Thursday, May 13, 2010

Out of Africa – by Ellen


Well. Here we are, back in sunny Sussex, bundled up in jumpers and scarves, shivering and unable to feel our toes. Even as we recount the tales of everything we’ve done and seen and experienced, and look through all the hundreds (thousands) of photographs, it still feels strangely as though we’ve not been away at all.

I think we can be pretty proud of what we’ve achieved on our epic adventure. And particularly chuffed that we’re still talking to each other! I can’t imagine many newly-married couples would be crazy enough to resign from work and go and spend four and a half months, twenty-four hours a day, in the baking heat, within a few feet of each other. So to do that, and to come out of it still laughing, and still happy to be within a few feet of each other, is no mean feat.

We’d successfully bought (and sold) a car, navigated our way around four Southern African countries, crossed some tricky international borders and not had a single puncture!

We’d read an article in Getaway magazine about a group of people who’d hired a convoy of fully kitted out 4WDs to cross Namibia – complete with tyres which cost around £1,000 each. The end of the article reflected on how important it was to have all the right gear, and how the tyres had most certainly been what had prevented them from getting a puncture, especially as much of the distance had been covered on gravel roads.

But we know better than that. We know that you can do the whole thing with very little preparation, only the bare minimum of equipment, and even less mechanical know-how. And we know that you can do the whole thing, in a 2WD Corsa with fairly old tyres, without getting a puncture – just so long as you have that shot of brandy at the Dop Steek.

Homeward Bound – by Ellen


We spent our last night trying to squash the things we wanted to bring home into our bags – which I’m sure have shrunk. Attaching a ‘please give me a home’ note to the things we couldn’t bring with us, we set off at dawn.

As if helping us with the acclimatization process, the weather presented us with torrential, blinding rain and a drop in temperature to 11ÂșC. We did the drive to Jo’burg in good time, and didn’t get lost at all! Not even round the tangle of fly-overs and road works near the airport. Perhaps in their rush to get the roads in place in time for the World Cup, they’d put a few of the road signs up in the wrong order:

Jo’burg 53km
2 kms later
Jo’burg 40km
2 kms later
Jo’burg 38 km
2 kms later
Jo’burg 40km

The Icelandic volcano hadn’t managed to spew its ash far enough into Europe to stop us flying, so we were soon speeding home.

At the airport we’d bought a cuddy elephant for Josh and Renee’s highly anticipated and newly arrived daughter, Maya. I decided I wanted to take a photo of the ellie on the plane, and as I sat there with it on my lap (ok, I might have been cuddling it – it’s sooooooo soft) an air stewardess came up and presented me with a kiddies activity pack. Ha. Ha. Ha.
Oh yes please, can I have a beer with that?

Adventure Stats


Number of countries: 4 (South Africa, Namibia, Zambia, Zimbabwe)
Number of kms: 11,978 (in Toto – there were a few in the hire cars as well)
No of nights in a tent: 64
No of nights in a room: 62
(Camping wins, yay!)
Favorite camsite: Dias Point, Namibia
Least favourite campsite: Okakuajo, Etosha, Namibia
Best braai: Dias Point, Namibia
Best experience:
Ellen - Running down the sand dunes in Sossulvlei, Namibia
Evan - Sitting by the watering hole watching the elephants, Hwange, Zimbabwe
Campsite to come back to: Ngweshla, Hwange, Zimbabwe – it’s actually a picnic site in the middle of the park, looks amazing
No of birds on Evan’s list: 190
Number of trees we can recognise: 35
Number of constellations we can recognise: 11
Favourite picnic: 2 minute noodles and cold beer in the middle of the desert driving through Namibia
Favourite view:
Ellen - Sea of sand dunes, Soususvlei, Namibia
Evan - Oliphants, Kruger, South Africa
Favourite drive: Up to Nyanga, Zimbabwe
Most stupid thing we did: Drove down a closed road and got stuck in the mud in Etosha national park
Best thing we bought: Storage containers. Not only useful keeping us tidy day to day, but the lids are great if you get stuck in mud...

Thing we could have done without: Skottle braai
Things we didn’t use: Fire extinguisher, tyre weld, tow rope, jerry can (probably a good thing!)
What we’re going to miss the most:
Ellen - Warm outdoor living and all the animals
Evan - Sounds of the night
Favourite night noise:
Ellen -Hyena
Evan - Lion
Most time consuming check in: Etosha
Number of photos taken: I lost count at 3,500...
What to do next time:
Ellen - See Wild Dogs!!
Evan - Proper 4x4ing
Casualties of the trip:
Tent poles – snapped
Tent pegs – bent
Potjie leg – fell off
Potjie stand – left it somewhere
Oil, salt, cheese, crisps, kettle box – taken by jackals
Marshmallows – got wet
Ellen’s new iPod – oops
Enamel mug – trapped in the car door
Egg – broken into the cooler box
Car window – got stuck
Back left tyre – hit a pot hole
Starter motor – needed brushes!
% of 2010 spent in Africa: 97%

Funny Things Along the Way


ZIMBABWE

Shops/hotels:
Meat Market and Pet Shop
Burial Society, General Store and Bottle Shop
Little Swallow Hotel

Road Signs:
Deadly Hazard!
Road Failure Ahead

Schools:
Dumbo School
Yorkshire Primary School
Wankie Secondary School

Places:
South Downs (just outside Gweru – there was even a 27a bus!)
Hove Farm
Bubi River

SOUTH AFRICA

Jack-up “nutrition” club

Bathroom Bizarre

Gavelotte Skool

Missing P: Rice Busters (Who you gonna call when that rice needs busting?)

Errant L: Swimming Poo, Residents Onlyl (Kruger NP official brochure!)

Eleven thousand, nine hundred and seventy eight kilometres – by Ellen

After adventuring together for 11,978 km, we sadly handed the car and the keys over to a dealer.

I hope he’s happy in the garage with the other cars (I think there was a nice lady car he had his eye on). Considering that we’ve hammered that poor little bakkie for almost 12,000 kilometres over the last 10 weeks, and most of that was on shocking gravel - with an unhealthy amount of sand and mud thrown in - it’s a wonder that a) he’s not fallen apart completely and b) we got someone to give us some money for him!

He really was a super little car, and an integral part of our adventure. As we drove back in our nice shiny new hire car, with air-con and power steering, and no ominous rattling noises coming from anywhere, and a back left tyre that didn’t need worrying about/pumping up every few days, Toto’s Africa once more came on the radio.

If in doubt, go on safari – by Ellen

On the Monday, we managed to get through to Emirates, who told us the earliest flight was over 2 weeks away. So, what to do in South Africa for two weeks with no money? Hmm.

On the plus side, Toto was ready to be collected. Thankfully, the bill wasn’t anywhere near as scary as we’d convinced ourselves it would be. The problem, it turned out, was that Toto didn’t have any brushes. Or needed new brushes. Or something. Apparently cars need very special brushes, not hair brushes, tooth brushes or dust pan and brush brushes, all of which we had.

Anyway, that drama over, we decided to try and sell the car before something more expensive broke. Surprisingly enough, we found out that we weren’t going to get as much for it as we’d hoped (!). Two new tyres, work on the exhaust and the scary number of kilometres it had been driven were all noted after a cursory inspection by the dealers. I dread to think what screws and nuts and bolts had been loosened by rattling along for thousands of kilometres on gravel roads, and then there was the small matter of all the Etoshan mud in the engine...
We decided, after much deliberation and a couple of bottles of wine, that if ever in doubt, go on safari. Our other options were to sell Toto before the wheels dropped off, hire a car and go and spend 10 days on the beach in Mozambique, or drive down to Cape Town and sell the car there, where we’d possibly get more money for it. The former seemed too expensive, and the latter too sensible. The other bonus of going on safari was that we’d not be in Polokwane for Freedom Day. We’d been seeing news reports that there was text message going round suggesting that blacks should kill as many whites as possible on Freedom Day. Nice.

So, safari it was.

Once again, Evan’s African accent (which rivals Leonardo Di Caprio’s in Blood Diamond, and certainly beats Matt Damon’s in Invictus) paid off. We were given local rates for Kruger – which works out at about £4 per person/day rather than £16 per person/day. Not bad!

It was great to be back in the bush again, and, once we’d opened the second roll of Duck Tape to hold the poles together, we even managed to get the tent to stay up. A gang of hornbills invited themselves to lunch. Disgruntled at being shooed off, they started attacking the windscreen wipers with their enormous beaks and pooing on the bonnet. Evan - the great bird lover – retaliated by turning the windscreen wipers on. Ha ha ha!

Kruger is very different to Hwange. The roads are tarred and pothole free, there are at least 20 cars queuing at each major sighting and accommodation gets booked out even during the week. It all felt a little...zoo-like. But nonetheless, it was great to be back, and we saw some great stuff including lions...erm...making baby lions, and even got close enough to a cheetah that we could hear it’s claws clicking on the tarmac as it walked past my window. It’s going to be odd being back in Sussex, where there’s a distinct lack of wild elephants roaming along the side of the A27.

Toto’s Near Death Experience – by Ellen


We had a potential buyer for the Toto (yes, we named the car Toto, and yes, after the band, not after the dog in the Wizard of Oz) in Cape Town, so we were up nice and early to leave Polokwane and head south.

But Toto wouldn’t start. Ten thousand and three kilometres into our epic adventure, our trusty car died – but fortunately not in the middle of a desert...

Despite the best efforts of some workmen to push-start us (into a wall), he still would not start. A friend of the receptionist’s came over to jump start him, but even after swapping batteries, still no joy. Oh.

Eventually we got there (without hitting the wall) and set off to buy a new battery. As the old battery was removed I could hear the tick-tock of his hazard lights faltering, getting weaker, and then...silence... I half expected to hear the long ominous beep of a heart monitor announcing a flatliner. (Sorry, I’m quite attached to this little car!)
As the new battery was hooked up, a feint tick...tick-tock...could be heard, then a full, healthy tick-tock, tick-tock. Yay! There was life!

We turned off the engine.
We tried to start the engine.
Nothing.

And then started the pushing of the car around the back yard of a back-street shop in Polokwane. It dawned on me – as it probably dawned on you car-savvy folk a while ago – that it probably wasn’t a problem with the battery. We decided that, seeing as the new (R550) battery didn’t make the car go, they should probably give us our old battery back. As, despite what they tried to tell us, we didn’t think that our battery was ‘f***ed up’.

We found a service centre who directed us an auto electrician who’d have alook at our started motor. But not until Monday. Today was Friday.

Deciding it probably wasn’t sensible to drive anywhere in a car that couldn’t be switched off (especially as we needed the ignition key to open the petro cap) we surrendered the car to the auto electricians who drove us to the tiny airport to collect a hire car.

We went to AVIS.
‘Do you have any cars?’
‘No.’

Oh.

We went to Europe Car
‘Do you have any cars?’
‘No.’

Oh.

By this point we’d exhausted half of the car rental options. Luckily Budget had cars, so we were back on the road!
It took us longer than anticipated to leave Polokwane (mainly as we were driving round in solid traffic trying to decide which of the three KFC drive-thrus to go to). So (much) later that day, as we were on route to Kruger along a road that had an 80k speed limit which took us up and down windy, misty mountain roads, we realised that we weren’t going to get to the park gate in time...and that I had forgotten my camera so I’d be sulking all weekend as I’d be camera-less on safari. So we went back to Polokwane and indulged in room service, beers and a film.

Beit Bridge Border: Touts, Robbers and Corruption – by Ellen

For three days we tried failed to get through to Emirates to see when we could get home. Eventually we decided to head back to South Africa regardless. I (foolishly) texted my mother to let her know we were going over the border the next day. Half an hour of googling later, she was sending me very informative texts about the touts, robbers and corruption at the Beit Bridge border post. As if we’d not heard enough horror stories already, ranging from ‘oh, nightmare, you’ll be there for hours’ to ‘just don’t go under any circumstances’. We got some advice at the hotel that 11am on a Thursday was the best time to brave the crossing. Super – that’s exactly when we were due to get there! Steeling ourselves for the worst, we set off.

Twenty-five minutes later we were back on SA soil, after possibly one of the easiest border crossings we’d encountered so far! Who ever had been spreading the rumours about the horrors of Beit Bridge obviously hadn’t ever crossed from Namibia to Zambia...

Just minutes after discussing how nice it was to have left the roadblocks behind, we were stopped at a roadblock. We resisted the temptation to point out our lovely new reflective stickers. It was at this point that the car decided not to start. It had been a little reluctant for the last couple of days, but this was a refusal. Third time lucky though. The policeman suggested that we needed to check the battery fluid. Vowing to find a garage as soon as we got to Polokwane, we set off.

Just minutes after discussing how, even though there was a police road block, there wasn’t any scary military presence around, a military helicopter flew very low overhead. As we approached the Toll Gate we saw people in bullet proof vests carrying machine guns, running in formation, and crouching and aiming and...oh, just practicing. Phew.

Great Zimbabwe – by Ellen


We spent a few days in a house (Aah! A house, an actual house! All to ourselves, with beds and a sofa and a kitchen and a dining table and lights and a fridge! Well, due to a lack of ZESA neither the lights nor the fridge worked, but hey, minor details) overlooking Lake Kyle just by Great Zimbabwe.

By this point we’d made the – difficult - decision that it was time to head home. But as we ate our sadza by candlelight and listened to the BBC World Service on our wind-up wireless (no ZESA remember), getting home seemed a fairly remote possibility. The news was filled with reports of the ash cloud from the Icelandic volcano that had forced the closure of European airspace. Thousands of passengers were stranded all over the world, and businesses were losing billions. Reporters latched on to the idea that this may be a practice run for not only the inevitable, larger, secondary eruption, but also a world without oil and international transport links. Questions were being raised about the future of global trading, particularly the African dependence on exports to the West.
The next morning we headed into Masvingo to re-stock. Outside every bank were enormous queues of people, all obviously waiting to withdraw their money. The logical conclusion for Evan (the ex banker) and me (the one who reads too many crap books) to draw was that the country – and quite possibly the whole world – had collapsed financially.

Turns out it was just teachers’ pay day. How terribly boring.

Great Zimbabwe was, well, great! Despite the best efforts of Western historians and archaeologists to attribute Great Zimbabwe to anyone other than the Africans, it was actually built by...the Africans. Founded in 1200 AD, this great empire of ‘Zimbabwes’ (stone houses) soon became the biggest pre-colonial empire in Sub-Saharan Africa. It met its end in the 1500s, probably due to becoming overly successful and unable to sustain its population. Many of the buildings looked like an extension of the rocks around which they were built. The stone walls of hand-cut bricks curved round between the massive boulders. Steps had been hewn into the steep sides of the kopjie, leading through narrow gaps between smooth boulders. Around a million handmade bricks, made by heating the granite with fire then tipping cold water over the stone to make it crack, were used just for the Great Enclosure alone.
The small museum contains a surprising amount of information. You can only read it once your eyes have adjusted to the flickering of the lights; the small diesel generator does its best - and actually makes the place much more atmospheric. It’s also in here that the famous Stone Birds (like the one on the Zim flag) are housed.

As Evan had done his dissertation on Great Zimbabwe, I had my own very knowledgeable (and handsone), guide, who was not only an expert of the archaeology of the area, but was also a trained Field Guide. The latter meant that he only screamed a little bit when his flip-flopped foot nearly stood on a snake.

Mugabe and Evan’s Admission of Guilt – by Ellen

OK, that title may be a little misleading; it sort of implies that Bob may be admitting that he’s guilty of something. Can’t even begin to imagine what it could be...

Anyway, as we were driving to Vic Falls we were stopped at yet another road block. This time, they wanted a little more than just a glance at out TIP and driver’s licence.

‘Aha...I have found two problems with your car. You do not have the reflective stickers on the front of your car’.
WTF?!
‘Oh, sorry officer, we didn’t realize that you needed to have reflective stickers on the car. And what is the second problem?’
‘You do not have reflective stickers on the back of your car.’
‘Oh, I see.’


Once they’d found out that I’d been to university in Manchester (where the policeman had been born) and that my sister supported Chelsea (who the policeman supported) he decided to only fine us for the front reflective stickers.

‘Either you can pay me the fine or I can arrest you’ the policemen said, rather too gleefully.
Once the policeman had filled out his little book (in triplicate) Evan paid the $10 USD fine and signed the Admission of Guilt. Under the threat of arrest he signed that he was guilty of the heinous crime of not having reflective stickers on his car, and that the trial should proceed in his absence.


At the next roadblock, the policeman’s eyes lit up.

‘Aha...I have found two problems with your car...’


We (smugly) showed him the Admission of Guilt, and off we went.

At the next roadblock, we were stopped again. But this time we were asked to pull over on the side of the road and switch off the engine. Hmm. Not good. The policeman walked over to us, AK-47 swinging by his side.

‘The President is going to the airport so we have to close the road.’

Wow! Mugabe was about to drive past!

As we waited we overheard the policemen talking:

‘How old is he now?’
‘Too old.’
‘Ah. The evil ones live long.’


Interesting to hear such open opposition to the President – particularly from the very people who are protecting him.

Eventually we saw the lights of the convoy. Twenty-four black cars and bakkies sped round the turning to the airport. Once that excitement was over we carried on to Vic Falls to track down some reflective stickers for the car.

If you’re ever thinking about going to see the Victoria Falls, and wondering whether to see them from Zam or Zim, stop wondering: go from the Zim side.

They are even more staggering and overwhelming, and although you will get wet (unless you’re there in the dry season, in which case there won’t be much of the falls falling) you also get to actually see the falls! Once you’ve marvelled at the falls, follow the path down to Vic Falls bridge lookout point and watch the bungee jumpers. I’ve said this before, and I’ll no doubt say it again, but: no. No, no, no, no, no. I am NOT going to bungee jump. So there.

But it does look amazing, as they leap into the gorge below, right through a huge rainbow. And then they reach the end of the bungee their bodies jerk, and it looks very much like their necks/back/legs will be broken in many places. And then they dangle, helplessly, upside down, waiting for someone to come down and rescue them.

There’s also a gorge swing, which looks much more civilized. But “sadly” we...erm...didn’t have enough money to do it. Ahem.

Back in the Bush – by Ellen


Confessions of a camper: we were two weeks into a trip to Zim, and we’d not put the tent up once. It was time to get back to the bush.

Before we left Harare we did manage to fit in a trip to the rock paintings at Domboshawa. As well as some great outline paintings of rhino and antelope (a style unique to Zimbabwe – most other rock paintings are solid colour) the rocks here are worth seeing. Great curved expanses of granite topped with balancing rocks and covered in the most extraordinary fluorescent orange and yellow-green lichen. (Also, if you put on a Zimbabwean accent you get local rates – Evan’s years of practicing have finally paid off!).

After a stop-over night in Bulawayo we reached Hwange (Wankie) Game Park. I’ll not bore you with the details of what we saw on safari; mainly because we didn’t see much at all. Because of all the unseasonal rain, the animals didn’t need to come out of the thick bush and down to the watering holes. We did hear some lions, hyenas and jackals in the night. The fence around the camp was...erm...sporadic. We’d been assured that the lions were not able to get into the camp. But based on the fact that an elephant walked right passed us while we were having a braai (bit of a shock in the dark), we weren’t convinced.

One great sighting was by a watering hole in the middle of the day. We watched a stately line of elephants make their way down to the water. We sat for over an hour just enjoying watching them splash and play and fight and roll in the mud. They weren’t happy at having to share the water with three ostriches which had come to bathe, and even less happy when the troop of baboons arrived. They soon gave up trying to chase them off and wondered silently back into the bush.

Lost in the Dark in Harare – by Ellen

Resisting the urge to pop over the border to Mozambique, we headed back to Harare for a couple of nights to stay at the Dewhursts’ home. They texted us their address and we agreed we’d come over about 7pm. So there was plenty to time to go and have a beer at Evan’s favourite place in the world – Harare Sports (the international cricket ground).

It then dawned on us that we didn’t have a proper map. All we had was the ‘map’ in the Lonely Planet Southern Africa guide book, which was no more than a few token squiggles on half a page of the book which represented probably every 4th or 5th road in Harare, and of the few streets shown on our map, only about half of them had names by them.

Not to worry – we’ll head to a petrol station to buy a map. Or not. In a country where a petrol station actually having petrol is a near miracle, expecting to buy a map is definitely asking too much. Not to worry – we’ll head to a book shop to buy a map. All the book shops we tried had sold out of maps of Harare (but if we’d have wanted a detailed map of Bulawayo or Mozambique we’d have been in luck). On explaining our predicament to the shop assistant, he said he’s go to the store room where he had one last, map of Harare – one which was to be returned to the supplier as it had a few pages missing. And guess which pages were missing...
We decided to set off anyway – we knew the vague direction of their suburb. Within 2 minutes we were lost again. As we’d accidentally found the street where Evan’s cousin lived (couldn’t have done that if we tried) we gave him a call on our about to run out of battery phone, to ask to borrow a map book. But he wasn’t home.

At this point is got dark. It’s not like England where you have a nice dusk to ease you into the night. Here, once the sun’s set, it gets dark. No messing about.

We then, somehow, ended up on one of the roads that was represented as a – named! - squiggle on our map. The odds of us finding a road that still had a legible, upright street name sign, and then that same road being on our map would have bankrupted the bookies. A helpful security guard pointed us in the right direction for the suburb we wanted, and we continued on our treasure hunt.

Originally we’d decided that driving round in the dark without a map was probably Rather Stupid. But it was starting to get quite fun. Essentially, we decided that, no matter what happened along the way, the ultimate ending to this tale would be ‘and then we arrived’. So it was best just to sit back and enjoy the ride. And avoid the potholes/other drivers/stray dogs...

Once we’d found the main road, we pulled in to a garage where a very helpful customer gave us extremely detailed directions to, not just the suburb, but the actual road! Once on the correct road (we assumed – it obviously didn’t have a signpost) we were a little shocked to find ourselves outside number 615 when we were looking for number 24 - how long is this road?! But of course number 615 is opposite number 18. So we bumped and bounced down the unlit road...and then we arrived.


Nyanga and Bvumba – by Ellen


Evan’s decided that he’d rather drink beer, eat biltong and read a Wilbur Smith novel than write any more about Zimbabwe – so I’m afraid you’re stuck with me again.

Once we’d exhausted the wonderful food and hospitality of the Wetton and Passiportis family, we set off again in our little bakkie to Nyanga, in the East of Zimbabwe. We stopped off at Halfway House for lunch – a place where in all likelihood Evan’s grandparents would have stopped for lunch with Evan’s mum and aunts as little girls, going off on holiday.

The scenery is stunning. Climbing higher and higher up the acacia-lined roads, the balancing rock formations get more bizarre and precarious. We arrived at Inn on Rupaprara to be welcomed by the Dewhurst family – friends of Evan’s mum’s from school – who run the hotel. We spent a few extremely relaxing days here (my excuse for staying in bed whilst Evan was marched up Rupaprara rock at 6am was that I had flu), with fantastic food and breathtaking views, and a pair of rare Black Eagles circling overhead.

From here we headed to the Bvumba mountains. Bvumba means ‘drizzle’, and it’s a very apt name indeed. From the veranda with a beer we watched the clouds roll in, and the drizzle start to fall. As the rain set in we moved inside to the double-height dining room, where we enjoyed our candlelit dinner from the prime spot in front of the open fire (but then we were the only guests). We fell asleep in our attic room to the sound of the rain and the smell of wet thatching.