that would apply in the UK including having a beer at the wheel (he had 3 in total whilst driving the first segment to the border).
A mixture of the appalling state of the roads (enormous pot holes) and a truck limited to 80kph meant we weren’t going to make the border before it closed. The other problem we soon became aware of was that trucks in Botswana aren’t allowed to drive on the roads between 6pm (about sunset) and Midnight. We made it to a place called Panda which is about 100km south of the border, so it was the Panda truck stop where we had to spend much of the night.
With maybe 50 other large 40 tonne trucks already parked up it was unlikely there would be much food left. It wasn’t much of a problem as it allowed us to have our first African Braii (BBQ).
Making truck drivers parkup, eat and rest isn’t a bad idea but it turns out that that isn’t what they get up too, at least they do the first 2 they just replace the the rest with drinking and perhaps one of the prostitutes that roamed about.
There are 2 bars at the truck stop, one on either side of the road and are places tourists will rarely venture. It was a good opportunity to meet lots of nationalities and hear what they thought about the world. One person we met was a guide in a local game park. He was particularly fond of Americans on account of them making up the majority of his clients. Apparently it’s only 20,000 Pula (£1,668) to shoot an elephant, we weren’t tempted.
After some drunken dancing (by Craig and Bhav) and about 5 hours of waiting we were back on the road. Humphrey had drank a further 5 beers and wasn’t exactly at his best. In between the gaps in my slumber I can remember him weaving from side to side in a bid to avoid imaginary potholes. We just decided to close our eyes and try not to worry. He later told us we’d passed an overturned lorry, no doubt another driver who’d taken the opportunity to get drunk.
We were picked up early (OK, about 8:00 am is early for me) by our tour operator for our day trip into the Okavago Delta. Our method of transportation was to be mokoro, a hollowed out tree trunk propelled by a man standing at the pack with a long pole in much the same way as they do on the river Cam in England.
After a long and bumpy driver from the camp to the waterside on an open top safari vehicle (Toyota pickup with seats in the back) we were introduced to our polers for the day.
It was a relaxing trip on the delta but besides a dead catfish stuck in a fishing net we didn’t see much from the water. Before lunch we landed on one of the islands and went for a walk in search of some wildlife. We walked through a group of zebras (maybe 30+) and saw an old elephant from the distance. I wasn’t really there to see animals although it would have been nice to have seen animals we haven’t seen before. It was really just about the relaxing journey for me.
After lunch we all had a go at being mokoro poler’s. It’s a lot harder than it looks especially with the possibility of falling in the water should your balance falter.
Mokoro in the Okavango Delta
“House” construction
Bhav having a go
Namibia is a big and very empty country. If you want to go anywhere you really need a car (or you could spend twice as long going by minivan) so Bhav and I decided to rent a Mazda 6 in Swakopmund. This turned out to be a really good idea as it allowed us to do a self drive safari, avoiding the expense of joining a group. I have to say the sight of our Japanese saloon bombing around the gravel tracks whilst almost everyone else was in Land Rovers was quite funny.
Our self drive safari in Etosha National Park, Namibia
I could have sworn we were told to stay in the car!
Not being able to visit Sossusvlei we decided to go to the nearby Dune 7, one of the largest sand dunes in the world. Sossusvlei is one of the highlights of Namibia as the sunrises are apparently unforgettable. The problem is that there isn’t much else to do in the small town and it was quite a detour south.
The start of the dunes in the Namib desert
Bhav and I scrambling up Dune 7
Woman sliding down Dune 7 on a bit of cardboard
Craig and I on top of Dune 7
German architecture by the Atlantic Ocean
The Neds need to bank too