The last few weeks have provided so much of everything. Every day has been an adventure, and I find it difficult to only write about some of our experiences. Hopefully you’ll enjoy the stories I have chosen.
Change of plans
After further research and investigation, Angola didn’t seem to be a practical option. It is a huge country with not many roads, and none of the roads seemed to link up with where we were heading. We still needed to make it to Johannesburg from where our return flight departs, and we decided that to go to Angola would require much more time and money than we had. It is a shame, because we wanted to be able to say that we have had a "cola in Angola". So we made rough plans to head to the North West of Namibia, then to make our way over to Zimbabwe. If you are in Australia, this would sound like a crazy idea as the troubles in Zimbabwe are well publicised in the media. Well, we no longer listen to the media, rumours or the word on the street. When gathering information about a place, we only really listen to those who have just been there. We had spoken to other travellers who had recently visited, and although politically and economically the country is in turmoil, they said it is still a relatively safe place to visit, and a fantastic destination in it’s own right. So without planning much more, we turned around and headed North. Ahhh, the luxury and freedom of independent travelling!
Before heading off, we went on a road trip with our Israeli friends to explore some of the attractions further South. We had a great time, but we had to say goodbye as they were continuing South. The problem was that we had to say goodbye about 400km from Swakopmund where we had left our bikes. We decided to hitch a ride back, and this proved to be quite an adventure.
Ride 1: After waiting in the hot sun for about an hour, a local farmer picked us up and took us 11km to the junction with the main road. Please note that the main road is a gravel road in the middle of the desert, and traffic in this part of the world is very thin ie. One vehicle per 30 minutes.
Ride 2: We waited about 3 hours and only one car had stopped, but they were heading in the other direction. They felt sorry for us standing in the hot sun so they gave us oranges and juice. Then finally a tour bus stopped. It was full of middle aged French, and their guide who spoke English said that they could offer us 40km to a desert lodge where they were staying. It was now late afternoon and we had decided that every kilometre counts, so we hopped in much to the delight of the Frenchies. None of them spoke much English, but by their smiles and loud cheers we concluded that we were more than welcome and that picking us up in the middle of the desert added to the adventure of their whiz bang 2-week southern Africa tour. Luckily, opposite their lodge was a campsite where we stopped for the night.
Ride 3: We resumed our positions on the side of the road at 7am. It was very quiet, until we saw about 3 buses emerging from the desert lodge. We became excited thinking that it was the French, but the 3 tour buses all rudely drove past hardly acknowledging us. Then at 8:45am another bus started to emerge, and as they drew near, a few of the passengers were hanging out the window and joyfully shouting in French. Frenchies to the rescue, and as we embarrassingly hopped in, the cheers were even louder and smiles bigger than yesterday. “Bonjour, merci”, we exclaimed as we scooted down the aisle to the exact same seats we had yesterday. This time they could offer us a ride to 35km before Swakopmund. So far in Africa it has been the Dutch, South Africans or the various nationalities of missionaries that have saved us, this time it was the French. Cheers France. We felt like part of their tour as we stopped to take pictures, and at one stage they asked us to stand together under the Tropic Of Capricorn sign so they could snap pictures of us! Our pleasurable trip came to an end 35km shy of Swakopmund.
Ride 4: We walked along the main road with our thumb out and only had to wait about 20 minutes this time. A 4WD stopped and out stepped the lady owner of the backpackers where we had left our bikes. Perfect. After 4 lifts, 400km and about 20 hours we made it back to the bikes. I decided that a trip based purely on hitching would make a great adventure.
The famous sand dunes in western Namibia
Hitching back to Swakopmund
French to the rescue. Spot the Aussie.
Rugged Namibia
After leaving Swakopmund we embarked on a 700km stretch entirely on dirt roads and it proved to be one of our toughest and most rewarding parts of this trip.
The first day was the easiest, as we cruised along a nice flat dirt road to comfortably ride 116km for the day. That’s where the easy riding finished. The next day we battled a horrible headwind (see video clip), and it was one of our hardest days ever. The following is an extract from my diary:
“Horrible day, one of the worst ever. I dreamt of home. I was so frustrated and angry. I felt like screaming. The reason was a huge gale force headwind. It started at 1am and I had to get out of the tent to peg it out properly. I hardly slept after that as the wind kept howling. We left at 6am thinking that 80km was a reasonable target. Well, the wind had other ideas. We worked hard for 8km/hr, and sometimes had to walk. The wind was deafening and there was no cover. Our mouths were bone dry and we quickly drank our 3 litres each. I was convinced that when we finally made it to 30km, after 4 laborious hours, we would hitch to the town. Nothing came so we had no choice. Often I stopped, defeated, and wanted to quit. Some nice South Africans stopped to give us water. We found a solitary tree in this harsh desert, and sat behind it to get protection from the hot dry wind. The desert was lonely and lifeless, with nowhere to escape. I shouted in anger at one stage. We flagged a mini bus full of locals for more water. We pushed on. 40km was nearly 6 hours of grinding. The sun eventually started to go down, and the wind started to drop ever so slightly. We flagged another car for water. Sun set. So tired and exhausted, had enough. Two road workers camped on the side of the road. “35km to go” one said. Now 6:30pm and dark. On we pushed. Christine wanted to stop and camp. I wanted to carry on in the hope of a hot shower. Pitch black. Head torches on. Cold baked beans on the side of the road for dinner. Three sets of eyes reflected coming towards us. Three donkeys pulling a cart with a man in the back. Finally the glow of a small town in the distance. We arrive at 9pm. 2 minute noodles for dinner. Hot shower. Sleep. What a day.”
Desert headwind … really awful
I tried the iPod and one of Christine’s socks as a headband to try and reduce the deafening noise of the wind.
The scenery started to become more beautiful. Rolling hills with rocky outcrops. Although still well spaced out, we started to pass more and more villages. Crumbling structures built from scraps, goats and chooks running around, kids playing in the dirt, donkeys pulling carts of water, ladies cooking on fires … yep, we were back in Africa. We stopped in one of these small villages for water. As Christine went in search, I entertained a small group of onlookers. One man seriously asked, “where is your clutch and where do you put the petrol?” I was just about to tell him that it was a bicycle, but that was too boring. I pointed to my pedal and told him that was the clutch, that in my trailer bag was the motor, and the fuel goes on the back. The people lived a poor life in a harsh environment, but they were friendly as they smiled and waved.
In one particular area we were warned of camping due to the possible passing of a herd of desert elephants in the night. We sort refuge up high on a rocky outcrop, and declared the high posting impassable for elephants. With a clear sky and pleasant night time temperatures, we decided to not pitch the tent and sleep out under the bright stars. We packed up our stove, had a wash and snuggled into our sleeping bags on a beautiful rocky outcrop under the stunning Namibia desert sky. Then the action started, and it wasn’t elephant action. Mice were going crazy all around us, climbing on our bikes and running past our heads. We must have decided to sleep in a small mice city, because it was party time for them and we couldn’t sleep. At midnight we got up to pitch the tent, which gave us some relief from the rummaging little critters.
Clearing an area on a rocky outcrop. The mice went crazy all night and ensured a rough night's sleep
A young boy and his brother. Their mother was selling a few grocery items, so we bought some sweet biscuits. We could hardly bite them as they were well and truly past their use by date.
We stayed a night in a campsite beside a dry river and met a very interesting French couple. They have walked from Africa’s East coast in Mozambique, all the way to Africa’s West coast in Namibia. They started 6 months ago and have walked over 3000km and we thought bicycles were slow! We chatted to them and loved listening to their unique stories. We suck inspiration out of anyone we can, and this couple certainly inspired us to do things that other people say are impossible. We have had so many people tell us that “it’s too far”, or “you can’t do that on a bicycle”, or “that’s impossible”. We like to meet other people who love the challenge of defying the odds in search of adventure and amazing experiences.
We pedalled along and the road was OK in sections, and terrible in others. We reflected how Namibia has easily been our hardest country to cycle in; hot, dry, windy, hilly, no water, big distances, gravel roads and sand. It was beautiful, but we missed the invigoration of green, rain, lush country side, birds and life. Conditions were tough, and we were constantly leaving in the dark and arriving in the dark. It was remote, rough and rugged. We passed the odd village. After slowly adjusting back to more organised and home-like towns as we travelled South, we were now back into rural African villages in Northern Namibia. One image we have of African villages is of men sitting around not doing anything, lazy men. This has been fairly common throughout Africa. The neglect of the villages; rubbish everywhere, buildings falling apart, structures slapped together, nothing working, surely warrants some work to be done. As well as this there must be farming, cooking, Fathering, tending to animals and other such duties to be done. No, the men don’t do too much at all, and are never in a hurry. Christine doesn’t have the best relationship with African men, and she uses some very colourful and descriptive language to describe them. But this is how they live. This is Africa. Who are we to criticise? And anyway, what is the problem? Well, there isn’t really a problem, until cultures clash. So often we have seen black African culture experience problems with white Western culture and it has difficulty working. The differences seem too big, cultures too different. We haven’t seen much of South Africa yet, and maybe it is different there, but from what we have seen mixing black African culture with white values is a very delicate process.
We started to see many animals. We saw giraffe as they crossed the road and galloped off almost in slow motion. We had much time to think and chat. The cycling consumed much of our energy, but we rested under trees in the peace and quiet, content with the fact that we were remote and a long way from anywhere. We were prepared with lots of food, but water was always a challenge. As we quietly pedalled along one day a 4WD sped in front of me and then pulled over. Out jumped the stocky driver with aviator sunnies and a well trimmed beard and shouted “want a beer?” as though he had known me for years (except for the fact that I don’t drink beer). Then behind stopped another four 4WD’s. They were a Slovenian group touring through the area, and were unbelievably friendly and generous. They loaded us up with water and fresh fruit. It made us smile, and it was quite surreal after spending so much time by ourselves. They took photos of us (which now means we will be in travel photo albums and videos in Germany, South Africa, France, Japan, Israel, Wales, Mexico, Portugal and Slovenia) and were very bubbly. They sped off leaving us in a cloud of dust.
Beautiful scenery. Tough riding.
The Slovenians stopped in the middle of the desert and gave us fresh fruit and water. Lovely people.
That night we got into a camp ground at nearly 8pm after a ridiculously tough day. The last 5km were pushing our bikes in the dark up a steep rocky track. We arrived, and asked if we could camp. The man seeing our obvious exhaustion and having a liking of cyclists, said “no, but I will be giving you a room for free”. Wow. It was the perfect end to a tough day. Marius is a white Namibian who has lived in this remote part of Namibia for 23 years. His dad cycled from Germany to Cape Town in the 40’s so he had a soft spot for cyclists. We cooked a quick dinner, and a bed and pillow had never felt so good. The next morning we woke to take in the stunning views of the hills we had climbed the previous evening in the dark. On the table under the shelter was a tray with fresh goat's milk, muesli, home made biscuits and fresh coffee. Marius extended his unconditional generosity and had made us breakfast. This was amazing, and quite overwhelming for a couple of rough travellers who were now totally used to looking after themselves. Marius survives in the area through mining, which is his passion, and the odd tourist who pops by. He collects all his own water from the rain, and his power comes from solar panels. Hot water is produced from lighting a fire and milk comes from his goats. It was hard to leave. We insisted on giving him at least the price of camping, and he unwillingly accepted.
For the rest of that morning we felt humbled by Marius and his hospitality. We sadly reflected how the most generous and hospitable people in Africa have been either white Africans or other travellers. There have been wonderful exceptions to this, particularly in East Africa and especially in Uganda, but generally we haven’t been given as warm and hospitable reception as we expected. Initially this shattered our perception of African people, but we have come to accept it now and the people are beautiful in many other ways. One day we heard some singing and drums in the distance. We walked and followed the sound. We found the group of ladies singing and dancing and the men beating their skinned bongo drums. We watched them for ½ an hour. Black African ladies singing together sends shivers down your spine. It is beautiful. The skilful beat of the drums and the energetic dancing in the sand made for a great performance. This was beautiful Africa.
As we neared Opuwo, we started to pass Himba villages (read below about the Himba people). This was a highlight of our trip, and an experience we will remember. We stopped to chat with a Himba lady and her baby. After a while she showed us an open wound on her babies hand. It wasn’t infected, but looked quite nasty. Normally in this instance we wouldn’t do anything for not wanting to be the rich white people saving the poor black people with magic medicines. We also figured that the Himba people would have some traditional medicines to treat such a wound. But then the mother asked us if we had anything. This confused us. Maybe she didn’t have anything. If we did give the baby something would this alter the mother’s perception of white people in a damaging way? Or would putting some cream on the wound be a harmless and helpful act? We thought about it a lot, maybe too much, but such is our thinking after seeing the impact white practices and thinking can have on local culture and values. In the end Christine put a smear of Paw Paw ointment on it. She was grateful, and we hoped it was an innocent good deed to help heal the wound. We pedalled off and discussed it some more. While bike touring, you have lots of time to discuss things and solve the problems of the world.
Christine applying Paw Paw ointment to the Himba baby
After 9 solid days in the Namibian wilderness, we arrived in the districts capital called Opuwo. We weren’t expecting much, and that’s what we received. A dirty and dusty town crowded with people not doing much at all. Alcohol was prevalent and the shelves in the supermarket were fairly empty. It wasn’t even possible to get a nice meal to celebrate, so we again cranked up the stove and used one of our packets. The town had a real frontier feel as different people and languages mingled in one big village. Skinny dogs scavenged around, goats and pigs foraged in the rubbish piles, donkey carts ran alongside old utes and people slept and drank in the streets. It was the end of one of our most challenging stretches ever, but we missed being out in the Namibian bush. All these people and all this action gave us an empty feeling. We stayed for a day to rest, but then it was time to move on.
The hills were never ending. This one they had to tar because it was too steep
Local traffic on our way in to Opuwo
Himba
One reason why we did decide to head North from Swakopmund and head to NorthWest Namibia was to see the Himba people. Like the people of the Omo Valley in Ethiopia, the Himba are people who have resisted Western influences and modern practices. They live a semi nomadic lifestyle in small villages with huts made from mud and dung. They have many interesting customs and rituals, but the most obvious is their dress and appearance. The women adorn themselves in jewellery, bracelets, anklets, iron belts and beads made from shells. They are tall and slender people, and are very proud. They have striking and refined features and often look like beautiful statues. The women also coat their hair and skin in red ochre and fat, which not only gives them a glowing bronze look and strong stench, but also protects their skin. Even the older women have beautifully preserved skin despite the harsh conditions in which they live. The women don’t cover their breasts, and wrap animal skins around them. We noticed that most of them are missing some teeth, and then we read that one of their rituals is between the age of 10 and 12 a young Himba will have their 4 bottom teeth knocked out.
We cycled past many Himba villages on our way to Opuwo, which has been a highlight of our trip. We took a few photos, but photographing was difficult as we wanted to be respectful of their culture and their pride. We always tried to make some conversation and spend some time with them rather than just stopping, taking a picture and riding off. Amazing and beautiful people. After leaving them, we hoped that their culture would be protected and that they would continue to resist western development.
A young Himba boy
Himba baby and mother
Two proud Himba girls
Young Himba boy
Mini bus tales
Due to a lack of time, we decided to skip a stretch and travel by public transport. This is not something we enjoy, but to be able to make it to Johannesburg for our plane it was our only option. We decided on a flat stretch across the top of Namibia having already ridden a tough and adventurous section. It was going to take at least three mini bus taxis from Opuwo to Rundu over a distance of about 800km. We began our journey at 7am.
The first mini bus that we had arranged, clearly indicating the previous day that we had bikes and trailers, turned up to our backpackers already full with out any space for us or our luggage. Great start. He said he would call another one and ½ an hour later a half full van pulled up with a trailer on the back. Perfect. We loaded our bikes and luggage in the back, and jumped in ready to go. What we forgot was that these buses travel only when full so as to maximise their earnings for the trip. We also forgot what African full was. So we drove around the town for over an hour searching for more passengers, our driver tooting and shouting out the window almost trying to convince people that they needed to go somewhere. We bounced down dusty back streets, and although it was interesting to see more of the town, we had a long day ahead of us so driving around for an hour started to test our patience. Then when it was full, he still searched for more people. Finally, we had 19 adults and 2 babies in an already ambitious 15 seater. In Australia, it would have been no more than a 12 seater. There was a mixture of interesting locals and strong stenches, the strongest being the stale beer breath of the old alcoholic next to me. We were the only whites. We set off and not more than 10 minutes down the road we stopped so the alcoholic could buy some beer and the driver could have a smoke and a few others could go to the toilet. It was going to be a long trip. The alcoholic opened his long neck effortlessly with his few remaining bucked yellow teeth, which resulted in more spit than sense when he tried to ask if Australia was beautiful and if we drink beer at home. He was guzzling beer like it was water, picking his nose, cleaning his ears with a match stick (after which he snapped in half to use the other half as a tooth pick) and spraying me with spit. Cheers mate. After about an hour I switched to the back, much to his disappointment. We continually stopped to pick up and drop off passengers, go to the toilet, and buy beer. It was not comfortable and the lack of urgency and a bare minimum quality of service was getting on my nerves. I had to deal with it. I stopped, took a deep breath, and then smiled; “This is Africa,” I said to myself with a grin.
After 5 long hours to travel less than 250km, we reached our first destination. We were exhausted.
We then had 2 more similar journeys after that and arrived in Rundu at 11pm. What a day. It helped us realise why we love being on the bike so much, but it was certainly an adventure and a real insight into African life.
Into Zimbabwe
From Rundu we had nearly 600km across what is known as the Caprivi Strip. If the map of Namibia was a cooking pot, then the Caprivi Strip is the handle with Angola and Zambia above it and Botswana below. We whizzed across in 5 days as it was mostly flat, but a headwind every day ensured it was tough work. Long days in the saddle were the norm, and sore bums accompanied. Words can’t really explain what it is like to cycle into a strong headwind. It is like running in the sand, or swimming against the current. Next time the wind is howling at your place, pop outside, jump on the bike and ride against it for 10 minutes, then multiply that by 7 or 8 hours with 25kg of luggage and you’ll understand the demoralising effect it can have.
There were many villages along the Caprivi Strip, and although they were very poor like other parts of Africa, they were extremely friendly (see last clip of video). Living was in huts made of mud and straw, water came from the odd ground pump and farming cattle and crops provided food. We often cycled past ladies cooking on fires, and when the kids could see us coming they would run with us, chasing, smiling and waving in their tattered clothes and tough bare feet. Some of them were fast too, natural athletes, and it made me think how their life would be different if they had some sort of sporting opportunities. There is no Sunday morning athletics or sporting clubs here, and a pair of runners is merely a dream. A dusty paddock and flat soccer ball is the only sport they’ll ever know. These friendly villages, along with the pleasant scenery, made it a nice stretch of cycling. We had a mixture of campgrounds and the side of the road for sleeping, and food was scarce but we managed to scrounge just enough. We found water from pumps bringing it from the ground, of which only some villages had. We only saw one elephant of which the area is known for, but we suspected that a past dominated by war and poaching in the area has made them scarce. We enjoyed 2 beautiful nights camped on the mighty Zambezi River before our last day of cycling in Namibia. We spent quite a bit of time there, and it was a fantastic country. Very tough, but extremely rewarding and it really did offer some of the best Africa has to see.
When we arrived at the Botswana border, we had about 70km through to Zimbabwe of which 50km were through a National Park. As much as we pleaded, the Park Official wouldn’t let us cycle through. “No bicycles allowed in National Parks in Botswana,” he said. I told him how we were very fast riders and all the animals liked us except baboons. He wouldn’t budge. I even tried to bribe him just to see what he would say, and the young fella stuck to the rules. Good on him. We hitched a ride in the back of a huge truck carrying gravel which was great. It was like a free wildlife drive as we were perched up high on the gravel in the back. He dropped us off at the other side, and as we didn't have any no money to pay we gave him some bread, fruit and nuts. He was a very happy chappy. We spent the night in Botswana, and then it was on to Zimbabwe, which made it 3 countries in 3 days.
We had no idea how much a visa would cost for Zimbabwe. We had expected about US$50 per person, but understood it could have been much higher. The friendly man charged us US$30 per person, and said that we were the first cyclists he had seen come through this border post. We cycled the 70km through another National Park in which we saw quite a few elephants to Victoria Falls town. After only a very short time here, the people seem to be remarkably friendly and we are excited about what lies ahead. Apart from the economic and political crisis, it is still a safe place to visit. The economy is crazy. The French walkers said that a few months ago US$1 was about ZIM$5000. We changed our money at the rate of US$1 for ZIM$100,000!! Exchanging US$10 made us instant millionaires and provided us with a stack of cash. This is the black market rate, which everyone uses as the banks rate is less than half this. The value of Zimbabwe dollars fluctuates regularly, so we are only changing small amounts at a time. A loaf of bread costs ZIM$22,000. Crazy stuff. It is going to be an interesting experience, and we are glad we have come to visit and to see how a country copes in such an economic crisis.
Young boys playing at the front of their village along the Caprivi Strip
Typical village along the Caprivi Strip with houses made from straw, mud and sticks. Notice the power lines in the background; they only serve bigger towns so the small villages had no electricity.
We love the simplicity of the life the kids live in small villages. This creative young fella has made a toy car from some wire and container lids. If only kids in our consumerist culture could be pleased so easily
