biking4bikes

End of an African Adventure

2007-08-12T17:02:00.000+10:00

Victoria Falls (Zimbabwe) to Pretoria (South Africa) 9,580km to 10,586km

End of a chapter

Well, that’s it. It’s all over. We had mixed emotions finishing the trip. A part of us was very sad. We will miss the simplicity of bike touring. Getting up and pedalling not knowing where we were going to sleep that night, what food we would eat that day, which interesting characters we would meet, having all our possessions on the bike and not knowing what crazy adventures would unfold in a fascinating land became our way of life. It is a beautiful and amazing way to live and explore. It is addictive. It is interesting and fulfilling, and to us, it was living a dream. We will miss it. And to come home to no job, no house, a 1984 Nissan Pulsar with no hand brake and all our stuff in boxes isn’t exactly inviting. But another part of us was relieved. It has been a long and challenging 7 months, and when I look back there haven’t been too many easy days. To put it simply, Africa is a bloody tough place to be. I opened up an off road caravan brochure, and the sales pitch was “Africa’s not a place for sissies”. As much as it is a macho sexist quote, the meaning couldn’t be more accurate. The people look, think and act in a way that is so foreign to us, the landscape is harsh and survival is the name of the game. Someone once said to us that Africa gets into your bones and it never escapes, and although we are ready to forget Africa for a while, there is something about Africa that will lure us back one day. It is a place like no other, and along with the cruelty, depression and suffering, Africa possesses a certain magic and mystique.
So as a million thoughts and emotions swirled around in our brains, we couldn’t decide what exactly we wanted. It was frustrating. Facing our friends back home also created confusion. We desperately wanted to see the people that mean so much to us, but how can we possibly answer “so, how was Africa?” We both kept a daily journal as well as writing these updates, and we both easily filled a page every day. Every day was an incredible adventure and fluctuation of emotions and feelings. How can we possibly describe what we have experienced? It was a task we didn’t want to face, yet we feel we have so much to tell.
We also dreaded returning to the complications of modern living. After witnessing so many people living with nothing, it will be challenging to return to our materialistic culture dominated by consumerism. We have seen people living peacefully and happily without a mobile phone, without a car, without a big house, without a big screen TV and without fancy designer clothes. The society in which you live is very powerful, and we face many challenges to balance what we have learnt from our time in Africa and living a comfortable life in a modern country.
We are sure it will take some time before what we have done really sinks in. Having now completed bicycle trips on every continent except North America, maybe that it is the end of our bike touring. But we think not. Looking at an atlas only provokes more wonder and intrigue, and comments such as “I wonder what it would be like to cycle there?” In many ways we have finished our African trip. But it is not the end, just the end of a chapter.
OK, well enough of my philosophising. We had a very interesting time in Zimbabwe, and finished our trip with a massive anti climax in South Africa. I’ve also added in some statistics, and some very important acknowledgements.

What a mess
Cycling through Zimbabwe was certainly an interesting experience. The actual cycling was fairly non-descript and typically African. We had a severe case of what we call in the outdoor education industry destination syndrome. It is the mental state when you near the end of a journey, and all of a sudden getting to the end dominates your thoughts and enjoying the journey aspect becomes a forgotten state of mind. We knew this would happen as it has on our previous bike tours, and as much as we tried to fight it, the inevitable happened and we basically had our heads down each day and just pedalled madly. Luckily the chaos that has swamped Zimbabwe kept our thoughts and interests occupied. Most people in Zimbabwe speak English quite well, so everywhere we went we interrogated the locals with questions trying to learn and understand the crisis they now find themselves in. As one man said to us, the country has hit “rock bottom”. This might explain why we literally saw only a handful of other tourists, and they were in tour groups just passing through the country. We didn’t see any other independent travellers except a South African man who was also cycling through (http://www.thelonelyroad.org/). He was very interesting and we camped on the side of the road with Thabang. We made the mistake of camping too close to the road though as during the night we were woken several times by passing motorists satisfying their curiosity by stopping their car or truck and directing their headlights on our tent. They were just curious, but nothing was stopping them from coming up with a weapon and robbing us of everything. Although desperate, we didn’t think the Zimbaweans would do such a thing, but the fright was enough for us to make sure we kept with our normal policy of hiding in the bush to camp like prisoners on the run.

Roadside fruit. Ridiculously cheap bananas.

Breakfast on the road.

Basically the country is in an economic crisis and is experiencing shortages in staple foods and other commodities. The president seems to have raped the country of what was once a relatively modern and stable nation that enjoyed swarms of tourists, a stable and strong economy and a comfortable standard of living. The problem is that Robert Mugabe has been in power for 25 years, and everyone is scared of him. The leader of the opposition party was recently beaten so badly he had to leave the country for treatment. The reason he was bashed was because he held a rally without permission. Zimbabwe made us appreciate the freedom of speech we have in Australia. I remember watching Wil Anderson go to town on John Howard and other political figures on one of my favourite shows The Glass House. If anyone criticised the government in any way in Zimbabwe, through the media, protests, strikes, speech, any way at all, they would be locked up, beaten or would disappear. People whispered to us and looked over their shoulder. They were scared. They just crossed their fingers and prayed, and accepted whatever was happening. This made us angry. We often said to people: “Why don’t you stand up and fight … do something about it”, but they said they were scared and didn’t want to face the brutal Zimbabwe police.
We were exchanging US$1 for ZIM$120,000, and there was a high demand for foreign currency. Zimbabwe dollars couldn’t be exchanged at the borders as it is worthless outside Zimbabwe, and given the food shortages the people were forced to cross the borders to purchase necessities. This was why they needed foreign currency. For us, the economic crash meant some serious bargains. Here are a few:
· We posted a 20kg package back to Australia for AU$17
· We went to the cinema for 40c each
· 7 bananas for 50c
· A 350ml bottle of coke for 25c
· A very nice meal for about $1.50
· International phone calls for 1c per minute
· Christine did a 1 hour aerobics class for 30c
· A load of laundry at the Laundromat for 80c

US$80 exchanged to over ZIM$9 million

No foreign media are allowed into Zimbabwe, so naturally I was wary taking photos. A white man with a camera was a suspicious sight, so we hardly took any photos in Zimbabwe. Elections are coming up early next year, so Mugabe has slashed all prices trying to win over voters, especially from the poor people. This has meant people going in and clearing out the shops. An image that remains strong is people queuing for hundreds of metres outside shops and bakeries waiting for bread. Before, they could just walk in and get as many loaves as they wanted, just like we do in Australia. Now they can only by two at a time, and they must line up for hours. We walked around Bulawayo, Zimbabwe’s second largest city, and watched people queue for bread, sugar and cooking oil, or at a store where the police had gone in and slashed all prices. To keep order, a group of 6 police armed with batons and wearing helmets and face shields stood at the doors. This wasn’t necessary though because Zimbabweans are remarkably peaceful and accepting. Maybe this is why nothing has changed? In one small town I laughed as I watched Christine ignore the 100 strong queue and head straight to the front. Sure enough, she rudely charmed her way in to the store and emerged 5 minutes later with a loaf of bread. Nobody seemed to mind, but we pedalled off in case they did. Sugar was like gold. A man told us that if you left your wallet and a bag of sugar lying around, then the sugar would be the first to be stolen. Meat is scarce, so poaching has increased. Zimbabwe enjoyed a huge abundance of wild African animals and when I said to one young man that if they are killed, the tourist industry will never recover, he said: “the people are desperate and only live for today”. Fuel is non-existent, so it must be purchased from over the border in Botswana or South Africa. I thought I had seen African full buses before, but with fuel scarce Zimbabweans took full to a new level. They crammed in like sardines, and the rickety old buses looked as though they would collapse under the strain. There was never an empty vehicle, and even the ambulances were full of passengers in the back. We wondered where a patient would fit if the need arose.
Power and water was unpredictable, and the shelves of huge supermarkets were empty. For many parts of rural Zimbabwe it didn’t make a huge impact. But in a city such as Bulawayo, the people were suffering. The city once flourished and life was comfortable. The country has gone backwards, and it didn’t look like it was improving. The people were very friendly, hospitable and accepting. A little too accepting we thought. We met some seriously pissed off white Zimbabweans. A few years ago Mugabe reclaimed white farms and handed them to black farmers, and the group of people we met had all lost their farms and received little or no compensation. Government officials made the most of this and would literally drive past beautiful houses and farms owned by whites and claim them to be his. They felt that Mugabe was trying to drive out the white Zimbabwean community, and it was working as many have already left. The country is plagued by so many complicated issues, and they all come from the government. Let me say now, I’m glad this update was posted after we left the country. Emails and telephone calls are monitored, and 2 white people with a camera asking lots of questions to everyone is certainly suspicious. The South African cyclist we met said that on a recent trip to the country he was interrogated and harassed as to why he had a video camera, and ordered to pay ZIM$2 million. We kept a low profile, but we weren’t exactly inconspicuous!
The people also seemed to be better educated than other African countries. School was important. We loved cycling along at 7am and passing all the kids on their way to school from their remote villages. It was cold in the mornings, similar to early Spring in Melbourne, but the kids ran alongside us in bare feet on the cold tar and only clothed in tattered shorts and shirt. They were all running to school. Maybe they were late, maybe they couldn’t wait to get to school or maybe they were cold. We passed a crumbling school with dusty grounds, and in front of the Zimbabwe flag the entire school lined up, military style, and sang the national anthem. They valued school, but the system was also suffering from the economic collapse. It seemed that everyone had the same thought, and that was the country could only move forward when the president moved on. He won’t though, because a host of international courts are waiting to try him for all sorts of crimes against humanity. He is 83 now. The people remain hopeful and all their fingers are crossed. It was an interesting as well as a frustrating experience, but we were glad to leave Zimbabwe. We will follow their progress with interest and we hope for the people’s sake that the country moves forward. We find it astounding how western countries such as the US, UK and Australia select the countries in which they want to interfere with, and in a clear case of Robert Mugabe violating human rights and completely raping a country, the international community sits back and watches. Zimbabwe’s future rests in its next election early in 2008. If Mugabe goes, then the country can move forward, but who knows. In Africa corruption usually prevails, and Mugabe will be up to his old tricks to win voters either legitimately or illegitimately. Good luck Zimbabwe.

We camped in the back yard of a small shop one night.

The 10,000km shot

The most painful experience in Africa
While staying in Bulawayo, I was experiencing horrible pain as one of my wisdom teeth was coming through. I couldn’t sleep at night, and the antibiotics and mouth wash Christine had prescribed wasn’t working. It was time to face my fears, and go to an African dentist. The thought made me weak at the knees, but I had no choice.
A young Zimbabwean man who was staying in our guest house showed us to a dentist where he had recently had his tooth removed. I entered the small house cum dentil surgery and immediately looked for some form of degree or certificate to indicate that the dentist was in fact a dentist and not someone with a few tools willing to give dental surgery a go. The first certificate on the wall read something about a dental conference in Kenya in the late 80’s … not the kind of certificate I was looking for. There were a couple of others, but none reassured me that I was in safe hands.
I gingerly walked in to the surgery and it looked OK. The female dentist had gloves on and a face mask. Good start. She poked and prodded around for a few seconds, and then the torture began. She needed to “make my mouth numb” and this involved about 4 needles jammed straight into my gum at the back of my mouth. I’ve had dental needles before and I like to think I can withstand a bit of pain, but her needles brought tears to my eyes and my body was stiff with fear. The friendly dentist was now the scariest woman in my life, and I was at her mercy. As the needles plunged into my gum, I was wondering if she had somehow confused her dental needles with veterinary needles. It hardly worked anyway, as my mouth was only semi numb as she started up her electric tools which sounded more like a whipper snipper than the quiet whisper of a modern dental tool. She informed me that my gum was infected and pussy, and that she was going to “clean it up”. It was excruciating, and all of a sudden all those tough days on the bike seemed to be easy in comparison. I’m sure the dentist must have thought I was a big wuss as I lay there as stiff as a board, flinching with each attack on my tooth and gums. The dental assistant made things worse as she used the suction hose like she was vacuuming the carpet. On more than one occasion my cheek or tongue got caught in the hose, and she was putting it so far down my throat I thought my insides were going to be sucked up. The whole process lasted about 10-15 minutes, but felt like a life time. I was as white as a ghost and felt like fainting as I hobbled out. The dentist was surprised that I was in more pain after the treatment than before I walked in. I wasn’t surprised at all. I was prescribed a cocktail of 14 tablets per day; a mixture of antibiotics and pain killers which I desperately needed. I now have a new found appreciation for Australian dentists.

We stopped at a farm/lodge owned by a white family. They had this pet baby giraffe. Their previous giraffe was an adult but was shot by police because it was apparently terrorising the local school. Closer to the truth was that the police wanted the meat.

Cycling past a giant baobab tree.

Our final country
As we crossed the border from Zimbabwe to South Africa, we entered the final country of our trip. We rolled into the first town and it was like stepping from 3rd world to 1st. The supermarkets were full, there were fancy cars, petrol stations actually had petrol and shops were well stocked and busy with customers. In many ways South Africa marked the end of our adventure. It was still Africa, but it was as close to home as any other country. We needed it though, as Zimbabwe was tiring. There was going to be no turning back this time in search of more adventure. We were well and truly on the home stretch.

This was the first South African newspaper we bought. Not very encouraging!

The only camping in that first town was closed down, and all the other accommodation cost about 2 days of our daily budget. We visited about 8 places, and none were willing to give us a mighty discount or let us camp on their grass. This shocked us. Two poor cyclists could always squeeze a favourable deal in Africa, so what was wrong here? South Africa is different. Business was booming. There was no need to give a discount or go out of your way to let people camp. Carrying on and camping in the bush was not an option. South Africa has a reputation dominated by crime, and although we don’t listen too much to what people say, we hadn’t had a chance to get a feel for the country yet. So we sat at the internet café almost waiting for a solution to bite us on the bum. And it did. The man at the café called his brother who said we could camp in his front yard. Perfect. We pedalled around to Norman’s house and he and his wife were so lovely. They were very kind and let us use their toilet and shower also.
From there we had 2 days of fairly boring cycling. We did have one pleasant incident with the coke and biscuit man. As we were cycling along, a car coming from the other direction flagged us down. Out stepped a fat man in a suit with a huge smile from ear to ear. He said that he passed us in the morning and was disappointed he didn’t have anything to give us. So at the next shop he got us a cold coke and a packet of biscuits each. He then turned around to find us to give them to us. Amazing generosity. We chatted briefly, and before he left he said: “may God protect you from the evils for the rest of your trip”. With that he sped off and continued on his journey. We wondered if he was real. Had the constant long days in the saddle made us delirious? Anyway, the coke and biscuits went down a treat, and even though we aren’t religious, it felt good knowing that someone had prayed for us to be safe.
We were cycling on the N1 highway which was fast and noisy, and full of traffic. As we neared Polokwane, we started to get nervous. The traffic was thick and heavy, and South Africans drive like absolute lunatics. The police are lenient with fines up until 130km/hr, but this seemed to be the minimum. Even scarier was their use of our bike lane. Because cyclists are few and far between, South Africans keep the flow of traffic by moving into the emergency/bike lane to allow faster cars to pass. This happens constantly, with or without cyclists in the lane, and without warning. It wasn’t pleasant, and twice in one day we had close calls. From Polokwane we decided to take a less direct, but hopefully safer route. Those plans were halted when we arrived at Hilda’s house.
While in Namibia we met Hilda. She is a South African lady who was on holidays. We arrived at the same camping ground as her after a long and strenuous day, and within 5 minutes of meeting her she had given us her details and offered a bed at her house. White South Africans have easily been the most generous and hospitable people we have met in Africa, and possibly the world. I’m not pointing out skin colour with any racist undertones, but it is a simple fact and the difference has been significant. Hilda wouldn’t hear about us pitching the tent in her yard, and a bed inside was the beginning of her care and hospitality. She lived in a beautiful house by herself, and was incredibly welcoming for people she had only met for 5 minutes 3 weeks ago. Her kids had grown up, and her husband tragically passed away 5 years ago. Her house was amazing, and we were given a lovely room, double bed, clean towels and a basket full of chocolates and goodies. After being in our tent for so long we were blown away. It was nearly too much for us to handle! We enjoyed staying there and Hilda’s company and stories were fantastic. We told her of our plans to cycle to Pretoria, another 270km away. She said we are mad and suicidal and almost insisted that we go with her in the car. We had never thought of finishing early. It was always our dream to cycle in to the capital city. We cycled in to Copenhagen in Denmark, Santiago in Chile, Singapore in Asia, and Pretoria in South Africa was to be no different. Hilda had a point though. The traffic was dangerous, and only got worse closer to the capital. It was the end of the month and the weekend, the worst time for heavy traffic and drunk drivers. Drinking and driving is illegal in South Africa, but some smooth talking and a small donation is all you need to be let off the hook. Camping was also going to be hard to find, and we couldn’t afford beds. There were lots of lemons telling us not to continue cycling, but the thought of taking the easy option would have driven me crazy. I wouldn’t be able to sleep. But we had to think carefully about if it was taking the easy option, or if it was simply the most sensible option. We thought about it a great deal and tried to guess if we would regret it. There was certainly nothing to see, and the cycling was boring, but it was the fact of cycling into the capital city to finish the trip. The answer came when we asked a traffic policeman down the street. He said that it was illegal to cycle on the N1 for starters, and that the alternative route was full of drunks and speeding traffic trying to avoid the hefty tolls on the N1. As well as this there was no bike lane on the alternative route. He said that he would organise a lift for us, as this would be much better than him having to attend our accident site. This was enough to convince us, so our cycling stopped in Polokwane, 270km north east of Pretoria. The next day Hilda drove us to Pretoria as she was visiting her daughter. We said goodbye to her and thanked her for the wonderful care and hospitality she gave us. How can you thank such a kind person enough?
So that was it. It left us feeling quite empty. It wasn’t the end we dreamt about. It was unfulfilling. But that was it. We camped in a seedy backpackers for a few nights and had to listen to other shallow travellers proceed to tell us about their stories despite the fact that we weren’t the slightest bit interested. Africa has always been full of surprises and has never been predictable, so I suppose our end was fitting for Africa.

Getting dropped off in Pretoria. Not the finishing photo we dreamt of.

We stayed with our friend Bridget and her partner Carlos in a small town called Howick, and also with Bridget’s parents in Johannesburg. Carlos and Bridget have both cycled a lot all over the world so it was nice to be in the company of other bikers. It was fitting that we were looked after and cared for in true South African hospitality. In not so brilliant hospitality, we nearly got mugged (and shot according to the muggers) on our last day in JoBurg, which wouldn’t have been an ideal way to finish, but we brushed past and continued to walk albeit a bit faster. We weren’t being brave, but rather couldn’t be bothered with some macho young men trying to take advantage of the rich white tourists. We left JoBurg airport to endure a nightmare trip home.

A long trip home
An Egyptian man in a suit is going mad at the lady behind the Kenya Airways service counter. He is shouting, waving his tickets and being rude and arrogant. The long queue in which he pushed in front of watch on with interest. The lady tries to keep calm. I sit watching from a distance in the waiting lounge at Nairobi airport. We have just completed leg one of our nightmare trip home, which will take three days, three flights and a loss of eight hours. Physically, I feel pretty crap, like most would after sitting in squished planes and smoky Kenyan waiting lounges. I remember sitting here 2 days after Christmas waiting for our connecting flight to Ethiopia. It feels like yesterday, yet so much has happened in between. That’s a given when you ride 10000km through Africa, but time goes quickly. I am afraid to go home. I know nothing will have changed. I am afraid I will be depressed. I sit here dreaming up new trips. Northern India? Back to South America? Russia? Mongolia? I make calculations in my head as to the funds we have left. Not enough. We need to get a job. But I don’t want to work. I want to continue exploring the world on my bike, and challenging myself in foreign lands. Life is too short to be working. I know re-adjusting is going to be difficult, and as time passes Africa will drift and become memories and photos. The tough times will be forgotten, and the people of Africa will carry on battling to survive while I escape to the comforts of a modern world. I feel guilty leaving them behind. Their struggle will continue. I feel so enriched by our experience, and to return to a cocoon in which Australians live will be difficult. We live a sheltered life in Australia. My thoughts and emotions strain my head. The Egyptian man has since left, but chaos continues. We have come to accept chaos. Order, system, process, organization … it doesn’t exist in Africa. But I think the people like it like that.
We eventually made it home and it was fantastic to see our family and our dog. As expected, nothing had changed. We slipped back in to the comforts of home and the luxury of a full fridge and pantry. We stared at all our stuff in boxes and remembered how much easier it was to have everything on your bike. It will be difficult to re-adjust and work out what to do next. Something we will be doing is creating a presentation full of pictures, stories, videos and music. Without being arrogant, we feel that our adventure will be of interest to different audiences. Hopefully it will be entertaining, as well as interesting and educational. If any schools, businesses or other groups are interested please contact us to make arrangements.

Fund Raising
We are proud to announce our fund raising tally $9,196. We were amazed by the generosity of people, and it far out weighed our expectations. The account is now closed and the money is being transferred to the charities. Instead of me writing where it will go, this is what the charity organizations had to say.

From BEN Namibia
To Ross, Christine and all of your supporters,
Thank-you so much for everything you have done to support BEN Namibia. I know you got a lot out of travelling through Africa, but it's not everyone who gives something meaningful in return. Your contribution to BEN Namibia will help support our work on many fronts. The next twelve months will be huge for us, as we plan to deliver over 3,000 bicycles, establish 8 bicycle shops in regional areas to benefit disadvantaged communities, build and distribute 100 bicycle ambulances and facilitate the design of a cycle path network for the capital, Windhoek.
As a small non-profit organisation, all of this work is dependent on the support of committed people like yourselves. We receive no funding from large donor agencies or government, so what you have done for us really has an impact, and will help us to provide hope and empowerment to many Namibians.
It was great to meet you in Windhoek, and really nice to have some Aussie accents around for a couple of days, Gippsland twang and all. Best of all, I'm glad you got to make a connection between your efforts and our work here. If you should ever pass through again you'll be most welcome at BEN Namibia.
Best wishes,
Michael Linke.

From Global Alliance for Africa
We are so thrilled about your fundraising efforts! And it really could not have come at a better time. After two years of a pilot program, we are looking to really expand the bicycle program at Tumaini. While things are going quite well, and the bicyle program has been able to create a viable source of revenue for Tumaini Vocational Training Center (enough to support over 200 students now!), we are going to be focusing this year and expanding and strengthening the vocational aspect of the program. So, we will be reorienting the program to focus on several “Tracks” of training. These will include; Business Management (Tumaini Cycles Bike Shop will serve as a hands-on, real practicum, and will be a student managed and operated business), Metal Design and Welding (Students will be receive intensive training in welding and design, particularly in appropriate technology and sustainable design techniques), Tourism and Guiding (we will be launching Tumaini Tours with several bicycle safaris a year in which our student mechanics participate in providing technical support to trips, as well as begin to train in guiding and safari coordination), Art (to follow up with the design and welding, our students will also be exploring bicycle inspired art in regard to both pure free form art, as well as functional art like tables, chairs, etc.), and we will also be developing more integrated community based programs centered around bicycles. These community programs will include a school based program where tumaini students will teach an “Earn-A-Bike” course at several of the nearby government schools. We will also be hosting an “Earn-A-Bike” program at Tumaini that will be open to the public, and we will be coordinating monthly group rides to promote safe cycling and cycling awareness in and around Arusha.
The $4500 will go towards helping us to expand this program. Primary costs will be in the hiring of some additional staff, particularly in business management, and potentially an individual for the welding and design component. We are also hoping to diversify our supply of bicycles at Tumaini. As you saw during your visit to Tumaini, we primarily sell used Western style Mountain bikes. These bikes come from our partner here in Chicago – the Working Bikes Cooperative. They have been, and continue to be incredibly supportive, and we will continue to work with them. However, we are also looking into supplying new mountain bikes, and other load carrying bikes from India and China, in order to diversify Tumaini’s supply dependence and to expose our students to supply and inventory management issues. Hopefully this will increase the center’s income, and decrease our dependency on our single supplier. We are also hoping to admit an additional 20 students this year. All of this will require some upfront funding and capital. The money you have raised will go a very long way in helping us to make Tumaini even more sustainable and successful, and will enable us to reach more children, who most likely would otherwise not be able to access any sort of secondary education.
Thank you so very much for all of your efforts and for the support! Please stop in and see us if you are ever in Tanzania again!
Thanks again!
Samantha Dwyer

Cheers
This trip wouldn’t have been possible without the help and support of so many people. Without being specific for the fear of leaving someone out, we would just like to say a huge thanks to everyone who has supported us in so many different ways. It has meant a lot to us, and we can’t explain what it was like to receive some kind words of encouragement through an email while we were battling tough times in a lonely, cruel and harsh land. Some days, it was the only thing that made us smile. We were blown away by the generosity and kind hearts of the people who donated money to our selected charities. We have received support from so many different angles and from people in many countries. A list would be pages long. To everyone, we sincerely thank you for your support, and if you know us you will understand our deep appreciation. I will make one special thankyou though and that is to our parents. Their support has been amazing, and we know there must have been some worrying times. Even though we use our brains, our thirst for challenge and adventure must have surely given them a few more grey hairs. Also my dad for the fantastic work he did with the blog. Just so you know, I would email him a word document and a stack of pictures, and within no time he turned it into what you see now. Thanks dad.

Statistics
Total distance: 10586km
Longest day (distance): 190km
Longest day (time): 9 hrs 37mins
Scariest moment (Christine): Crossing the border from Ethiopia to Kenya and getting lost in the dark where there were no roads and some unfriendly locals.
Most water consumed in one day (Christine): 8 ½ ltrs
Most punctures in one day (Ross): 8 on the trailer
The amount of times our hair has been washed: Ross – 0, Christine – 7
The amount of people we told we rode our bikes from Australia: lost count
The amount of nights we slept in a brothel: about 5
The amount of nights we slept in a brothel where the walls separating the rooms didn’t join the roof and the room next to us had a trucker and brothel employee using the room for business keeping us awake: 1
Number of times it rained while we were riding: 2

Highlights
Uganda. Beautiful scenery, lovely people, plenty of fresh fruit and excellent for bike touring.
The wildlife. Africa has the most amazing wildlife in the world.
The traditional people of south-west Ethiopia and the Himba people in north-west Namibia.
The simplicity of travelling by bicycle.
The rare occasions where we received amazing generosity and hospitality.

Lowlights
Seeing the cruelty to donkeys, dogs, cattle and goats every single day.
Being constantly viewed as a rich white person who should give, rather than a visitor to a country.
Seeing extreme poverty and feeling guilty when you eat.
Seeing countries with seemingly no hope and a grim future.
Accepting and being immersed in the cruel, annoying and frustrating aspects of African life.

A quote from Alastair Humphreys http://www.alastairhumphreys.com/ who has literally ridden around the world. He is a beautiful and truly inspirational writer, and when I read his book about Africa it was as though he was telling our story. He has written two books about is journey, and I wish I could write like him.

Days are long on the road. Pack up and pedal into the dawn. Ride until sunset. It's
easy to kill time but you can kill distance only by riding. Roads roll on forever,
linking and connecting and reaching so far ahead that to think about the end is to
think of something that feels impossible. So settle for today, for earning the small
distance that the day's long hours will allow you. Roads drenched with rain,
stinging hail, pulsing heat, slick ice, buffeted by winds on loose gravel, deep sand,
tangled rocks, thick snow. Roads of smooth tarmac down mountainsides on sunny
days with warm tailwinds and scenes of impossible beauty. Roads furious with
traffic through grim slums, bland scrub, concrete jungles, polluted industrial
wastelands. Monotony in motion. Roads too hard and too long that break you,
expose you, scorn you and would laugh at you if they cared. Roads too hard and
too long that you pick yourself up from, have a word with yourself, and make it to
an end you once doubted. Roads you have never ridden to places you have never
seen and people you have never met. Days end. A different sunset, a different
resting point, a different perspective. A little less road waits for you tomorrow. A
little more road lies behind you.
Choose your road. Ride it well.

2007-07-08T07:29:00.000+10:00

Swakopmund (Namibia) to Victoria Falls (Zimbabwe) 8,182km to 9,580km

So you might be wondering why our map is starting to look like the beginning of a Mr Squiggle diagram, and what the heck we are doing in Zimbabwe. Well, I will answer both questions below, and also tell you about our many adventures since the last update. The next update will be when we finish, as we will now head south through Zimbabwe and cross into South Africa to finish in Pretoria, the capital of South Africa. This will be a distance of about 1500km. Our completed route is in black on the map, and the red line is what we have left to go. Our flight is from Johannesburg on August 8.
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

While sitting and drinking hot chocolate in one of the many nice cafes in Swakopmund, I said to Christine “this is getting too tame, let’s turn around and head North to Angola”. This sparked a rethink of why we were here, and what we wanted from our last 2 months in Africa. Our plan was always to finish in Cape Town, and the trip was dubbed ‘Addis Ababa to Cape Town’. When we were in East Africa, and during the more challenging places, we dreamt of the nice wind down in South Africa and finishing in the beautiful city of Cape Town. So why had we now started to challenge this dream? We were confused. After much discussion, and ample more hot chocolate, we decided that we wanted to be thrown back out of our comfort zone and that we didn’t want a comfortable wind down to the trip. We wanted to make the most of our time in Africa, and for some reason, this to us meant remote places, challenging roads, poor African villages, local food and routes that were well off the beaten tourist tracks. Initially it was hard to sell this new idea to Christine. During our challenging times here in Africa, it has been much more difficult for her. Being a tall white female, oh, and a very beautiful one too, she has been much more vulnerable to the uncomfortable and curious attention that has so often been targeted at us. So understandably, she was reluctant at first to abandon our relaxing stretch to Cape Town where life would have been pretty cruisy. But we both knew that before long, we would be back home in the comforts of Australian life, and this was enough motivation to explore some more challenging parts of Africa. The other factor that also influenced us was that continuing South meant we would be riding into the full brunt of a South African Winter. This wasn’t very inviting, and coming home in the middle of an Australian Winter with nice tans is high on our list of priorities.
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!

We have captured quite a bit of footage this trip and decided it would be good to try and post a short clip here. Thanks to our PBM (Personal Blog Manager – Dad), we have a very small clip of some highlights (seeing wildlife and visiting friendly villages) and a cyclist’s nightmare (gale force headwind in the middle of the desert). The footage isn’t great quality because I had to compress the file to make it small enough to be emailed, but the sound should be good. Hope you enjoy.

Road Trip

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.

Road trip with our friends from Israel

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

Tackling the Desert

2007-06-13T23:26:00.000+10:00

Gaborone (Botswana) to Swakopmund (Namibia) 7,304km to 8,182km

After catching a bus from Gabs, we pedalled through the Kalahari desert into Namibia, stopped in Windhoek and hired a car to visit a National Park, before cycling through the Namib desert. We are now on the coast for the first time this trip, and find ourselves in a beautiful seaside town that feels more like Europe than Africa. We are as happy as we’ve been this trip. Although the Namib desert was extremely challenging and was a real test, we love Namibia and are very happy here. It is a bit more tame than East Africa and doesn’t feel as though we are in another world, but it is part of Africa and part of the journey. We love the journey!!
I have written about our cycling as a day-by-day diary just to describe our experiences in a different format. I have still included updates about other happenings.

Quiz

The law in Botswana states that:
a) All passengers in a vehicle must wear a seatbelt
b) Nobody in a vehicle is required to wear a seatbelt
c) Only passengers in the front seat are required to wear a seatbelt

The answer is C. We’ll never be able to understand the lack of logic associated with many African laws.

On the road again

There is nothing like a good rest to recharge the batteries and get motivated. After spending more than three weeks off the bikes we were ready for more adventure. We were so excited, and as much as we loved being relaxed and comfortable in a normal house, it wasn’t what we came to Africa for and we found ourselves wanting rough roads through remote and rural villages, eating local food and sleeping in our tent or ‘cultural’ guesthouses.
Before we left Gaborone, Robyn asked if we could do a short presentation to her class at school. We quickly whipped something up, and then rode our bikes to the school the day before we left. Robyn teaches at an International school so all the kids in her class came from different parts of the world as their parents had migrated and settled in Botswana. About 20 Grade 4 kids squashed on the front two rows of their massive hall designed for 350 kids. Christine then did what she does so well; tell stories. She had their full attention as she cleverly put a positive spin on all our adventures so far, and didn’t hold back on some of the squeamish content. They particularly liked hearing about her foot infection, and of course this prompted the kids to then tell their own stories of near death wounds as kids love to do. Pictures on the big screen and some music topped off the presentation.

Christine entertaining the Grade 4’s.

The next day it was time to leave and we were sad to leave in a way. We had met some great people and we were enjoying the social aspect. After four months of only talking to each other it took a while to remember how to socialise, but Robyn has a network of interesting friends from different walks of life and we were enjoying hearing their stories. On the other hand, Gaborone is a fairly uninspiring city with not much to do. Plus, we don’t do well at sitting still for too long. We were restless again. On the way out we gave our $20 runners, which were now worth about $1 as bits of them were falling off regularly, to one of the security guards. She had been friendly to us the whole time we were there, and although they were miles too big for her, she loved them and said that with a few pairs of socks they will fit fine.
Between Gaborone and the turnoff to Namibia lies a 600km strip of tar that dissects the Kalahari desert. It is dead straight, dead flat and we decided, dead boring. So we decided to take a bus to the junction. We cycled to the bus station at 5:30am for a 6am departure. We nervously watched as the bus boys stuffed our bikes and trailers into small pockets of space underneath the bus, showing little care for our precious babies. We then crammed onto the bus which was full. African transport is always full. Rather than a row of 4 divided in the middle by the aisle as we know buses to be, many African buses have 2 seats on one side and 3 seats on the other; 5 across. The bus isn’t any wider, so it just means more people and less space. It wasn’t too bad though, and our white heads must have surely stood out in a bus full of black people. As we sped along, we looked out the window and decided that the bus option was a good one. There was nothing, and it would have been 6 days of cycling that would have surely driven us mad.
Seven hours later we reached the junction. We knew that the Kalahari continued towards Namibia and there wouldn’t be much for a few hundred kilometres. We assumed that because it was a major junction between Botswana and Namibia that there might be a petrol station or a small village or somewhere to fill up with water. You would have thought we would have learnt by now to never assume in Africa. There was nothing at the junction. Nothing. Just a sign indicating Namibia turn left. We told the bus driver to keep going to the next town 40km away. This meant we would have to cycle the 40km back to the junction – not happy. We decided to stay in the village as the day was now too late to start cycling. While Christine was doing some shopping I had a group of kids come up to me while I was minding the bikes. They looked different to the Botswanans we had come to recognise. Their skin wasn’t quite as black, and although these kids were rough looking with tattered clothes and bare feet, their skin was a beautiful complexion and features quite elegant. They were local San people which we had read about, and who live in this part of Botswana and over the border in Namibia. They started making noises towards me. Lots of clicks and clocks, the type of noise you make with your tongue which slightly resembles the sound of a horse trotting. Firstly, I thought they were being cheeky little buggers. But then I realised that they were communicating with each other, and were trying to communicate with me. How can anyone communicate with clicks and clocks and sucking noises I thought? I then discovered that this was their language, and it was absolutely fascinating to listen to. Christine soon came back and she too was amazed to hear how these strange noises formed their language. We just sat and listened to them for a while. They were getting frustrated with us because they were waiting for us to reply, as if we understood their language. We have heard many languages before, but this is the most fascinating. We said goodbye to them as they were clicking away, and found a campground just out of town. It then took us 5 days of cycling to reach Windhoek, the capital city of Namibia.

Across the Kalahari

Day 1: We got up early and it was freezing – literally. It was -3 and our water bottles were semi frozen. What a change this was to hot and humid East Africa. We were kind of glad though, as we have been carrying our sleeping bags that we use in the snow back home, and haven’t used them yet except for occasionally unzipped as a doona. The only problem is we didn’t have any warm clothes, so we shivered and fumbled as we packed up and started riding, waiting for the sun to warm our bones. It was so nice to be back on the bikes. Not only the feeling of cycling, but also the freedom and open spaces. I serviced the bikes and replaced some parts in Gaborone, and they felt like a dream to ride. It was great, we were so excited like it was the beginning of a new trip.
The Kalahari went on … and on. There was nothing. No towns, buildings or people. The road was flat and straight, and quite boring but we were just happy to be back on the road. After 100km we passed through a small village. We filled up with water and then rode on in search of a camping site. This was easy to find, it was all the same. At about 4:30pm we pulled off the road and went into the bush. We set up camp in the Kalahari sands, and felt relaxed that nobody was around and there was apparently no dangerous animals. We cooked dinner, lit a fire in the sand and watched the sun light be replaced by bright stars and a shining half moon. It was beautiful, and one of our most memorable campsites this trip.

Our beautiful campsite in the sands of the Kalahari Desert.

Day 2: We again woke to sub zero temperatures and hit the road by 8am. The Kalahari continued and still we didn’t see anybody and didn’t pass through any significant towns. We reached the Namibian border in the early afternoon and couldn’t believe how quiet it was. There was nobody around, and was so unlike an African border crossing. We easily got stamped out and stamped in, there was nobody to change money, and pleasantly, nobody to annoy us. This was a nice change, but there was a part of me that missed the challenge of shaking off the border pests and having everyone swarm around us. It was simply too easy to get through incident free. We found a campsite just over the border that was run by an unfriendly and scary South African lady. We met two motorcycle tourers who had come from Morocco together through West Africa. It was interesting to hear their stories and compare the differences at being on a motor bike as opposed to a push bike.

We saw lots of Warthogs scampering off into the bush.

Day 3: A fairly straight forward day. The motorbike tourers whizzed past mid morning and we wished we were effortlessly cruising at 80km/hr. Instead we plodded along and arrived in the first substantial town since leaving Gaborone. It was Saturday afternoon, nothing was open and it was very quiet. We found a campground, and were the only people staying there.
Day 4: Between here and Windhoek was 210km, with only one town on the way at 50km. We had no plans today, just to see where we end up. This usually leads to an interesting day, and today was no exception. We arrived at the town fairly early, and being Sunday the only thing that was alive was the church, where singing and preaching was echoing and escaping the big doors. We filled up our water as there would be nothing else should we find somewhere to camp. At 100km we found a small roadside shop. We rested and spoke to the guy who worked there. He spoke English, as well as the clicking language. We asked him many questions, excited by the opportunity to communicate and learn about the local people. Meanwhile, a farmer from the area popped in. He said that we should camp here as there was nothing except private farming property all the way to Windhoek. We should have listened to him, but we didn’t. After he left, so did we. He was right though. Fences lined both sides of the road with only the odd driveway leading deep into the bush, and clearly indicating on the gate “Private property. Strictly no access”. This area is a big cattle ranching area, so farmers have massive properties with their houses a long way off the road through deep sandy tracks. We didn’t really want to be lifting our bikes over their fences to illegally camp on their properties, on which some had animals other than cattle which they kept for game hunting. We pushed on, and the sun was fading fast. Before we knew it we had our head torches on and it was pitch black. There was no bike lane, and the Sunday night traffic was quite heavy as school was resuming tomorrow after their holidays. We got the odd honk, but most cars and trucks took a generous wide berth. Still, it wasn’t pleasant. We finally saw some lights in the distance and predicted that it was a small town marked on our map. We arrived in the dark and the lights we could see turned out to be about 6 or so houses scattered in the valley off the side of the road. We went to one front gate, but nobody was home. We went to another, and a man greeted us. We asked if we could camp on his property. He was friendly, but seemed quite shocked. This was to be predicted. Here we were in a quiet bunch of farm houses out in the sticks in the dark on a Sunday night. He could have invited us in, given us a bed and a hot meal, or, he could have told us to piss off. He did something in between, and offered us a horse paddock full of horse shit to pitch our tent. We didn’t mind though, as we had covered over 150km and were ready to call it a day. It was dark and cold, and packet soup has never tasted so good. We zipped up and were dead to the world by 7:30pm.

Our campsite in the horse paddock

Day 5: The scenery changed today. We left the Kalahari sands and flat dessert, and started to roll up and down through rocky outcrops. Ahhh, back into some hills after so many kilometres of flat riding. It was nice, but we were tired from yesterday. We only had about 60km to Windhoek, but it dragged out. We finally entered the city, and it was very pleasant. A mix of Europe and Africa not only in architecture, but also the people. Namibia has a German history, and it was immediately evident in how the city was layed out and by some of the language printed on shop windows. We went past some police officers, and heard one of them yell out “where is your helmet?” We suddenly realised that you must wear a helmet in Namibia. We gave our stock standard African police response – to smile, wave and say hello, but to keep riding and pretend you don’t understand what they are saying. It always works, and worked this time too. We don’t wear helmets (long story … we’ll tell you why one day) and find it bizarre that in a country where it is OK to pile 20 people in the back of a ute and speed along at 120km/hr but isn’t OK to ride a bike without a helmet. Common sense and African laws don’t tend to go together. We rode around in circles looking for the backpackers we had planned to stay at. Our map was made in early 2003, but the backpackers moved in late 2003. Of course nobody knew, and all the directions we received lead us around in circles. It didn’t help that we were mis-pronouncing the name and asking for Chameleon (pronouncing Cha-ma-leon, instead of the correct Ca-mill-ian which is a common African reptile). We eventually made it, and enjoyed a rest after a tiring but interesting 5 days.

We stopped and had 2-minute noodles for breakfast on our way into Windhoek

BEN Namibia

While we were in Windhoek, we visited the other charity we are supporting. BEN (Bicycles Empowerment Network) Namibia is situated in a block in the industrial area of Windhoek. Michael is the young Australian who founded BEN Namibia two years ago, and he is still overseeing the many and expanding projects BEN Namibia is conducting throughout the country. He is a humble man, and his amazing efforts were not immediately recognisable. But after some deep probing and many questions, as we seem to by guilty of so often, we soon began to learn that he is nothing short of inspirational, and his enthusiasm and determination soon became evident. The more we spoke to him and looked around the warehouse that has been turned into a busy workshop where ideas and visions become reality, the more we were satisfied and content that ½ of our fund raising will be going to a wonderful cause. This was great news, and now we can relax knowing that the money we raise is going to two worthwhile and healthy causes, and as I have written before, we have become mercilessly clear in our minds on what is helpful and what is damaging in regards to aid organisations. This is also great news for everyone who has donated money, and it is something we treat very seriously. We want to make sure the money you have donated is going to a wonderful cause, and now we can safely reassure you that the money you have donated will go a long way in helping people less fortunate than us in a sustainable way.
The project BEN Namibia is currently working on involves designing and building bicycle ambulances. Currently, it is difficult for home based carers to get to patients, and then transport them to clinics in remote areas. When you consider the magnitude of HIV/Aids it starts to ring clear how such a development will assist carers and patients. 30% of people in some regions are infected, an inconceivable amount, and something like a bicycle ambulance will assist immensely, especially in remote regions of which there are plenty in Namibia.
As well as the bicycle ambulance, BEN Namibia have many other projects on the go, and we wondered how a seemingly small team, lead inspirationally by Michael, could handle so many projects. He seemed to just plod along, and apart from gaining a few grey hairs, he seemed to relish in the challenge. He enjoyed hearing our Australian accents as he has lived away from Australia for 7 years, and he took us on a tour of Windhoek – cycle tour of course!
I won’t write anymore about the many positive projects and the fantastic forward moving energy of BEN Namibia as this was more just a short summary and a reassurance to people who have donated money. If you have any further questions about BEN Namibia you can email me or check their website.

Christine towing me in a bicycle ambulance which BEN Namibia is distributing to home based carers

The warehouse has been transformed into a busy workshop

Etosha Magic

It is just a coincidence that we both love animals. Some things we have grown to love together, but a love of animals has existed in both of us long before we knew of each other. We both grew up watching with fascination documentaries about animals around the world. The animals of Africa always had a special place in our dreams, and we imagined the day we could observe them in their natural environment, free from fences and human interference.
Apart from that rare occasion in Uganda, National Parks in Africa prohibit, for good reason, cycling within their boundaries. Unfortunately human encroachment and hunting has meant that most animals only exist safely and in abundance in National Parks. Etosha, the world renowned National Park in Northern Namibia, was to be our last chance to observe the wonderful animals of Africa. No cycling meant that the only way was in a vehicle, and being the stubborn solitary travellers that we are we couldn’t face the idea of joining other tourists on a tour. We like to do our own thing, eat what we want to eat, stop when we want to stop, go where we want to go and go to the toilet when we need to. Having someone else, a tour leader for example, making these decisions for us is not our thing, and to be honest, we would hate this lack of freedom and independence. The only option left was to hire a car, so that’s what we did.
We picked up the little hatch back, and off we sped 430km north to the gate entry. We had forgotten how fast you go in a car. What would have been 4 solid days on the bike was easily accounted for in less than 5 hours. We were so excited, like little kids on Christmas day.
We arrived at the park, and less than 5 km in we found a secluded dirt road and were greeted by a herd of zebra, a lonely wildebeest and a host of other antelope. Here we were living our childhood dreams, and it felt quite surreal. We observed them for a short time, and then cruised along in search of what was around the next corner. And so this continued for 3 days. The camp sites within the park are fenced in, and you cannot leave until 6:20am, and you must be back inside the gate by 5:30am. Each time, we were waiting at the gate to be opened in the morning and were speeding to get back inside, often at 5:30pm on the dot. You could say we made the most of it, and we loved every minute. We saw many animals, and the park was so big that we were often observing the animals in a remote corner by ourselves. We gave the little car an absolute flogging, and she held up quite well considering.

A typical scene at a water hole in Etosha

A Spotted Hyena we saw walking next to the road in Etosha

The highlight was on our last morning. We were waiting for the gate to be opened at 6:15am, and when it did we sped off to a water hole where we knew a pride of lions hung out. We got there and there was nothing, but we waited patiently in the still air as the sun rose and began to warm the earth. It was eerily silent, and not being the most patient person it was challenging to sit and wait. And then a sound we won’t forget; the unmistakable roar of a lion. We looked behind our car, which we were now standing up in with our heads out the window, and over the sandy hill behind came a big male lion, trotting proudly with his head high and chest seemingly puffed out. Shortly after followed an equally impressive male, and then finally the rest of the pride came trotting over to the water hole for a morning drink. In all there were 10 in this pride, including 5 half grown cubs. It was amazing, and we watched in awe as they went about their business. No other animals dared to come near the lions, and the only sign of other life was a scavenging jackal sneaking around and a lone ostrich poking around way off in the distance. The lions were the kings, and they seemed to know it. There was an air or arrogance about them, as though they knew they were boss. We watched them drink and play for about an hour, and then they wandered off to find a suitable spot to spend the day resting. We drove away, and felt happy knowing that in a world where animals come a distant second behind humans in the pecking order, here the animals ruled and lived naturally in their normal environment. It was a memorable experience; one which we won’t forget.

One of the lioness wandering over

The pride come running

Etosha sunrise

We drove back to Windhoek and felt sad that the next day we wouldn’t be waiting at the gate ready to explore and watch the animals. I declared to Christine that one day I will be a Park Ranger in one of the big African National Parks. She said “oh yeh, sure Ross” as she does to all of my great ideas and dreams. On the way home we found a fantastic bakery/café. Namibia has a German influence, and the food and service at this café was very un-African. The strudel went down a treat, and we enjoyed divine food. Then we thought about it, and decided that the service and food was actually just normal as we would get in Australia at any bakery or café. It is just that we haven’t been used to it for some time now, and got overly excited. We also stopped at a fantastic market selling beautiful souvenirs such as wood carvings, paintings, jewellery, etc. The unfortunate thing about being on a bike is that we are reluctant to buy anything as then we must carry it for months. Space is limited, and weight is a hindrance. It is a shame, because we have seen some great pieces of handicraft and art here in Africa, and all for such cheap prices. It is one of the rare occasions where we wished we weren’t travelling by bike so we could buy some souvenirs and in the process support local industry in a healthy way. One poor fella said to me “give me your plugs and you can have anything in my stall”. I soon found out that my plugs were actually the crappy, smelly and well-worn thongs I bought in Malawi for less than $1. I didn’t want anything, so I declined his offer. But I later felt sorry for him as he must have been desperate for some footwear, so I returned to give him my thongs, but he had shut up shop and was nowhere to be seen.

To the coast

We left Windhoek and headed west. There are two routes to Swakopmund, and we took the more adventurous route which was a 330km dirt road in which we greatly underestimated its difficulty.
Day 1 (73km): We knew that there was nothing between Windhoek and Swakopmund. We are so used to Africa just having people everywhere, but Namibia is very sparsely populated. It is quite a big country but has less than 2 million people, and most of them, more than 50% in fact, live in the very far north. There weren’t any dots on the map. We had learnt that in Namibia, unlike other African countries, there were no small villages, no people herding cattle, no roadside stalls or no chasing kids between towns. Nothing in Namibia means exactly that, and it takes a little adjusting to get used to. With this in mind, we loaded up with about 4 days worth of food and as much water as we could carry – about 10 litres each.
Our bags were bulging and the bike was seriously heavy. We wobbled our way out of our backpackers and said goodbye to an Israel couple we have seen now in four countries (they are travelling in their own 4WD), and Hugh, a Welsh bike tourer we have come across a few times.
We left Windhoek and the road was immediately hilly. To add to this and our extra heavy loads we were pushing into a biting headwind. The sun was doing its best to warm us up, but the chilly wind was enough for us to cycle in socks and long sleeves all day. This was the first time we have worn socks on the bike this trip. It was tough going, and the wind whistled around our ears creating enough noise to make things unpleasant. After 25km we also left the tarred road and hit the dirt. Things were now very challenging, and we began to realise just how tough this stretch was going to be.
We battled on, and by 5pm the sun was setting and we found a place on the side of the road to camp. We cut up most of our fresh vegies and cooked up a lovely stir fry. It was very cold and we were in the tent by 7pm.
Day 2 (48km): If yesterday was tough, today was a bloody nightmare. The hills were so steep and we had never spent so much time in granny gear before. And it wasn’t that rewarding either, because as soon as we got to the top of one hill, we held on for dear life down the other side only to find ourselves grinding away up another. This seemed to go on for ever, and progress was tough and very slow. The road was loose sand and big rocks and some hills we had to push our bikes up, and that was extremely laborious.

Pushing up the steep sandy and rocky hills was very tiring

We were out of water and needed some before we could camp. The area has many farms dotted around, but we never saw any houses as they were a long way off the road and into the bush. We did however see the odd cattle trough, and we wondered how we could get some water. We stopped at one cattle trough and jumped the fence to the alert stares of about 100 cows. The tank was only half full, and there was no way of reaching over to scoop up some of the smelly green water into our bottles. We then went to the trough itself, full of putrid water mixed with cow slobber. Through experimentation, we discovered that if you push the floater down, fresh, well, sort of fresh, water comes out of the nozzle. Perfect! We filled up, scampered back over the fence and let the cows have their trough back.
We pushed on until 5pm, and could only manage 48km in a full day. We found a nice spot on the side of the road and lit a small fire to keep warm. We cooked up a nice big dinner of pasta, and Christine surprised me with a block of chocolate which she had been hiding from me. It tasted soooo good. We sucked our last pieces trying to make them last, as we sat by the fire and wrote in our journals. Bliss.
Day 3 (69km): Again the start of the day was tough going. We still had more climbing, and the first 35km were as tough as we had ever done. It was tiring work in a relentless environment. The nights were freezing, but the days quite warm. The rocky landscape was bone dry, and we often wondered how anything could survive in such a harsh place. The land jutted and cut up and down, and swallowed us up. We felt dwarfed in a seemingly endless and vast environment. We eventually made it to the pass, marking the end of the mountainous section.

We felt like the rocky mountainous landscape was swallowing us up

By chance, a retired Dutch couple who now live in Cape Town were on holidays and were taking the scenic route to Windhoek. They also stopped at the pass, and they kindly gave us half a loaf of bread, 3 juicy apples, 2 cup-a-soups and their address should we need a place to stay in their neck of the woods. What wonderful generosity, and what perfect timing. We cycled just out of their view down the other side, stopped and greedily gobbled down the apples and some bread like starving vultures so as to not embarrass ourselves in front of them. The juicy apples were divine.
They were the only people we saw and spoke to all day. It is such a remote region and feels empty of people and civilisation. The mountains slowly tapered out and the road started to improve, but just to make sure life didn’t get too easy a howling headwind kicked in. We got some water out of a tank as Christine could reach down with her long arms and scoop it out. We started to see some animals now too. Gemsbok, Springbok, Steenbok, Impala, Kudu, Warthog, Ostrich and Bat-eared Fox were all animals we sighted from our saddles as we pedalled along. We also saw a dead zebra, which may have been a result of the resident leaopards or hyenas. We had enough water, but we stopped at a farm to top up. We stood yelling at the gate, but nobody was home so we pushed on and found a nice place amongst the rocks to camp. No fire tonight, so in bed by 7pm after a hearty rice meal.

Collecting water

Campsite amongst the rocks

Day 4 (100km): It turned out that we had put our tent on a patch of tiny thorns, and I woke in the middle of the night with my body digging in to the rocky ground. The thorns had punctured my sleeping mat in two places and I didn’t sleep very well. The beautiful sunrise created magical colours on the rocks, and my lack of sleep was soon forgotten. We pedalled off and the first 70km were absolutely beautiful. We saw many animals, including a herd of elusive Mountain Zebra, the road was smooth and gradual down hill, the sharp jagged gorges gave way to smooth and rounded rocky outcrops and there wasn’t a person, car or building in sight. The sun was just warm enough and we cycled along feeling free and happy, not wishing to be anywhere else. It was one of those beautiful moments we sometimes have as we cycle along.
Later in the day we came across 2 older German couples travelling together in a 4WD. Namibia is popular for Germans as their language is widely spoken and understood, you can fly direct from Windhoek to Germany and the low population and emptiness of the countryside is appealing to Germans coming from a heavily populated country. They were stopped on the side of the road, and as we approached one of the old guys was filming us. We then stopped and chatted, and they struggled to understand our quick spoken Aussie accent. Their heavy German accents were also quite amusing, but not as funny as their kits. They looked as though they had just stepped out of Aussie Disposals with their full khaki safari outfit clad with cargo pockets and zips. Meanwhile the guy who was filming, was now armed with his still camera and was busy snapping away, taking particular interest in our boxing kangaroo flags. At one stage I looked around and he was holding it up excitedly pronouncing “ya, kangarloooo”.
We pedalled off and it was now dead flat. The treeless terrain was bizarre, and reminded us more of images of the moon. Greyish pebbles and sand encrustations made it clear we had now entered the Namib Desert. It was strange, yet quite beautiful. We could see for miles over the featureless landscape, and the vast and barren desert created a surreal illusion of distance, colour and space. We are more at home in the mountains, so this was an interesting experience. Unfortunately the last 30km were into a hellish headwind and were very forgetable. We did however run into a young South African fella visiting some relatives in the area. Jaco was very interested in our trip and it just so happened that he had plenty of water. We relieved him of about 4 litres which was just what we needed as we had started rationing in the fear we would run out. The sun was sinking fast so we plucked a spot on the side of the road, which was easy to do because it all looked the same, set up our tent and boiled some water. We now had enough water to treat ourselves with a hot chocolate, and that first sip of warm sweet cocoa washed away the discomfort of a hard day in the saddle. It got cold very quickly, but the clear desert sky was illuminated by a dazzling array of stars. We bunkered down, and went to sleep feeling content and happy that Swakopmund, a hot shower and a decent meal were not far away.

Looking for animals in the Namib Desert

Sections of the featureless desert evoked strange perceptions of distance & colour

Setting up camp as the sun disappears in the Namib Desert

Day 5 (41km): How things change quickly while bike touring. I woke up irritable. Firstly, I hadn’t had a chance to fix my mat so I tossed and turned all night, hips and shoulders digging in to the ground, all the while Christine slept peacefully next to me. Then at 5am the piercing sound of a howling jackal woke us both up, and it must have been less than 10m away from our tent. Apart from waking us, this didn’t worry us at all as we know that although jackals are animals of prey, they wouldn’t consider humans or anything much bigger than itself a food source. Their high pitched howl in the silence of a desert night does however sound rather eerie though. I couldn’t get back to sleep so I read until it was light, and then I opened the tent hoping for our anticipated sunrise which we had strategically placed the tent for an open door viewing. To my bitter disappointment, the tent was soaking and we were engulfed in a heavy and wet mist, the sun nowhere to be seen. Visibility was less than 50m and it was a miserable start to the day. We packed our sodden tent, put our heads down and cycled off hardly saying a word to each other until breakfast at 25km. It was tough going as the sandy road was wet. This not only sucked every ounce of energy out of us just to move forward, but wet sand splatted and sprayed everywhere ensuring that the bike was crunching and grinding rather than purring like a well oiled machine.

The mist reduced visibility and made cycling unpleasant

Wet sand stuck to everything

We stopped on the side of the road for breakfast. We ate our last muesli which meant that we only had 2 packets of 2-minute noodles left – perfect planning! It was still cold, but the mist was starting to lift and the famous sand dunes were just coming into sight. We joined the tarred road for the last 6km and the smooth road only made the noises from our bikes now sound louder. Finally we reached Swakopmund, and it is a beautiful town. Very German and very un-African. We treated ourselves to a room as we have spent the last 18 nights in our tent. We hosed the bikes off, did some washing and enjoyed a nice meal. It was a great feeling to arrive, as it was one of our toughest stretches of cycling we have ever done.

Breakfast on the side of the road in the strange moon-like desert landscape

Swakopmund is on the west coast of Namibia and it is the first time we have seen the ocean this trip. It also means that we have just ridden across Namibia from east to west.
We will spend some time here enjoying the food and ocean in this town, which is probably the most beautiful we have been to so far. The area is also famous for it’s massive sand dunes, and we will do some exploring on foot and maybe do the tourist thing again and go sand boarding (basically snow boarding but on huge sand dunes!) We ran into Jaco when we arrived, and he is very passionate and knowledgeable about the area. He got our dune exploration on the way with a drive through the dunes. It was awesome, and it was amazing the gradients Jaco was attempting both up and down in his 1991 Toyota twin cab ute. He knew the dunes well and was experienced in how to tackle them on 4 wheels, and was well skilled to perform some of his dare devil climbs and descents. It was a lot of fun.
After we leave here, we have over 1000km of dirt road through more remote parts of Namibia which, going by the last 300km, is going to be very tough. We will eventually pop out in the far north west of South Africa where we will embark on our final 700km down to Cape Town.

Fun in the dunes with Jaco

Malaria, elephants and aggressive baboons

2007-05-15T18:09:00.000+10:00

Lusaka (Zambia) to Gaborone (Botswana) 5,745km to 7,304km

Well, we have made it to Gaborone. What a nice feeling it was when we finally found our way to Robyn’s house. We got lost several times and battled the non-cyclist friendly busy streets of Gabs, but it was all worth it when we greeted the guards and entered the compound. After some confusion over which number house was Robyn’s (we actually entered the wrong house to begin with and were discovered by the lady owner who politely indicated that we were in her house), we entered, and huge smiles as well as a massive feeling of relief washed over us. It has been a challenging 4 months and over 7,000km through many countries, full of adventure, hard times and rewarding moments. We knew that once we got here we could have a rest, return our lives to an easier and more comfortable pace and enjoy the luxuries of being in a house. Robyn had left us a spotless house and a packet of Tim Tams in the fridge – what a perfect welcome. She is travelling through East Africa at the moment so we will catch up with her when she returns. The Tim Tams didn’t last long as we squabbled over the last few and we wasted no time in settling in. After spending the last 4 months in our tent or cheap and nasty guest houses, it was so nice to have a fridge, couch, oven, flushing sit down toilet, shower with hot water and a clean and comfortable bed.
Since arriving we’ve wasted no time exploring the city, which is quite spread out despite its relatively small population of 250,000. We even bought some cheap $20 runners so we could explore some of the nearby bush, and after my first run I had an instant appreciation for my comfortable runners at home as the cheapies definitely felt like they were worth $20 and not a cent more. Botswanans live a relatively high quality of life by African standards, and Gabs certainly has a trendy feel to it. The people dress smartly, have well maintained hairstyles and smell of fancy colognes. We don’t fit in at all, but we are certainly used to that by now. Natural resources, particularly diamonds, help fuel a fast growing economy and the people seem to have adopted the Western way of life in regards to consumerism. Hence shopping malls are everywhere and shopping is very popular amongst the people. We have been blown away by the supermarkets, and we must have looked like we had never seen a supermarket when we first entered and slowly explored the aisles gawking at the huge selection of yummy food.
We have been here for a couple of weeks already, and will stay for at least one more. We are certainly enjoying the luxuries, but we have already started to get itchy feet again and are feeling the need to satisfy our adventurous spirit and our curiosity at what lies beyond. We are excited about Namibia and are busy planning which route to take.
Botswana is a big country (about the size of France), but has less than 2 million people. Hence distances are big, and we had some long days in the saddle. As well as visiting the spectacular Victoria Falls, Christine had a bout of Malaria, we had our tent attacked by baboons and we saw lots and lots of elephants.

Malaria

Just before we left Lusaka, Christine had her suspicions confirmed. She hadn’t been feeling 100% for some time, and was rapidly deteriorating. She visited a local clinic and two blood tests confirmed that she had malaria. It was lucky we were in a capital city so being diagnosed and receiving treatment was relatively simple and very cheap. Malaria is a huge killer in Africa due to a lack of resources and facilities, but if diagnosed and treated early it is far less dangerous. Christine was prescribed a cocktail of drugs that required her to pop 14 pills throughout each day for 5 days. Day one of her treatment was the day we had planned to leave Lusaka. She said that she felt fine, and that she was happy to set out and ride for the day. We had about 130km to our planned destination, and the morning went incident free. But after she began to pop her pills at designated times, she began to fatigue quickly and couldn’t hold down any food or water. Plenty of passing motorists caught a glimpse of her projectile vomiting on the side of the road.

In between my loving and caring support for Christine, I did manage to whip the camera out to get a few snaps of her spewing on the side of the road.

She went in waves for the rest of the day, sometimes feeling great but other times terrible. In hindsight, we should have taken another rest day, but we have both become so good (probably too good) at saying “she’ll be right”. The last 50km seemed to take forever, but we managed to crawl into a very nice guesthouse where we put our tent on their lush green grass. From there she improved dramatically and after 3 days was back to 100%. I have definitely had all the luck when it has come to avoiding illness on this trip. We have always eaten the same food and drank the same water, and we are quite diligent in our efforts to stay healthy. Christine has just been unlucky, and can now add malaria to her Africa illness list, which already contains Giardia and a nasty foot infection.

Victoria Falls

After leaving Lusaka we had a stretch of about 470km down to Livingstone and the famous Victoria Falls. It was a fairly flat section, and the wind was almost always a tailwind … a cyclist's best friend. We had some interesting campsites (the days of cheap rooms are gone now so the budget can only afford campgrounds from now on), and the cycling was pleasant enough. Livingstone is the town on the Zambian side of Victoria Falls, and is fairly touristy. We visited the falls and they were absolutely amazing. Nothing could really prepare us for the sheer magnitude of this spectacular natural wonder. The spray could be seen 10km away, and the amount of water gushing over the edge was simply mind blowing. We enjoyed wandering around and viewing the falls from different angles. We were quite overwhelmed by the amount of tourists, but found pleasure in mocking the camera wielding army. One lady in particular amused us as she clattered around the dirt paths in designer clothes, fancy hair and make up and high heels. Our experiences have made us fairly quick to size up and judge other tourists, and although we love to meet and chat with interesting people, we find the tourist crowd to be a challenging as well as varied bunch.

A cheesy pose at the top of the falls.

The edge of the falls.

An aerial shot taken by a couple we met who took a flight over the falls. This is the best photo to capture the size of the falls which are 1.7km wide and 108m high. It is easy to see that it is one of the 7 natural wonders of the world. The bridge in the photo separates Zambia and Zimbabwe.

We had a pleasant stay in Livingstone. We had heard that Botswana was a flat and boring country, so we weren’t overly excited about leaving Zambia. We wanted to take a route through Zimbabwe, but the instability deterred us, so a long stretch through Botswana it was to be.

1-0 to the baboons

Our first day in Botswana was not one of our better days. The morning’s ride was pleasant, and we reached the border of Zambia and Botswana by mid morning. We boarded the barge to ferry us across the mighty Zambezi, and found ourselves in a new country. From this point, our day kind of went downhill (not literally, unfortunately). We had no idea of the exchange rate (normally we would look on the internet beforehand, but forgot this time), so it turned out that we lost about $10 to the notorious border money changers. After we cycled off, Christine realised that she had left her new cycling gloves across the river in Zambia. They would have surely been snuffled up by the border pests, so we didn’t even bother with the effort of catching the ferry back and trying to find them (it turned out that someone picked them up and she got them back 800km later … long story). We then cycled into the first town in Botswana, which sits alongside one of the most popular national parks in southern Africa. This meant that prices were high, and the cheapest camping we could find was about $14 per person – more than our daily budget! All the allocated campsites were in the grassless patches of hard dirt. Since Christine has a sleeping mat that is horribly uncomfortable (new one is arriving soon), we sort out a patch of grass to put our tent pretending not to notice that it was on the other side of a barrier and clearly not for tents. One of the many security guards came and promptly told us that it’s the dirt or nothing. Not a good start. It was a pleasant place though, and because it backed onto the national park there was plenty of wild life. Warthogs roamed around, monkeys and baboons seemed to have the run of the place, we could hear the hippos in the adjacent Zambezi River and there were signs warning of big crocs in the river.

This resident warthog was quite friendly.

We found a quiet corner and pitched our tent as a giant goanna like reptile scampered off into the river. We headed off for a walk and to do some shopping. The next stretch from here is 300km with only one little village along the way, so we needed to pick up some supplies. We were gone for about 3 hours, and upon our return we thought we had been robbed. My sleeping bag was out of the tent, Christine’s bike was laying on the ground, the tent had two big holes in it and our clothes and bags were strewn out everywhere across the dirt. Dave, a British guy who has cycled from London with whom we have been playing leap frog since Tanzania (http://www.davestravelpages.com/), was camped about 50m away on the other side of some trees. He informed us that he was resting in his tent reading, and could hear some “noises that didn’t sound right” coming from our tent. Upon investigating, Dave found a troop of baboons running amok and creating havoc at our camp. They were very aggressive, and had ripped through the tent in two places to get inside. There was no food in there, so it is still a mystery as to why they were so curious with the inside of our tent. And why they would drag out my sleeping bag and knock over a bike is also a mystery. Dave had to throw some rocks to get rid of them, and if it wasn’t for him I think the baboons would have ridden off on our bikes with all our stuff. The mess they left and the damage they did was like a revenge mission, but we have never done anything to the baboons or any of the primates for that matter. After expressing my discontent to one of the guards who is armed with a sling shot (of all weapons) for the very reason of pesky baboons but was “somewhere else” while our tent was being attacked, we went straight to the top and spoke to the manager. He was friendly and sympathetic, but not very helpful. From our point of view, there weren’t any warning signs and nobody said anything when we checked in and payed at reception. If we were warned, we wouldn’t have pitched our tent until later in the evening while we could sit and guard it. The manager did upgrade us to one of the permanent safari tents that they offer which was actually very nice and comfortable, but the tent still has two big rips in it only being held together now by the most invaluable piece of equipment in our repair kit – duck tape. The manager promised that signs and clearer warnings would be up immediately, and was very sorry for our tent! We always like it on the rare occasions where animals reign supreme, but in this case we suffered the consequences and the score line now reads 1-0 to the baboons!

One of the holes the baboons made upon breaking in to our tent.

The next day we went on a wildlife drive in the Chobe National Park. It was amazing, and we saw lots of animals. The animals were quite used to the vehicles and didn’t run away, so we were able to sit and watch them from a close distance. It was spectacular, and one of the highlights of our trip so far.

Getting ready for our safari.

No, this elephant doesn’t have 2 trunks or 5 legs. He is just a big male in more ways than one!

A couple of young elephants crossing in front of us.

A mother and her baby.

These 3 giraffe weren’t really interested in us.

It was quite amusing watching the animals mingle. Generally they didn’t bother each other, but one elephant liked to chase away the giraffe.

So within three days we had visited Victoria Falls and Chobe National Park, and were starting to feel like real tourists. Well, the next stretch of 500km was sure to separate us again from the masses as we ventured into a long, flat and boring stretch. Boring except for one thing …

The elephant highway

When we looked at the map, there was a straight line of 300km without a single dot to indicate any villages. We did find out that there was a petrol station with a small shop attached after 100km, but that was it. Nothing else, well, except for lots of elephants.
We set out and were excited by the fact that we might see some elephants from our bikes. Less than 10km down the road we heard some thrashing about in the scrub. We stopped to listen and look, and sure enough a huge elephant was feeding just off the road. When we were in the vehicle the previous day, we were blown away by how big these animals are. Well, when you are at their level, they are even bigger and it is only then that you can truly appreciate their size and power. And all of a sudden we felt much more vulnerable, and well, small. We were quickly working out in our heads how fast an elephant can run, and how fast we can accelerate away from it. One thing about riding a loaded touring bike is that acceleration is very slow, so fast getaways are impossible. We made sure we kept a safe distance whereby if one of the elephants did decide to charge then we would have enough space and time to ride off. Still, we weren’t keen to test our calculations.
For the rest of the morning we saw many other elephants, but their behaviour was much different to the elephants in the national park. They were very cautious, and most turned back into the bush and ran away from us. They didn’t mind the odd car or truck that whizzed by, but as soon as we stopped on our bikes they were startled and headed for the safety of the thick bush. While on our safari drive in Chobe, the ranger informed us that elephants behave differently throughout Botswana. Hunting is sadly a lucrative business in southern Africa, and companies apply for permits to hunt the wildlife. Big spending tourists fly in and pay small fortunes to go and hunt the animals. It is supposedly strictly regulated so the population of the animals is kept at a healthy level, and the money generated is supposed to get put back into managing the national parks and for conservation. My experience so far in Africa tells me that it is more likely a corrupt industry whereby much of the money is lining the pockets of dodgy officials, and that regulations aren’t enforced or managed. Such is the confidence I now have in African laws and policies. I will never understand the mentality of someone who gains pleasure out of ending the life of an innocent animal living peacefully and harmlessly in it’s natural environment. And I’m not sure how much skill is involved in hunting an elephant as they are so big and easy to find. If only the animals could shoot back, then I wonder how many brave trophy hunters would still exist. In areas where the elephants aren’t hunted, they are very much at peace with people and are quite accepting of human observation. In areas where they are hunted, the high intelligence and excellent memory of elephants makes them aggressive and hostile towards people, and this was certainly the case along this stretch of highway. A couple of the lone bulls we saw were very hostile, and as we stopped to observe and try and take a photo, they were quick to put up their trunk and broaden their ears - a sign that they are kindly asking you to leave immediately or things could get nasty. One huge, and I mean huge, male, bluff charged me as I went to get the camera out. My heart nearly beat right out of my chest as I fumbled to put the camera away, click my shoes back into my pedals and hope that I suddenly didn’t get a puncture or a broken chain. Luckily he was just making sure that I was on my way, and didn’t continue with his charge. It was very intimidating and scary, and Christine thought it was quite amusing as she watched from a much safer distance.
Further down the road we were able to stop and observe a group of about 8 elephants that had gathered at a water hole in the late afternoon heat. We could just see them as we peered through the bush to the water hole about 100m away. I don’t think they knew we were there, or if they did then they didn’t seem to mind. We watched silently, fascinated by their behaviour. It was dead quiet, until the unmistakable rumble of a lion broke the silence. Somewhere between us and the elephants, a lion was resting in the shade and long grass. We didn’t see it, but what we heard was enough for us to get on our bikes and pedal like crazy. We had decided earlier that cats like the thrill of the chase, and that is how all their hunting is done. We thought that if we did see a cat then we would stay still as to not give it a chance to chase us. So much for that theory, we rode off as quickly as we could.
The day was ending fast, and we needed a spot to camp. We had already passed the petrol station and loaded up with water, but after hearing the lion we were a bit nervous to pitch our tent. We had no option though, as it was still 130km to the nearest town. We found a communications tower about 50m off the road that was enclosed by a barbed wire and electric fence. Gamely, we tested the electric fence to discover that it wasn’t turned on, and that the twisted wire securing the gate could be easily untwisted. We entered the compound, shut the gate behind us and immediately felt safe to put up our tent and cook some dinner. We had pedalled over 180km and were absolutely exhausted, but at least we could enjoy our dinner and have a wash with the knowledge that we were safe from any curious or hungry animals!

Safety and relief inside the fence surrounding the communications tower.

The next morning we battled a horrible headwind, more hot sun and a straight and boring road. There was nothing for 130km until we reached the next village. We didn’t hear or see any more lions, but we saw lots more elephants. Christine also had an encounter with a black mamba snake as it crossed the road in front of her. Apparently the black mamba is the only snake in Africa that will chase you for no apparent reason, and a bite can kill you almost instantly. We only found this out later, and Christine considered herself lucky as she had stopped to watch it and had wondered why it turned around and reared up at her. We soon rolled into the small village of Nata after a long and monotonous 300km, made only interesting by our encounters with the animal kingdom.

Evidence of elephants along the road.

We stopped and watched these two elephants just off the side of the road.

As we ventured towards Gaborone, we had much of the same fairly boring riding. Towns slowly became more regular, although distances were still big. We arrived in Gabs tired, worn out and ready for a rest. That’s just what we got.

In Style

The reason why we arrived in Gaborone at this time was so we could catch Mum and Dad at the end of their South African holiday. They had been in the country for a few weeks with their good friends Ron and Elaine Tabone, and we had planned to meet them in Johannesburg to spend a few days with them before they flew home. We excitedly boarded the 7-hour bus from Gaborone to Johannesburg in anticipation of seeing Mum and Dad.
Most bike tourers seem to get along with each other. A common sense of adventure and shared understanding of experiencing different countries, cultures and landscapes by pedal power makes for an almost instant companionship. This was certainly the case when we met Bridget in Bolivia, South America. We met a pocket sized blonde South African who was a few years older than us, but her pig-tails and girlish features easily made her look about 16. She has travelled all over the world on her bike not allowing being female and solo get in the way of her adventurous ambitions. We seemed to get along well with her, but the fact that we were travelling in opposite directions meant that we only spent a day with her, discussing route information and sharing stories about South America. Since that encounter back in 2004, we have occasionally emailed each other, but I would hardly say we have kept in touch. Although bike tourers don’t all live in the same village somewhere in Europe or America as many African locals seem to think, we do normally exchange contact details in case the need arrives to ask route or country information, or if we ever visit their country of residence. This was the case with Bridget, and when we mentioned we would be in Johannesburg for a few days before we met Mum and Dad, she kindly offered for us to stay with her Mum. Bridget was going to be away in Nepal, but her Mum was more than happy to accommodate us for a few days.
Fiona, Bridget’s Mum, picked us up from the bus station, which was a huge relief. Most people have heard stories about the crime rate in Johannesburg, and although we were more than prepared to approach the huge city with an open mind, it was nice to have someone pick us up from the hectic bus station. From that moment on, Fiona’s hospitality and kindness was amazing, and she really looked after us in the true sense. We weren’t used to being looked after so it was nice to have someone care for us and display such generous hospitality. For the next 3 days, Fiona drove us around seeing the sights of Johannesburg, cooked our dinner, prepared our breakfast, enlightened us about South African history and culture and basically spoilt us rotten. She has lived in Johannesburg all her life and is passionate about what Johannesburg has to offer, and places her focus on the positives rather than the negative crime stigma that dominates the city. The crime rate cannot be ignored though, and Fiona’s house is locked up like Fort Knox with a high fence, an alarm system, separate locking doors for each room, 3 secret panic buttons throughout the house and a bull terrier roaming the yard. This is the minimum for a house in Johannesburg, and many houses also had electric fences and full time guards. Christine woke up one night at 1am as the power was out, a car was driving back and forth past our window, a red light was flashing in the next room and the phone was ringing. One of the side effects of our anti-malaria medication is hallucinative dreams and we have had our fair share of ‘strange’ dreams this trip. When Christine woke, she was not sure if it was another weird dream, but upon answering the phone she was wide awake and reality struck. The security guard was on the phone seeing if everything was OK and explained that it was them driving by to make sure the house was secure as the power was out and hence the alarm system down. Christine woke Fiona, who was used to such night time drama, and they both went outside to investigate. All appeared to be OK, although a bit eerie with no power, but then a series of gun shots broke the night time silence a few streets away. Again Fiona was relatively unfazed, and Christine went back to bed only to hear a few more rounds of gun fire in the next half an hour. While all of this was happening I had a very important job keeping the bed warm, although this went unnoticed and unappreciated by Christine.
Fiona has grown up like this, and although she is constantly on guard, for example always making sure our windows are up and doors locked when driving the streets, she isn’t scared and refuses to allow the crime rate stop her from enjoying her home city. This made it fun for us, as she drove us through parts of Johannesburg where most white people are afraid to go as well as taking us through the fancy affluent parts, which could easily fit amongst the Tooraks and Malverns at home. We visited Nelson Mandela’s old house, and the one he lives in now. We went to the Apartheid museum and toured the townships in Soweto. All in all we had a great time with Fiona and were blown away by her hospitality. We will see her again before we fly home, and we also look forward to reuniting with Bridget before we leave Africa.
Fiona dropped us off at the airport and it was great to see Mum and Dad. We had dinner with them and Ron and Elaine, and we enjoyed listening to their stories. Their African experience, as expected, was nothing like ours. They have had nothing but positive times, “the trip of a lifetime” as mum put it, and their stories were interesting and entertaining. We hired a car the next day and said goodbye to Ron and Elaine as they flew home. We drove to the Drakensberg Mountains and spent 4 lovely days amidst the spectacular mountain range. We were treated to luxury accommodation and the best food we have ever eaten, the complete opposite extreme to dirty brothel/guesthouses and rice and beans. We kept busy hiking, using the facilities, and eating. It was lovely to be in their company, and we loved hearing their stories and looking at their photos. Generally speaking, we have found African hospitality to be fairly rough and impersonal. Especially when we compared it to South East Asia. In contrast, Mum and Dad were given close to royal treatment and dined like kings as they stayed at fairly upmarket lodges around South Africa. I suppose that highlights the old saying ‘you get what you pay for’. They were treated to some of the best animal viewing Africa has to offer on their safari, and were very lucky with their sightings and observations. It is no wonder they had smiles on their faces from ear to ear as their African experience was like a real highlight. We were envious, but so happy that they had enjoyed a wonderful time and some of the best South Africa has to offer. Hearing of their culture shock in South Africa made us realise how remote and out there we have been in the last 4 months. Although South Africa has many problems and is far from a wealthy modern country as we know, to us it felt fairly normal and quite comfortable. We found ourselves reflecting on how different, poor and seemingly ancient some of the other countries we have visited are. We also got a taste of a challenge that lies ahead – trying to explain to others the nature of our experience. Words cannot do it justice, and we found ourselves enjoying Mum and Dad's stories rather than trying to articulate our experiences. I’ve realised that these updates are far better than any of my futile attempts to verbally express our experiences.
Our pampered lifestyle of rental car, luxurious accommodation and gourmet buffet meals came to an end, and it was sad to leave Mum and Dad. We bussed it back to Gaborone and started planning our next stretch. The break was just what we needed and now we are very excited about getting back on the bikes – our motivations for adventure and energy levels well and truly back in tact.

Mum and dad on a short walk at the foothills of the spectacular Drakensberg Mountains.

Enjoying muffins and milkshakes at our hotel. It was easily the best place we have ever stayed and the best food we’ve ever eaten. Thanks Mum and Dad!

Into Southern Africa

2007-04-10T19:40:00.000+10:00

Dodoma (Tanzania) to Lusaka (Zambia) 3545km to 5745km

Since our last entry, we have cycled over 2000km and left east Africa and entered southern Africa. We ventured into Malawi from Tanzania, and now find ourselves in Lusaka, the capital of Zambia. From here we will venture south to visit the famous Victoria Falls, and then we are on our way down to Gaborone in Botswana where we will take a much-needed ‘long’ rest. Our friend from Mansfield, Robbie Jackman, is teaching at an international school there so we are going to spend some time at her place. While we are there, we will take a bus to Johannesburg to visit Ross’ mum and dad who will be at the end of a South African holiday. So we have some exciting plans to look forward to, but it is still over 1500km to Gaborone and plenty of long days in the saddle.
Speaking of long tough days, we have had plenty on our way to Lusaka as well as encountering some very interesting people. It feels like so much has happened, and I could almost fill a book just about the last stretch. Instead, below are just some of the adventures we have encountered.

The rough road

Before leaving Dodoma in Tanzania, we had a choice to make about which route to take. The two options were: the long way; 588km along a nice sealed road, or a short cut; 274km along a rocky and sandy road, which was simply known to the locals as ‘the rough road’. We took the rough road and it turned out to be quite an adventure.

Day 1

Distance: 117km
Time: 7 hours 38 minutes
Diary: We found it hard to get back on the bikes. Mainly because we had spent the last 7 days off the bikes (our longest rest so far), but also because we were staying in a lovely guesthouse that served delicious food. We knew that there would be hardly any towns or shops along the way, so we stocked up with food the day before. We were lucky to find this little gold mine in a small supermarket that stocked lots of healthy snacks. Even though Dodoma is the capital city, it doesn’t have a supermarket of the kind that we know in Australia. But this small shop was filled with just what we needed - high energy and filling treats.
We left town and immediately hit a quiet dirt road. The first 10 or so kilometres were tiring, and the legs felt heavy. The bike also felt like a tank, and it took a while to adjust back to cycling with a heavy load. We soon got into a rhythm and it felt nice to be back on the open road.
For the rest of the day we rode through a remote landscape that was oddly quite beautiful. The road wasn’t too bad, but we often opted for the local single track that ran alongside the main road. These tracks are used by locals to link up villages, and they made for a pleasant change as we wound along smooth sandy paths. Sometimes though, they took us through corn plantations making navigation and visibility challenging. As we simply ‘followed our noses’ at any junctions, we often became lost and stumbled upon surprised villages to ask for directions back to the main road. It was quite an adventure, and we discovered a network of fascinating community life away from the main road making the getting lost part worth it. At one stage we ended up in a school that was quite a long way from the main road, and the looks on the faces of the students was priceless. Initially, their jaws dropped as they glared wide-eyed at the two Mzungus that had somehow simply appeared in their peaceful and remote school grounds. Their initial shock soon turned to excitement and curiosity as they forgot about school for a while and followed us as we attempted to find our bearings.

Getting lost along the single track through corn plantations.

We often popped out into small villages, schools or in this case, a lone and empty mud house.

We rolled into a small village in the late afternoon and discovered a guesthouse. Nobody seemed to own it though, and we still wanted to cover some more distance, so we decided to get some water and pedal for another 10km or so and find somewhere to camp. There was no water here; in fact water was very hard to come by in this hot and dry region. We had to buy bottled water, which was going to be a bit of a waste to use it for cooking and bathing, but it was very cheap and we had no other option. As we bought about 9lts of water, the locals had gathered to watch us pour it from the bottles to our water bags. Bottled water is a luxury nobody seems to afford here, so it was a little embarrassing to be buying so much. The empty bottles were popular as the kids snaffled them up at our offering, and we pedalled off in the hot afternoon sun while the village all went back to what they were doing before we arrived … nothing.
Down the road we realised how hard water is to come by when we crossed a dry sandy riverbed. In a deep hole we could just see a man’s head popping out above the surface, and he was painstakingly scooping water from the hole, one small container at a time, to fill a bucket. He had dug the hole with a shovel, and it looked like an extremely inefficient way of gathering water. Inefficient as it might have been, it was probably the only choice in such a harsh environment.
We had little problem finding a nice spot in the bush just off the main road to camp. We washed and cooked in peace, and went to bed early mainly because we were tired, but also because it got dark and we only have one torch between us (the other died in Uganda).

Our campsite in the bush for the night.

Day 2

Distance: 112km
Time: 9 hours 37 minutes
Diary: We woke early, packed up and were on the road by 7:30am. It was hot, the road had become worse and we were in for a long and tough day. We had no real plans for today, but to just plod along and see what unfolds. This type of planning, or lack of, is what usually leads to an epic day. Every so often we have days which are long, hard and filled with turns of adventure, and we call these days epics. Today was an epic.
We battled along the terrible road at a snails pace. When you are on the brakes and crawling down hill at 10km/hr you know the road is bad. It was so rocky, and the road was seemingly endless. The sun was scorching, and we were drenched with sweat. Our warm water from our bottles just didn’t quench our thirst, it was tough going and to be honest, not much fun at all. We managed to ride 50km before stopping for lunch under the shade of a big tree. Some curious kids came to initially watch, but then to annoy us. They weren’t really annoying, but after a draining morning we just wanted some peace under the tree. When I politely requested for them to continue on their way, they thought this was a fun game. So as I hurried them along, they would run away only to return as I sat back down. Very funny for them, but irritating for us. To top things off we saw some more donkey abuse. If there is one thing in Africa that really makes us not want to be here, it is the total lack of compassion towards animals. This teenage boy sat on his horribly ill fitted cart as two old and beat up donkeys pulled him along. They were moving along fine, but he liked to whip them with his huge stick to ‘keep them in a straight line’. When I frustratingly questioned why he needed to hit them all the time, which apart from inflicting pain on the donkeys just confused them more on what they were doing wrong, he looked at me as if to say “who are you to tell me how to treat my donkeys”. He was probably right, and he demonstrated his way of life and power over the donkeys by proceeding to whip the donkeys harder and continuously. I only wish I could get his stick and give him a few whacks to see how he liked it. We don’t see it that often, but we hate seeing the cruelty and lack of care towards animals. So we had quite an unpleasant lunch, and although the conditions were trying, we were happy to get back on our bikes and leave.
We battled along and the road got worse and the sun hotter. Everyone, including the herds of cattle, was taking refuge under trees to avoid the stifling sun. Even the Maasai, who are normally so comfortable and unfazed by the heat, were resting in the shade while keeping a close eye on their herd. We were the only people silly enough to be in the sun.

A group of young Maasai boys were curious at the two Mzungus who rolled by in the scorching sun.

Opting for the smoothish single track rather than the bumpy road.

As we crawled along the valley floor, we finally came to the other side. Although we were relieved to get out of this hot and harsh valley, getting out meant a steep climb on a rough road. We were already very tired, so mustering enough energy to climb up wasn’t going to be easy. As we grinded up, we passed a broken down truck. The driver told us that our next available sleeping option, apart from wild camping, would be a Catholic Mission about 20km away. We liked the idea of a possible shower and bed after a tough day, so we set the Mission as our new target. We were going to be pushed though, because it was nearly 5pm and the sun was fading fast. We slogged our way up as families of baboons watched curiously from their trees. All of a sudden Christine began to feel sick and had terrible stomach pains, possibly from something we had for lunch or a bad dose of water. We resorted to pushing our bikes as the bumps were making it worse, but this meant that we were moving very slowly. It was now almost dark and we were still going up the hill. Camping wasn’t an option for two reasons – we were on the side of a mountain and there wasn’t any flat ground, only dense hilly jungle, and we also didn’t have any water to cook dinner with.

Crawling up out of the valley.

We finally arrived at the top of the hill and by now it was pitch black. We were now cycling along with the aid of one dull, and fading quickly, head torch. This wouldn’t have been too bad had the road been smooth, but we had spent the past two days with our eyes fixed to the road constantly trying to dodge the holes and big rocks in search for the smoothest part of the bumpy road. Now we were relying on luck and a dull torch. Just to spice things up some more, the black clouds had rolled in accompanied by some lightning and eventually rain. We kept going, hoping to see some lights in the distance, or even a village or person to tell us where the Mission was. We finally arrived at a small village that had one light where the locals had gathered for the evening to eat dinner. There was also a guesthouse here, and given that we were very tired, and now wet, we lowered our standards and decided that we would take almost anything. Well, almost anything. The young lady lit up the room with the aid of a lantern, and I couldn’t see much, but I’m sure she showed me the chook pen instead of the comfortable and cosy room we had dreamt of. There was a bed in there, but the dirt floor was wet, there was rubbish in there, the room smelt terrible and it was windowless. And this was my observations as I was straining to see from the dull lantern, so I hate to think what I would have seen had there been a proper light. Even though it was 8pm, we decided to push on and try and find the Mission. A young boy said that he would take us there, and from our confused and broken discussion we estimated that it was between 3 and 10km away. He jumped on his bike, grabbed our head torch, and off he went as we battled to keep up with him in the pitch black. He occasionally stopped to let us catch up, but was unfazed by the rough road as he bumped along on his battered up old single speed. We kept going and going, not seeing anybody or anything, and we were starting to get that feeling. But we trusted this boy, and the worst he could do was ride off with our torch – not a great loss. When we turned off the main road to take a narrow track that was no longer rough and rocky, but slippery and muddy, we started to question the boy. He just kept going, and we nervously kept following. Then in the distance we saw some light, and sure enough we rolled up to the Mission. We were expecting a small Mission like we had seen in Kenya, maybe a church and a couple of houses. But this was a huge community with a church, school and many houses and buildings. We entered the compound as the boy went to fetch the Father. It was now 9pm, we were absolutely stuffed and needed some hospitality. And this is exactly what we got. Father Angelo and Father Lorenzo, two well-fed Italian missionaries, greeted us. It was a classic encounter to end such a long and hard day. In true Italian and Catholic fashion, we were given a basic but adequate room and were made to feel very welcome. We gave the boy about $3 and he disappeared back along the road minus our head torch. It would have been a challenging 10km for him back to his village in pitch black, but he didn’t seem to mind. We scoffed down some biscuits for dinner, tried to wash ourselves with 1ltr of water, and collapsed into bed.

Day 3

Distance: 43km
Time: 3 hours 26 minutes

Diary: We woke early to the sound of church bells, and were greeted by a flat trailer tyre. I quickly changed it and we rode the 3km back to the main road. We didn’t see Father Angelo or Lorenzo, but we left a small donation for their hospitality. We were so tired, and it felt like we were pulling a truck along behind rather than a small trailer. The legs had definitely not recovered after yesterday’s epic, and finishing at 9pm meant that we were back on the bikes in less than 10 hours. We pushed on slowly throughout the morning, and thankfully it wasn’t too hot. We stopped for breakfast before rolling in to the substantial town of Iringa around midday. We found a decent place to stay, washed 3 days of dirt and grime off under a shower, and treated ourselves to a big plate of vegetable curry and rice.
It was a tough, yet rewarding 3 days. We only saw a handful of vehicles throughout the 270km, and only passed through small villages. It was a harsh and remote environment, and certainly tested us physically and mentally. It was definitely the road less travelled.

We stopped to clean off some of the mud that had baked on, and had a little friendly observer.

She eventually disappeared down a quiet and lonely road with her little sister.

Pepper Spray

When we met German man back in Ethiopia, he was telling us how he escaped an attempted robbery. While cycling in to the capital city of Kenya, Nairobi, his path was blocked by 3 burly Kenyans. They proceeded to wrestle his bags from his bike, in full daylight and view of bystanders, before he whipped out his secret weapon. He sprayed them with a small can of pepper spray he had bought in South Africa, and the 3 men instantly hit the deck screaming and rubbing their eyes. German man cycled off unharmed and with all his possessions.
We have never felt threatened like this, nor have we ever felt a need to carry such a ‘weapon’. But we thought it would definitely help reassure us and make us feel safer if anything was to occur. Obviously we avoid potential danger at all costs, but sometimes things can happen when you least expect it. So when we entered a gun shop in Iringa, a largish Tanzanian town, we saw a can of pepper spray for sale. We thought about it for a while, and while carrying such a weapon goes against our personality, values and reasons for bike touring, we decided that it wouldn’t be a bad emergency and last resort escape option should anyone untoward ever present themselves. So $20 later, Christine now carries a small can of pepper spray in her handlebar box. We hope, and honestly believe, that we’ll never have to use it. But Christine now feels more comfortable, and I also feel better knowing that she can get out of trouble if she needs to. It sounds very extreme and unnecessary, but it is more of an insurance policy that you hope you’ll never have to use. It is a little unnerving knowing that Christine is now armed and dangerous though, and I have had to warn her on several occasions that it is not to be used on kids who harrass her for money, or sleazy young men who make kissing noises and call out “I love you”!

Other two-wheeled adventurers

A couple of Mexicans we met along the way in Tanzania. We stayed with them one night and cycled with them for a bit. They were very funny and interesting.

One day in Malawi we were slogging it up a hill in the scorching sun when a voice from behind crept closer chanting “keep going, keep going” in an unmistakable Aussie accent. Up ahead, Brian was stopped under a tree waiting to meet us. He is travelling around Africa on his motorbike, and was as Australian as they come. He was an older fella, clad in jeans and work boots and sporting a Santa Clause length beard. He was very interesting and funny, and it was quite strange to meet up with such an Aussie character in the middle of Malawi. As we were chatting on the side of the road and exchanging stories, a polite young Malawian gentleman rolled up on his motorbike and the proceeding conversation was a classic:
Malawi man: “Welcome to Malawi”
Brian: “Thanks mate”
Malawi man: “I want to meet you, and know where you are going. We have safari just down the road if you would like to stay. You can follow me if you would like?”
Brian: “Nah mate, I don’t do that shit. I’m not into safaris and National parks and all that tourist crap … bugger that”
A very confused Malawi man having not understood a word of what Brian had said: “OK, well again, welcome to Malawi”
Brian: “Well next time bring some beer and we can make it a proper welcome ha ha ha ha”.
It was very funny, and the Malawi man rode off confused at what he had just encountered, but he was still smiling. Brian only spoke in one language … Australian!
We ended up meeting him a few days later and enjoyed his company while we rested in Lilongwe (the capital of Malawi). He had many stories and was very funny and interesting. He also fixed a couple of punctures for us which we had been battling with for many weeks (which actually only lasted a few days, so if you’re reading this Brian, your repair job didn’t last!). The people you meet in the middle of Africa!!

Brian

Into Malawi

After rolling up and down the hills in southern Tanzania, we knew at some point we would descend to the shores of Lake Malawi. Our last night in Tanzania was at an altitude of 1500m. We woke early the next morning and the next 40km were a bikers dream; all down hill on a smooth road with hardly any traffic and beautiful views. While we sped down, wind whistling through our hair, we had time to reflect on Tanzania. We had spent a month in this pleasant country, and had become very comfortable. We would be sad to leave. We also had time to think about Malawi. We hadn’t been able to find a guidebook for Southern Africa so we knew nothing about Malawi. It was strange to be entering a country without reading up about the landscape, culture, costs, etc that we normally do in preparation for a new country. We were pondering questions such as; will the kids chase us, will they ask for money, will they throw things at us or will they simply smile and wave; how much will food and accommodation cost, what standard will it be and how available will it be; what language do the people speak, and how prevalent is English; what is the currency; if the people will be friendly, welcoming and honest, or if they’ve been spoilt by aid and handouts and view us simply as rich white givers; and has anyone told the people how to make bread that can be chewed and swallowed normally and that ice blocks can be made to accompany drinks to make them cold when the weather is ridiculously hot. All questions which the answers make a huge difference to our daily enjoyment and comfort. We were definitely entering a bit of an unknown pocket of Africa.
We approached the border in quick time and were immediately swarmed upon by the moneychangers. “Hello my friend/sister/brother, want to change money? I give you best deal” was the line used by about 50 young men all waving wads of cash in our faces. We knew that there was an official place to change money so we weren’t going to risk the potential of fake notes just for a slightly better rate. The moneychangers here were also notorious for cleverly ripping people off and we had been warned to steer clear. They were persistent buggers though, and we nearly had to run a few of them over to proceed to customs to get our passport stamps. We gave them a bit of a hard time too, telling them that we don’t speak English and couldn’t understand them. We also told them that we had already changed our money and got a better deal than what any one of them could match. This frustrated them so it was nice to finally shake them off. Securing business in Tanzania is based on ‘first in best dressed’. In tourist areas there are always pests harassing and hounding you and offering “best deals” and “very cheap” safaris, bus tickets, exchange rates, taxis, hotels, etc. Next time I come back to Africa I am going to have a t-shirt printed that says: “I have already been on safari, I have already booked my bus ticket, I already have a hotel room, I don’t need to change money, and no, I won’t be buying you a soda”.
We entered Malawi and the most noticeable change was the climate. It was seriously steamy and humid. Gone was the cool and crisp mountain air that was so comfortable to cycle in. It now felt like we were cycling in a sauna. It was flat though, the scenery pleasant with lush green fields and patches of jungle, and the people friendly. There was some miserable “give me money” calls coming from some of the kids, but the majority were just happy to wave and chant “hello”.
For the next few days we cycled along the beautiful Lake Malawi, had fantastic campsites and were welcomed by (mostly) friendly and happy people. But we found ourselves to be frustrated, tired and a bit over it all. We were confused by these feelings, and couldn’t work out why we felt like this when Malawi is almost perfect for bike touring. One day we sat down and nutted it out, and decided that we were having moments where we were all ‘Africa’d out’!

Africa’d out

In our last diary entry I described the romanticism of Tanzania. Well Africa is not always like that, and we found ourselves in Malawi sometimes worn out, frustrated, miserable and depressed … Africa’d out. In Malawi we had our moments. I’ll tell you why.
In can be very depressing being in the thick of poverty, day in day out. Yes much of the people are happy, and this is evident by friendly smiles, a simple and relaxing lifestyle and warm hospitality. Often we cycle past women singing and whistling as they go about their daily business of cooking, taking care of the kids and working in the fields, and I often think that anyone who is singing and smiling must be truly happy. But there is so much poverty; kids who can’t afford to go to school, lack of food, disease, tatty clothing and footwear, dirty drinking water, neglected or non-existent infrastructure, lack of medical access, no transport, makeshift shelters, no electricity, unemployment and lack of basic education. We see this every single day, and it isn’t nice to see. What makes it worse, is that often we get the feeling that nothing is improving, that there is no hope and that sometimes communities are spiralling into more poverty. Progress is stagnant and life is a daily battle to survive. Thinking about the future, improving quality of life and planning ahead are principles that seemingly don’t exist. Coming from a so-called ‘modern’ country makes this hard to accept sometimes. Why do these kids have to live a life of struggle and without hope when a child born in Australia will live like a king or queen in comparison? Sometimes we just feel like escaping, but we can’t. We don’t have any windows to wind up, a house to lock ourselves in or a car to speed away. We are immersed in poverty every day. We can’t really help, and don’t feel like we should help. We would simply like to see hope, and the people helping themselves, but unfortunately this is not always the case. Malawi presented many depressing moments. It is the third poorest country in the world, and has the highest child mortality rate in the world. Kids are always dying from lethal diseases such as malaria, but also from what we would call a minor illness like diarrhoea. If a child makes it to 5, then they have made it. Such is the high chance of a young child dying in rural Malawi the parents don’t name their new born until they are three months old. If the child has a name, then it is perceived that the parents have a closer attachment to the child and therefore losing the child will be harder. Many children die without a name. When a lady dies, she is buried with her washing bucket as her head stone. This is how the village best remembers her. Kids in rural Malawi are hungry. Can you imagine seeing kids that are hungry all the time? Food is scarce and unreliable. The hunger that many kids battle was evident one day when we stopped at a mini supermarket for a rest. We bought a drink and managed to find a muesli bar. We had three young boys hovering around ensuring that we couldn’t properly relax and eat our snack guilt free. No sooner had we disposed of our wrappers in the bin had one of the boys retrieved them to see if we had left any crumbs. Being hungry cyclists, we devoured every last scrap, so the boy resorted to licking the inside of the wrapper to taste the flavour that was left behind. This highlights desperate times in a poor country. So in between the beautiful sandy beaches, crystal clear and warm lake water and relaxing campsites, was a poor and desperate country. One minute we were witnessing hungry kids and extreme poverty from our bike saddles, but we then found ourselves relaxing on a beautiful beach listening to the sounds of the waves and watching boys trying to catch fish with their homemade nets. We met a truly amazing Australian lady who lives along the lake, and she has raised money to set up a nursery school in a small village. She also feeds porridge to all the kids each day. We went to visit her and the swag of kids that she cares for, and it was a great insight into the real Malawi. She was an incredible lady doing amazing things. I won’t write too much about her, simply because I can’t accurately describe the amazing work she is doing, but if you are interested then please visit her website at http://www.mphatso.org/.

Relaxing at the beautiful beach and campsite masked a very poor and desperate Malawi.

Rest stop.

Another beautiful spot where we lazed the day away.

We sometimes get sick of the people. Every single person we cycle past says hello, waves, whistles, yells out, chases and wants to know our name and where we come from. Of course this is friendly, and it sure beats the abuse we received in Ethiopia. But can you imagine greeting every single person you see in one day? And there are plenty of people strewn out along the road in Malawi, all seemingly our “friends”. We must say “hello” at least 50 times per day, wave about 100 times and tell about 20 people that we are from Australia, our mission is tourist and what our names are. Just to break up the monotony and to laugh at ourselves (sad I know), we now tell people our names are the names of couples we know from home. So if you are a couple, and we know you quite well, there’s a good chance some random Malawians think that we are you. Sometimes we get sick of the attention, and would love to just cycle along enjoying the scenery and observing the way of life in peace and quiet.

Christine collecting water from a water pump in a small village.

Nothing works in this part of Africa. The people expect nothing to work, so when it doesn’t nobody seems to care. If something goes smoothly and successfully, it is considered a bonus. You can’t buy anything, and every shop will tell you to try another. Because they like to help, Malawians are the world leaders in giving you the run-a-round. And if there is something you need, you can end up looking for it for months, visiting 100’s of stores in the process and travelling 1000’s of km. All the time with helpful locals telling you to try such and such store, or come back next week. Corruption is rife. A package we had sent to Tanzania was weeks late because apparently the truck was broken down. We now have to get a friend to collect it as we are now two countries away, but the post office is claiming ‘customs taxes’ of over $100. This is a massive amount in Tanzania, and has been created because they know the package is important to us and they know we are white – therefore rich. And this is a country we are raising money for to help them move forward. Corruption is the devil of a country.
We are constantly worried about safety, particularly of our belongings. We can rarely relax and are regularly taking precautions against theft. This becomes tiring sometimes, and makes us trust nobody.
We get sick of seeing the animals suffer. You know an animal is well cared for when it has a shiny coat or feathers, and looks well fed. Most of the animals we see, cows, donkeys, chooks, goats, pigs, dogs, look as though they have had a life of misery. They are mistreated, look unhealthy and are never cared for. We even sat down to a meal in a tiny shack-come-restaurant one day to see a baby monkey chained up as a ‘pet’. It had a little sad face and could only dream of the freedom of jumping from tree to tree, eating a natural diet and being with it’s mother.
Some days we battle on, frustrated and impatient, with no end in sight and no rewards for hard work. We get home sick, and long for the luxuries and comfort of home. We miss our families and friends. And although everything I have mentioned happens at home in some form, here it is so real, and we are right in the middle of it every day, with no way to escape. Sometimes being in Africa is just bloody tough.
Depressing enough? We don’t cycle along feeling like this every day, but rather we just have our moments where we are a bit Africa’d out. I don’t want it to sound as though I am complaining or whinging, because I am not. I am simply telling it how it is. I just wanted to explain the not so pleasant side of cycling in Africa that co-exists with the amazing, spectacular and beautiful side that I wrote about in the last diary entry. They balance each other out, to make for a very authentic experience, an experience of the real Africa. It is this type of experience that we love and we learn so much from. And when we venture further south into the more modern Botswana, Namibia and South Africa, we will have a much different experience of Africa.
One day we were cycling along having one of these ‘moments’ where we were sick of being in Africa and sick of the people. Up ahead we saw a group of scruffy kids by the road not doing much at all. They had a bag of oranges, which looked like they would be a nice change from the stale bread and disgusting biscuits we had been consuming for most of the day. We stopped and pointed to the oranges indicating we would like to buy some. The kids were shy, respectful and polite. They instantly gave us an orange each, but one of the young girls disappeared. She returned in about 5 minutes time balancing a tray with two cups of cold water on it. She offered us the water, and it was just a special moment that made us so happy to be in Africa and to be on our bikes. After we ate our oranges and drank the water, we cycled away to the smiles and friendly waves of the kids. They didn’t say anything to us, didn’t annoy us, and didn’t want anything from us. They simply offered us oranges and water, and this was coming from some very poor kids. It was a classic example of how our days can vary so much, going from depressing and homesick to special and unique in the blink of an eye.

Very poor, but so generous. These kids just gave us water and oranges, and were very respectful. A lovely bike touring moment.

These kids chased us, but were harmless. They looked so poor and scruffy. We gave them a bit of bread, which they were over the moon about.

I was being a sticky beak as the village distributed the day’s catch of fish. The lake has been over-fished and therefore decent fish are hard to come by.

Sometimes, cycling in Malawi was just beautiful and almost perfect for bike touring.

Back at home, the Hopkins clan organised a garage sale with all funds going towards our chosen charities.

Hallelujah (by Christine)

It was a challenge getting back on the bikes after two days rest at a very nice campsite in Lilongwe. We could have stayed there a week but we are on a pretty tight schedule for the next month in order to make it to JoBurg by early May. After 120km we had reached the Zambian border and it wasn’t long until we learnt from the friendly border staff that they too have ‘mob justice’ in Zambia for criminals. If you find yourself being targeted by a robber, all you have to do is yell out ‘thief’ and they will be caught and beaten to unconsciousness. “But a word of warning”, said the man, “don’t make the mistake of pointing your finger at the wrong person as one black man looks the same as another!”
The 6-day stretch from one capital city to the next was physically harder than what we had expected. We spent many long hours in the saddle as the hills were exhausting, and along the way met some very interesting people: an American guy on a tandem bicycle who rides along and picks up random children to ride at the back, then once he arrives at the next village he pays for their bus fare home and picks up a new kid; a lone Japanese cyclist whose skin was literally falling off from his severe sun burn, who spends every night wild camping in the bush; 3 South African motorbike tourers who were doing a quick 8,000km trip in 19 days on the most luxurious BMW touring bikes; and finally a weird Russian guy known as the ‘bare-footed traveller’ who walks and hitch-hikes around the world … barefooted!

The American guy with a young Malawian he had picked up along the way. He is also making a TV series about his trip and has a video camera mounted to his helmet.

We awoke at 2:30am on Good Friday morning and were on the road by 3am. We had a big day with many hills and so we wanted to get as many kilometres under our belt before the intense sun sapped our energy. As we sat on the side of the road and ate our stale peanut butter rolls, we pictured everyone at Ross’ house, sitting around the table devouring Graham’s home-made hot-cross buns, fresh out of the oven with a dollop of butter on top. Instead, our jaws were working overtime trying to chew our rolls, not to mention the effort in swallowing them!
We stumbled across a ‘camping & chalet’ sign in the middle of nowhere and decided to call it a day. It turned out to be an orphanage and the money we payed for our ‘shack’ went straight into feeding the 100 or so orphaned children. Being Good Friday there was a service in the church for the whole village, which went from 8pm until 6am the following morning. I soon found myself sitting in the front row of the candle-lit, mud brick church, which also doubled as a classroom by day. No sooner had I sat down that the whole church erupted into singing and dancing. I felt like I was watching a scene out of a movie. There was plenty of “hallelujah’s” and “praise the lord” being yelled out. The aisles were packed with men, women and children, all singing and dancing. Just as I had finally perfected my African shuffle, the room suddenly went quiet and more than 150 sets of bright white eyes were now on me! After it was finally translated to English for me I found the blood rush to my face and the pin pricks of sweat conjoined to then run down my forehead. “We want you to sing and teach us a church song that you sing in your churches in Australia?” I felt that it wasn’t a good time to tell them that Easter for me is about receiving Easter eggs and eating them until I feel sick, that this was my first ever church service and that I cannot sing. So my response… “Oh, we don’t sing songs in our churches, we just pray”. The night continued with more singing and dancing and preaching. It was an unforgettable experience. At 11:30pm my eyes were popping out of my head, so I was escorted back along the dark and narrow tracks to our room where Ross was sleeping away. He was too tired so didn’t come, and he certainly regretted it as I attempted to explain the surreal and powerful experience I had just had.

A young Zambian girl.

Buying bananas on the side of the road.

Some happy kids in Zambia.

Romantic Tanzania

2007-03-11T19:24:00.000+10:00

Kigali (Rwanda) to Dodoma (Tanzania) 2518km to 3545km

Greetings from Dodoma, the official capital city of Tanzania. Although it is the official capital, Dodoma is just a large dusty town. Could everyone who has donated money please read at least the first section titled “A worthy cause”. This is a short summary of our visit to one of our chosen charities, and it is important to us that you know where your donated money is going.
Again, we would like to extend our thanks to everyone who has so generously donated money, and to all the warm and encouraging emails we have received.
Read on about our continued adventures as we left crowded Rwanda to venture in to an unknown Tanzania.

A worthy cause

To be perfectly honest, we were extremely nervous about our visit to the Tumaini Vocational Training Centre in Arusha, Tanzania. We have seen the damage irresponsible aid can do firsthand, and we would have morally objected to supporting an organisation that we thought was doing more harm than good. Throughout our time so far in Africa we have become the harshest critics of foreign aid that creates a culture of expectation and is neither sustainable nor educational. Ethiopia was a classic example of the people having become reliant on aid, and therefore not willing to help themselves and move forward on their own. Well, we can now breathe a huge sigh of relief, and reassure everyone who has donated that at least half your money is going to a thoughtful and professionally run organisation. We will update you on your other half when we reach BEN Namibia, but we are confident that it will be the same story.
It was not easy to get to Arusha; 2 days and 2 long bus rides saw us arrive in the tourist capital of Tanzania, and arguably East Africa. Boniface is the intelligent and educated Tanzanian man who manages Tumaini, and he met us in town to take us to the school. He was polite and humble, and very informative as we caught a local bus to the school which lies about 6km from the centre of Arusha. We arrived after negotiating our way down a maze of dirt tracks and entered the small yet neat compound. We spent the next few hours looking around, meeting staff and students, watching some classes (one of which we somehow ended up in front of the class teaching) and learning about the place.

We were invited to introduce ourselves in front of this small English language class.

We were so impressed by the professionalism and organisation, but most importantly we were excited by the aims and vision of the school. The crucial ingredient, we believe, to successful aid is to have a vision of sustainability and self-reliance. At present, Global Alliance for Africa (GAA), a Chicago based organisation, supports Tumaini financially, but Tumaini is run and managed by Tanzanians and is slowly moving towards being totally self-reliant. We got the feeling that the community of staff and students really appreciated the support from abroad, but they too were determined to work towards being totally independent and not have to rely on outside aid. There is exciting developments in the pipeline which will assist this concept such as an internet café, bike shop and hotel, all of which new graduates will be able to harness their new skills. The school takes in students between the age of 14 and 24, and they must sit an interview to determine if they are appropriate applicants. It attracts students who can’t afford mainstream school or who are disadvantaged in other ways ie. orphans. At present, many students are turned away as Tumaini is still young and quite small. The 100 or so students were all very polite and respectful towards us, and they seemed to be proud at being a part of Tumaini. There was a mixture of good learning going on, including bike repair and maintenance, computer skills, English and Maths classes and other life skills training. The students were so keen to learn and the value they placed on a good education was clear in their eager response to their teachers. All the students here are given an invaluable opportunity to gain a quality education, and they looked as though they were making the most of the opportunity and working hard to succeed.

Students in class at Tumaini.

We had lunch with the small team of staff.

I could go on about all the positive aspects of the program that we saw and how the people are moving forward in a positive and sustainable way, but the main reason for this short article is to reassure all the donators that your money is going to a quality and worthy cause. This is coming from some of Africa’s most ruthless critics when it comes to foreign aid. We definitely walked away with big smiles on our faces and a warm feeling inside knowing that we are helping a smart and worthwhile program. To show the quality of the man and the program which he manages, Boniface negotiated a “local” taxi fare and payed for it himself to have us dropped back in town.
You can email us if you’d like to know more about our Tumaini visit, or alternatively you can look at the Our Chosen Charities page on our website or visit GAA’s website.

The bicycle workshop where the students learn to repair and maintain bicycles.

Romantic Tanzania

If Uganda and Rwanda didn’t, Tanzania has certainly restored our romantic image of Africa. It has been the Africa that we dreamt of, and we have loved our time here so far. Honest, friendly, respectful and happy people; dusty, old, sleepy, slow paced towns lined with food stalls selling an assortment of eats like grilled corn cobs or fresh chapatti cooked in pans on small mounds of hot coals; polite kids who show respect to their elders; cheap, healthy, basic and tasty meals that always leave you with a swelling midriff – perfect for non-fussy and hungry cyclists; and wild open and endless plains dotted with banana and corn plantations, or often simply nothingness. Hopefully as we continue south towards Malawi the Tanzania that we have come to know will continue. Before we entered Tanzania though, we had some interesting experiences on our way out of Rwanda.

A young Tanzanian boy on the side of the road.

Riding along a wetland area in Tanzania.

Leaving Rwanda

We had 3 nice rest days in Kigali. This was one more than we planned and needed because in true African style the Memorial Centre was closed for no apparent reason on the day we ventured out to it. We visited the next day, and we were left moved and shocked by the details of the genocide that happened here in 1994. I’m not going to talk about it here, simply because words can’t do justice to the horrible and evil atrocities that took place, and the distressing way in which they are presented in the Memorial Centre. I will say that it was very sad and we walked away with heads full of thoughts and the rest of that day we were pretty quiet, obviously still reflecting about what had happened to this country not so long ago. The visit definitely put things into perspective, and to say we are lucky to live in Australia was all of a sudden a massive understatement. The fact that the people of Rwanda can even smile at all is amazing, and they have every right to be angry with life. But they didn’t seem to be, and smiles and friendly greetings were what we observed. Maybe this was a disguise for many, but even so, Kigali is now a forward moving city for this part of the world, and the people were very friendly and honest. The many people getting around with missing limbs however, was a disturbing reminder that the wounds of 1994 will never fully heal and that many people are still deeply affected by the events that took place.
We enjoyed our stay in Kigali, mainly because it was an organised city and the food was great. The streets were clean as there were bins along the sides, and we saw many women driving; two rarities in our African experience so far. The people of Rwanda have elegant features and are easily the most beautiful of the countries we have visited so far. It was a nice change to be saying “bonjour”, and we discovered that for the past week we had been an hour out with our watches proving that time has little meaning while bike touring. While in Kigali we also had time to think about and research our next stretch. We visited the Burundi embassy to try and get some information, but they were closed (also for no apparent reason). Burundi had some question marks concerning safety in the north, and only the week before all flights were cancelled, but it was difficult to find out the current situation. After much discussion and scurrying around the city in search of reliable information, we decided that Burundi was too risky and that we would instead head inland to Tanzania. It was a decision that made sense, and would also make our visit to one of our chosen charities much easier. The mysteries of Burundi and the wild west of Tanzania will remain.
We rode out of Kigali early one morning to beat the city traffic. We rolled along through the green hills, every pocket of land seemingly cultivated and farmed no matter how steep the hill. The use of terracing dominated the landscape, and typically Rwandan there was a steady stream of people all along the road. Riding along before school started provided an interesting sight. The kids in Rwanda are required to work in the school grounds - digging, raking and gardening - before school starts. We often saw little kids walking to school with their books and lunch in one hand, and a pick or rake slung over their other shoulder. Before school started, the school grounds were brightly lit up by busy and noisy kids working away; an idea I think Australian schools should adopt! We would sing out bonjour in our best French-Rwandan accents as we cycled past giving the kids a momentary break from their chores.
We cycled for 1½ days to the Tanzanian border, which meant that our stay in tiny Rwanda was short, but it was no less memorable. We are glad we visited Rwanda as it differed greatly to the other East African nations, and it was also interesting to see how a country attempts to move on after a genocide. We were however, looking forward to some more space and, well, less people. Our route through Tanzania was sure to provide both of these ingredients.

Rwanda to Tanzania … What a day!

We woke at 6:30am after quite a restless night. Our bed for the night had a large dip in the middle, so we spent much of the night kneeing and kicking each other as we attempted to roll over. We set off and it was straight into the hills. The legs were heavy from yesterday, and felt more like tree trunks than light and nimble legs. There were people everywhere along the road all pretending to be on their way to somewhere, but nobody was in a hurry. The roads were lined with people carrying water, boys on bikes, women carrying babies and a random assortment of other characters. Being a Saturday there was no school. No school in Rwanda means kids everywhere with not much to do, a kind of Mzungu bike tourers dreaded combination. The vehicle traffic was pleasantly light, but the human traffic was heavy. Everyone was friendly, and we must have averaged one “bonjour” per minute. Even those who were lazily hanging around found the energy to spring up and jump on their bike to chase us and see if they could keep up with the Mzungus. In typical African young male fashion, they would often speed past us to show off, and although they were shouting out to their mates in French, we could guess the calls went something like “look at me, I’m faster than the Mzungus”. To see me cycle past often created minimal fuss, but Christine was a different story. Women don’t ride bikes in Rwanda, so to see Christine ride past stirred up the mainly male roadside crowd, often motivating them to jump on their bikes to ride with her. Today we weren’t in the mood for any cycling battles, as our legs weren’t feeling up to it, so we had to settle for an easy defeat and friendly laughter from the roadside audience.
We agreed that we would cycle until 8am, and then look for a spot on the side of the road for breakfast. We spotted a stall with half a dozen juicy looking pineapples on the side of the road, and decided that this would complement our weetbix perfectly for breakfast. After pulling over in search of the person who owned the pineapples, people came from nowhere to observe and “help” me buy the pineapple. All of a sudden I had a decent congregation of locals all interested in my purchase. After agreeing on a price, I strapped it to my front pannier and we headed off to the friendly smiles and waves of the now rather largish crowd.

Sticky beaks watching me buy a pineapple.

It was 8am; we were hungry and ready for a rest. Finding a breakfast spot has become a bit of an art form this trip. We have become quite picky, and always search for the perfect combination of peacefulness, nice sitting spot and ideally with fantastic views. The views and sitting spots were aplenty, but peacefulness was going to be near impossible to find. There was an endless stream of people, and unlike the Ugandans, the Rwandans stop and gather – we refer to people with this behaviour as “gatherers”. Our hunger and impatience got the better of us, and we had to stop amongst the human traffic. We had a lovely spot with a nice view over the fields, but sure enough a small crowd was gathering. We got out our weetbix and pineapple, and the crowd, who were keeping a safe distance, peered with curiosity.

Onlookers initially keep a safe distance as they watch with interest.

There was some commentary and discussion, but it was kept to a whisper, just in case we could understand French. Over the course of our breakfast we had quite a high turnover of onlookers as people came and went, but we also had a loyal audience who stayed for the entire time, about an hour, we took to relax and enjoy our breakfast. A crowd definitely attracts a crowd, and people were coming from everywhere to see what everyone else was gawking at. A few of them settled in and found a comfy front row spot to sit with a good viewing angle. If you see something different, for example a nice car, you stop and have a look for a bit. But after say, 5 minutes, there isn’t much more to see. We assumed the same theory for our breakfast eating, but no, the crowd were waiting and watching with anticipation, as though they were hoping, or almost expecting some entertainment. I tried to provide this by joining them across the road, and then pointing and laughing at Christine calling her a Mzungu. They might have thought we were strange before this, but they certainly did after this episode.

I joined the crowd and was pointing and laughing at Christine, but they just thought I was even weirder.

We finished our breakfast and packed up as the crowd’s confidence was growing and their safe distance was now an intrusive swarming. We would have to save our teeth cleaning performance for further down the road.
We rode off, and as usual many of the crowd rode and ran with us for some time. I needed to stop to relieve myself, but again it was difficult to find anywhere without people watching. I normally pull over to the side of the road, and go to toilet while still straddling my bike. This is a bit of a skill I have mastered over my many days of bike touring. The ability to do this makes Christine very envious, as her obvious constraints make toileting a little more challenging for her. Anyway, every time I pulled over suspecting a quiet spot, kids would come from everywhere shouting “Mzungu” attracting much attention. When I finally did find somewhere and begin, I had a small audience of kids watch, totally undeterred by the fact that I was going to the toilet.
The next two villages were like ghost towns. We wondered where everyone was as we rested our voices from saying “bonjour”. After a steady stream of people all morning, it was quite strange that two villages in a row were empty, and quiet. As we rounded the corner to begin a long climb, the human traffic once again picked up, all of them also walking up the hill. As we slogged our way up, the kids who were walking slowly and peacefully on the side of the road, were now running with us, laughing and shouting as they went. As we progressed up the hill, we picked up more kids like we were some kind of kid-magnet, and the noise and excitement could be heard through the valley. As we neared the top, I turned around and there must have been 100 kids running alongside Christine, all of them shouting, laughing and basically going nuts with excitement. We then found out where everyone was as a sea of bright colour stood out from the green surrounds to our right. We’re not sure what was going on, whether it was a market or some kind of community working bee, but it was loud and chaotic. People were working, there was lots of noise and boys were carting rocks and water to where the mass of people had congregated. This combined with the 100 ecstatic kids running with us made for a pretty crazy 20 minutes or so. It was the kind of experience where you definitely know you’re in Africa. The gang of kids having a great time running with us came to an abrupt end. At the top of the hill there was a police roadblock, and an officer shouted, actually he ordered, that the kids halt their chase. Although it wasn’t bothering us, in fact we found it to be quite enjoyable as the kids were very friendly and happy, we responded with a polite “merci” (thankyou) to the serious looking officer carrying a big gun. He took this thankyou seriously, and as more villages were ahead, and the hill actually kept going, meaning we couldn’t speed away from the kids, he ordered another officer to escort us up the remainder of the hill and through the next village. So here we were now cycling along, with a policeman on a motorbike purring along in front of us with his light flashing as an escort to deter chasing kids. As if we didn’t attract enough attention already, now we had a police escort. Thankfully we were spared too much embarrassment, as the next village was empty. They too were at the crazy happenings in the last village, and although we did feel silly as we called out “bonjour” to the few remaining people wandering around, it was quite a nice novelty and we thanked the officer as he left us at the real top of the hill.
We cycled on and eventually came to the border with Tanzania after 60km. The border lies at an impressive waterfall, with a narrow bridge separating Rwanda and Tanzania. We crossed easily and quietly, moved back to the left hand side of the road (Rwanda was the right) and searched for some food and drink on the Tanzanian side. All that we could find was a 1.5ltr bottle of mango juice. As we sat and rested after a challenging morning, we sculled the mango juice until we were bloated and felt sick. We had made a few friends in this time. A group of 4 young kids were busy chasing chooks and playing with old tyres, but one of the young girls took quite a liking to Christine and I. She didn’t say anything, nor did she smile. But she liked to touch our white skin, and took particular pleasure in playing with my leg hairs. She was only about 4 years old, had a snotty nose and grotty clothes, but she was beautiful. I saved her no more than a mouthful of juice, and as we got ready to leave we observed her taking the smallest of sips. By the look on her face she had never tasted mango juice before, but she liked it and she was going to make this mouthful last as long as possible.
We pedalled off not really knowing what to expect on the Tanzanian side, and also not really knowing where the next town would be. The hills kept going, and they were steep. We crawled up, and flew down. On one descent I hit a top speed of 75km/hr - a bit scary on a loaded bike with a trailer. The black clouds that were closing in above us finally opened up, and started to pelt us with large drops and hail stones. It wasn’t cold though, so we were happy to resist our waterproof jacket and simply get wet. Thunder and lightning roared and flashed above us, and we welcomed the coolness of the water on our backs in the humid climate. We also welcomed the lack of people on the Tanzanian side. There was bush everywhere, and people nowhere. Getting excited by this, we decided that we would look for a nice place to camp, and enjoy a night in nature without people and noise. Before we found somewhere though, we crawled into a small junction town looking very soggy. We found a lovely little guesthouse for $3.50 and the lady owner was lovely. We decided that we would keep dry for the night and take a room. We are so glad we did because the lady and the other workers were very kind and welcoming. But we were also glad after our conversation with the lady who had excellent English and a million stories to tell. Hiding in the bush for 100km on this side of the Rwandan border are some “left over” Rwandan and Burundi refugees. They are causing trouble in the area as they are heavily armed and have taken to a banditry lifestyle. Hijackings have occurred, and only 2 months ago a car was stopped and the driver and passenger were robbed and then shot dead. The police went into the bush in search, and found and killed a group of “suspects”, but some escaped and are still hiding in the bush. Apparently it is safe during the day, but the lady said that wild camping would be fraught with danger. We breathed a sigh of relief at our decision to not camp tonight.
We listened to more of her fascinating stories and realised how much we learn about the people and country when we can communicate with locals. Language is a barrier that makes really getting to know a country and the people difficult, so we milked the lady for all sorts of stories and information. We enjoyed a plate of beans and rice and reflected on an adventurous and eventful day.
To be continued …

Police Protection

The next day we headed off early in the morning and rode for 30km non-stop. We didn’t pass through any villages or towns and hardly saw anybody. The traffic was very light, only the odd truck passing every 20 minutes or so. It was such a relaxing change after Rwanda, and we were enjoying the peacefulness of cycling through the green and hilly landscape in silence. We found a nice breakfast spot and pulled over for some weetbix. An hour or so passed by as we relaxed, went to the toilet, read our guidebook and enjoyed some breakfast. Only a handful of trucks went past, but other than that we had the place to ourselves. As I was cleaning my teeth we noticed a ute with something large in the back emerge from over the hill. As it drew nearer, we realised it wasn’t the usual ute full of young African men crammed in and boisterous at the sight of a couple of Mzungus on bikes. It pulled up at our breakfast spot and immediately grabbed our interest and attention. The large object in the back was a huge machine gun mounted on a swivel, and under it were about 4 uniformed police officers that emerged from under a tarp. Out of the front passenger seat stepped an impressively uniformed police officer who had a definite air of authority about him. His boots were well-polished and uniform neat and crisp, and he had a well-maintained military style moustache. He greeted us with a smile and “good morning”, and then moved on to some more important business. “You must continue your journey, it is not safe to rest here” was his gentle but firm instructions delivered with a smile. He explained that police were patrolling the road as bandits were posing some danger to motorists, including Mzungus on bikes. He reassured us that riding along was fine, but resting in the middle of nowhere was not a good idea. He asked where we were heading, presumably so he could check that we arrived incident free later in the day. Christine bravely asked if she could take a picture of the huge gun in the back, but predictably the response was a convincing “no photos allowed”. If anyone was to get shot by this gun, which looked like it would need all 4 men to control, I doubt there would be much left of them. It looked big enough to bring down a helicopter or small plane. Knowing that they were patrolling the road though, made us feel safe. I finished my teeth and we headed off, only stopping once later in a small town for some beans for lunch. Throughout the rest of the day the ute passed us another 3 times, and on each occasion we waved to them and gave them the thumbs up. Even though they were there to protect everyone, we secretly considered them our personal security. We arrived in a small town in the early afternoon without any further dramas. We were pretty tired as we only had two rests throughout the hilly 90km. We again enjoyed beans for dinner (this seems to be the only option here for vegetarians) and wondered what adventures tomorrow would bring in this eventful stretch of Africa.

Maasai

The Maasai people of Kenya and Tanzania are well celebrated, and their existence in conflicting touristy areas provides much exposure. Their culture and beauty is well documented around the world, and the recent release of The White Maasai book and film will even further publicise their fascinating lifestyle. For us, the remote tribes in the south-west of Ethiopia were more intriguing purely because it felt as though there was less known, or at least less documented, about their culture. They definitely receive less exposure, as their existence does not clash with some of Africa’s most popular tourist attractions, as does the Maasai. Still, experiences with the Maasai were no less fascinating, and our first encounter was quite memorable.
We pulled into a dusty town and immediately attracted the attention of the sleepy community busy doing not much at all. We needed some food and supplies for our next few days which looked like they would be through an area that would only have small towns. Small towns in Tanzania means that you can’t get much more than rice, beans and bananas. We were after some bread, long life milk and some snacks. We parked the bikes and I sat on a bench while Christine went searching. Tanzanians aren’t gatherers like Ethiopians and Rwandans and usually keep going when passing by. In this town though, a small crowd gathered around me and our bikes. They were all friendly and didn’t invade my personal space. The crowd was mainly teenage males (surprise surprise), but as I scanned across the rugged crowd someone caught my eye. A striking figure of beauty stood out, and the unmistakable presence of a young Maasai man was among the onlookers. I had only ever seen pictures of Maasai people and their beauty and striking features is obvious, but it was amazing how this young man stood out from the crowd. He had beautiful skin and colourful jewellery, a shaved head except for a well-groomed tuft on the crown of his head and was draped in a toga like red blanket. He was imposing yet graceful looking as he stood with his wooden stick which all Maasai men carry. Christine returned with a bag of goodies, and it was good timing as the crowd was growing. We mounted our bikes and left to the cheers and support of the young males.
We got about 2km out of the town and stopped to eat some of the surprises that Christine had managed to buy. We rested and enjoyed some old chocolate, which had surely melted and solidified a dozen times, and washed it down with some refreshing juice. As we pedalled off we noticed that the young Maasai man we had encountered earlier was on his bike and riding on the other side of the road. We rode along silently for quite a few kilometres with him on one side and us on the other, both glancing over at each other without staring or saying anything. He was probably equally interested in us as we were fascinated by him. He rode at our pace for some time with his stick in one hand while still clutching the handlebars. We’ve had many an interesting character ride along with us in Africa, but never a striking and commanding Maasai warrior.
For the rest of that afternoon we cycled through an area inhibited by the Maasai and had several more encounters, but none as surreal or curious as the first.

Tanzanian kids

There seems to be lots of kids in Africa, and they are a big part of our day-to-day adventures. So far, we like the Tanzanian kids the best … by a long way. They are respectful in every sense of the word, and are how we imagined all African kids to be. As we cycle past the brightly uniformed kids on their way to and from school, they greet us with all sorts of pleasantries. We now take anything better than being sworn at, chased or targeted with rocks to be an absolute complement, so to be shown such respect by the Tanzanian kids was very humbling, but also very enjoyable. We were greeted with “good morning teacher” or “shikamu” (a respectful greeting reserved for elders), and this was always accompanied with a smile and a wave. Some even bowed when we passed and mumbled “shikamu” with a deep respect written all over their faces. Being bowed to is a bit much for us, but we will certainly enjoy it while it lasts. Not all the kids were happy to see us. One young girl, clearly petrified by the sight of probably the first white person she had ever seen, pierced the silence of a sleepy village and started crying and screaming while running away from us. Her older sister thought it was very amusing as she consoled the scared little girl. Even on the very rare occasions we have been asked for money it has been very polite, and often begins with “good evening sir and madam, I am very poor …”. It has just been such a nice feeling to be respected. We have now experienced the two extremes of ‘kid treatment’ in Africa!

Young boys collecting.

Taking his brother to school. The bike was much too big so he couldn’t sit on the seat and pedal at the same time. Still, he managed to keep up with us for a while.

Unfortunately these kids don’t get to go to school for whatever reason, so they have joined the workforce at a young age.

Transporting food and water.

To the centre of Tanzania

We have spent 12 days getting from Kigali to Dodoma, including only 1 rest day. We have enjoyed this stretch very much. Every day has been filled with adventures, and it has never been boring. It has been very cheap, which was a nice change after the more expensive Rwanda. Some days in Tanzania it has been impossible to spend more than $20. With the most expensive guesthouse in any given town charging $5 for a room and huge meals for about $1 each, there isn’t much else to spend our money on. It all works out though as when we find a town with nice food and decent accommodation we make the most of it. The following are some random events that have occurred over the last few weeks:

One day while riding along we saw a bright sea of orange clearly glowing in the distance. As we drew near we discovered about 20 men all wearing bright orange suits shovelling gravel into a truck. Sitting under the shade of a big tree was the watchful eyes of about 6 heavily armed uniformed officers. The rough looking prisoners were very social as we slowed down to pass them, and the guards were translating that the prisoners wanted us to be their friends!

We arrived in a small truck stop town after a solid day and found a cleanish (I use that word generously) looking guesthouse (which we later discovered was a brothel serving the truckers). When we went in search for some dinner after we had a bucket wash, we discovered nobody was serving food. We finally found someone who spoke English and he said that the minister of health had banned all cooking as there was a disease outbreak in the area. People still sneakily cooked, but out of obvious sight. It would be tough for us to find food. As we were starving, we used the “kitchen” of our guesthouse to prepare a packet soup which we had. The kitchen was a small mud room with a series of coal fires and a pile of blackened pots. The lady was very friendly and found it very amusing.

Christine preparing soup in the guesthouse kitchen

Tanzanian people can't understand why we don’t have kids. As it was explained to us, when a Tanzania man marries he must immediately start producing babies. This is how his worthiness and manhood is displayed and viewed. Whether he has a job and steady income is irrelevant and producing babies is a priority. So we have had many broken English discussions as to why we don’t have any kids, often to the absolute shock and disbelief of the locals.

Bananas, beans and rice. This is what we ate for lunch and dinner almost every day. It was always filling, and great energy, but became a bit monotonous after a while. We were lucky we could usually get long life milk, and we had stocked up on cereal so our breakfasts were a little bit more interesting and the meal we most looked forward to.

Life on the bike

While most of you get up in the morning and prepare yourself for work or school, we do the same, only we prepare for a day on the road and the unpredictable nature of cycling in Africa. We have developed a routine now. We always get up at 6am for a 6:30am departure. It is best to leave early as it often gets hot, and riding in the peacefulness of the morning as the sun comes up is a lovely part of the day. We always try and ride 30km before we stop for some breakfast (ideally purchased the night before) on the side of the road. We have a good rest for breakfast, about an hour or so, where we can have a lie down, read a book and perform our teeth cleaning routine, before we keep going until we stumble across a town at about lunchtime. We can then hopefully pick up some food for lunch, which has usually been in the form of beans and bananas in Tanzania. We are then able to ride some more in the early afternoon before reaching a town that has a decent enough guesthouse. Often we have the dilemma of arriving at a town in the early afternoon and deciding whether or not to stay or push on to the next town. We often remember the stresses of report writing, preparing lessons and meeting deadlines that existed when we were teaching last year, and now our daily stress is if we should ride to the next town or not. Slightly different stresses, but both relative.
Another aspect of life on the bike that we love is the simplicity. Possession wise, we have everything on our bikes. We don’t have a house full of stuff, we don’t have bills to pay, we don’t have to be anywhere on time, weekdays are the same as weekends and we don’t have a boss to answer to. Our simplicity and independence makes us feel truly free, and freedom is an amazing feeling.
We do however, have small daily challenges. As well as the obvious physical challenges, communicating with locals, deciding on where to stay, deciding on which road to take, wondering where our next plate of beans and rice will come from and trying to take a photo of a colourful local with their permission are all minor obstacles that occupy our days. We don’t feel pressure though, and we feel as though we are always in a win-win situation. Every decision we make brings about an adventurous outcome. In Africa, adventure is around every corner.
So life on the bike in Africa is a life of simplicity, freedom and adventure. There is nothing like that feeling.

A quiet and peaceful road in rural Tanzania.

Relaxing and pleasant riding along a remote stretch in Tanzania.

Only in Africa

An ex colleague of mine would always tell me how women were so great at multi tasking, and here is further proof to Mrs Jane Hall’s claim. We cycled past a woman in the country side who was wandering the bush with a baby on her back, while balancing a huge bucket on her head, her hands were occupied with the delicate skill of weaving a basket and to top things off she was also herding about 20 lively goats.

When a bus stops in a town or at a police point, swarms of vendors gather at the bus windows holding up their goods to sell to the passengers. It is comical to watch, and the frenzy often continues as the bus slowly drives off and the vendors are completing their deal while running along side the bus. Common things to be sold are grilled corn cobs, meat skewers, nuts, fruit, boiled eggs, biscuits, drinks, newspapers, and well, almost anything really. We once saw one group of vendors holding up bits of a freshly slaughtered goat. In their gloveless hands in the hot open air, they were holding up bloodied legs, ribs, and other fleshy goat bits. After the bus drives off, there is a steady stream of rubbish getting flung out the window, as this is the only method of rubbish disposal. It is an obvious reminder that we are in Africa when we compare how strict we are on litter and recycling in Australia, and here in Tanzania every single wrapper, plastic bag or bottle and food scrap is tossed out the windows of all the buses.

Our favourite African sign so far:

Rain, hills, greenery and unlimited fruit

2007-02-20T22:23:00.000+10:00

Kitale (Kenya) to Kigali (Rwanda) 1270km to 2518km.

Greetings from Kigali in Rwanda. Firstly, we would like to thank everyone for their kind donations to our charities. We do however have quite a few mystery donators. If you would like to have your name shown, please let us know who you are. Even if you’d like to remain anonymous on the website we would still like to know who you are, so fire us an email.
We would also like to thank everyone for their support and encouragement. The amount of positive emails and comments that we have received has been overwhelming, and very much appreciated. It certainly helps when things are tough. Responding to emails however, is often time consuming and challenging. We do read every single email with great interest, but don’t always have the opportunity to respond.

Kenya to Uganda
Our last few days in Kenya were pleasant, but we were a little hesitant as we approached the border to Uganda early one morning. Border crossings are never enjoyable. We usually do our best to speed through them as quickly as possible. But to our pleasant surprise, this crossing went incident free and was very smooth. Because we hadn’t been stamped in to Kenya yet (their wasn’t any immigration at our entry point), we got stamped in and out at the same time. We purchased our Ugandan visa and got stamped in to Uganda. Changing our Kenyan shillings for Ugandan shillings was simple, and the usual “border pests” (we use this term for the dodgy characters that spend their days generally being pests around boarder crossings) were relatively easy to shake off. Wow, this was possibly our easiest border crossing ever. The officials were even quite chilled, one quite seriously asking Christine if this was a training ride for the Tour De France.

We have seen many different carrying methods around the world, but common so far in Africa is on your head.

I am always amazed at the skill and balance as women carry all sorts of things on their heads. Also common in Africa so far is women doing the majority of the work, hence men never carry anything on their heads. One day this got to me a bit, and as I cycled past a man watching 3 women slaving away in the fields digging and ploughing, I politely suggested that he stop watching and maybe help out a bit. This wasn’t received very well from the man, but the woman thought it was a great idea.

Welcome to Uganda
We had been looking forward to Uganda for some time, and it didn’t disappoint. Immediately, we welcomed the lushness and greenery after spending most of the trip so far in dry desert environments. It was so refreshing, and the scenery reminded us of the northern Vietnam/Laos and southern China area. We even had rain; something we dreamt of as we battled the dry heat earlier in the trip. In fact, it rained almost every day in Uganda for a short period. We didn’t mind this at all and it was lovely cycling along in the rain.

Riding along in the rain was a pleasant change.

The kids of Uganda were a delight. They were so friendly, and lined their villages to yell out “Mzungu” (which means white person – we are no longer Farangis), or “Jumbo” (meaning hello white person). They often got a chant going, and we had many occasions cycling slowly through a small village with all the kids chanting “Mu-zun-gu, Mu-zun-gu”. On one occasion, a young boy quite innocently yelled out “where are you go white man?” which I found quite amusing. They got so excited, and some of them looked like they were about to wet themselves. Their excitement often reminded me of a similar excitement kids in Australia would get when they would hear the unmistakable tunes of the Mr Whippy truck circulating their neighbourhood. What a lovely experience for us though, and it sure beat having them chase us or throw mango pips at our wheels. The kids in Uganda also reminded us of Laos, just so friendly and purely viewing us as a novelty rather than a potential money box.

Riding past school children was always fun. They were always in uniform and usually barefooted. They were always friendly though.

Even the kids are responsible for water collection. Although it rains a lot, they lack basic methods of capturing and storing rain water. Walking or riding to the river and filling up containers is common.

Groups of kids like this would gather along the road to yell out
“Jumbo”,
“Mzungu” or
“How are you?”

The exception to friendly kids was in our last 100km before we reached Rwanda. For some reason the kids hassled us for money and pens and chased us. On one occasion I had to put my angry pants on and chase a boy after he tormented us up a hill yelling out “mother fucker give me money” and then hurled a rock past us. I didn’t chase too much because it was on a hill, and I didn’t want to ride down and then back up again. The boy knew this, and when he was at a safe distance he was waving to me and laughing. I’m sure he had his entertainment for the week. The area this occurred was in the small pocket of jungle where most of the few remaining mountain gorillas are found. Tourists pay a whopping $500 to track them and view them for one hour. Almost every tourist that came to this area went to view the gorillas, except us. We thought that maybe the kids knew how much Mzungus were paying and decided that every Mzungu could spare some money or pens for them. For us, it is so uncomfortable when every kid you cycle past (and there are lots of them) asks for something and expects us to give. We dealt with this by ignoring, and sometimes I squirted the chasers with my water bottle which surprised them a bit. Anyway, it was only on one day in Uganda that this happened. For the rest of the country, our experiences were all positive with the kids, which was one of the reasons why we loved cycling through Uganda.

This was the stretch close to gorilla country where the kids weren’t pleasant. It was a shame, because the scenery was spectacular as we went up and down through the mountains.

Something that Uganda had which we also welcomed with open arms is their seemingly endless stocks of fresh fruit. We rarely cycled for more than an hour without seeing beautiful pineapples, bananas, passion fruits, watermelons and mangoes presented neatly at roadside stalls. So cheap too; six big bananas cost all of 30c. This was an absolute dream for us, and our nutrition was suddenly much better. Also much better was our bowel movements. A month on stale white bread and packet biscuits wasn’t good for our digestive system, but in Uganda we enjoyed regular and healthy toilet visits. There is nothing like fresh fruit to bring back some regularity!

Lots of fruit helped restore some nutrition back to our diets.

This is definitely the land of bananas, which is a bike tourers dream. The green ones are cooked in banana leaves and then mashed up to form what’s called Matoke. Ugandans eat this with everything. Here green bananas are ready to be transported by bicycle.

It was also easy to camp in Uganda, and we spent many nights in our tent. We spent one night camped in the yard of a Belgium man who has settled here with his Ugandan wife. He was a bit of a reggae fan, so we spent the night jamming on bongo drums around a bon fire. Interesting though, was his watchman (the name given to the man who supposedly stays up all night protecting someone’s property). Instead of a gun or baton, the usual choice of weapons for a watchman, he had a nicely crafted bow with a stash of sharpish arrows. He wasn’t a very good watchman though, as we had to find and wake him in the morning to let us out.
Along with the kids, the people were so friendly in Uganda. We were still enough of a sideshow to stop every single person in their tracks as we cycled through a village, but they were friendly. They didn’t invade our personal space, they didn’t yell out anything untoward, and they were never aggressive or hostile. And, they didn’t ask for money. What a pleasure.

While camping in Kampala, we had a few cheeky visitors.

As you can see, Uganda was an absolute treat for us after a tough start. We loved the people, the landscape, the food and the kids. The hills were never ending as we either slogged up or rolled down them, but this was what made it so beautiful. There were however, a few things that we didn’t love …

Crazy Ugandan drivers
From the moment we left Kenya, we were confronted with possibly the craziest drivers we have ever shared the road with. The Ugandan drivers (all men too by the way) were dangerous, fearless and often downright stupid. Also existing on the roads in Uganda is a food chain. And yep, we were at the bottom. We knew we were down the bottom when we observed locals on their bicycles jumping off or escaping into the roadside at the sight or warning horn of an approaching vehicle. As you could imagine, there is no such thing as a cycling lane in Uganda. Actually, there is usually barely enough room for 2 vehicles to pass each other, especially if there are trucks or buses involved. This meant that we were often squeezed off the road and into the muddy crap on the side. Sometimes we would bravely (or stupidly) hold our ground and force them to go around. But this tactic was fraught with danger, and often we had to regrettably accept the rules of the road in Uganda and retreat off the side. Thankfully, the heavy traffic only existed on our first two days in Uganda as we rode the major road linking Kenya to Uganda. When we headed to the west of the country, the traffic became much lighter, although the drivers no more sane.

Wedding Anniversary
As you may or may not know, we are not ones to celebrate such occasions. Being here and having such an adventure together means much more to us than counting up the years we’ve been married. However, our ex students would be interested to know about our celebration. We had a nice campsite at the start of the Nile River, and instead of local food, we opted to cook up a vegetable feast on our stove. It was delicious, and as we clinked (actually, it was more of a clunk) our plastic cups together filled with chocolate long life milk, we did say to each other “happy anniversary”. This was actually a nice end to the day that didn’t begin so well. In the morning, we were debating with each other whether to detour to the location where the mighty Nile River begins (Christine’s preferred option), or carry on along the road to the next town (Ross’s preferred option). I lost, and we headed for the Nile. Heavy rains had turned the dirt road into a sticky thick red mud slosh.

The road progressively got muddier and eventually became thick red sticky muck.

I wasn’t that impressed and I was cursing Christine as pushing our bikes became a mission with the build up of mud between the mud guards and tyres. The thick red paste filled our cleats and stuck to everything. Hoses are rarely seen here, so I knew that getting all this mud off was going to be a tedious manual task. Anyway, I’ll spare you the specific conversation content, but the bikes got cleaned and I’m glad we went there. After receiving advice that the resident crocodiles were only found further downstream, we enjoyed a nice swim in the Nile. So that was how we spent our 5th wedding anniversary!

Into and out of Kampala
Like border crossings, riding into and out of capital cities is also a part of bike touring that we like to do in as least time as possible. Kampala, the capital of Uganda, was quite a daunting prospect. It is renowned for heavy traffic, and along with the crazy drivers and our ever present gawking attraction, this made for a challenging task. It was basically 20km of madness in, and 20km of madness out. Fighting the traffic, trying to navigate through the sprawling streets and sucking in gulps of diesel and petrol fumes made it unpleasant. But we did get a bit of an adrenalin rush as we dodged and weaved strategically through the endless traffic and regular potholes. This often attracted more attention, and sometimes admiration, which was fine except when it was coming from a driver. You can’t afford any distractions when travelling around in Kampala. Unfortunately, on our way out of Kampala we cycled past a crowd gathered on the side of the road. Inside the circle of onlookers was a young girl lying down motionless. As we sped past we could not tell if she was dead or just unconscious, but she was more than likely mowed down by a careless Ugandan driver.

Our first traffic lights for the trip, although nobody seemed to pay too much attention to them.

Fighting our way out of Kampala.

We did however really enjoy Kampala. It had a good feel to it for a city, and we were able to find and do almost anything we needed. Emailing, supermarket shopping, posting, getting visas, purchasing maps, using a washing machine (for the first time this trip) and phoning home were all tasks we were able to do easily. Also on offer was ample restaurants serving up all sorts of local and international food. And wait for it, the best part was that Kampalans share with me a love for ice cream. We were a bit gob smacked by all the varieties of food and options in the restaurants and supermarkets. This excitement lead to some over consuming of good food and ice cream as we ate ourselves silly. So much so that when we left Kampala we agreed to take it easy on the tucker for a while. Things change quickly over here. It was only a few weeks ago that we couldn’t find any food, and here we were contemplating cutting back!

Other Mzungus
We had been longing for many weeks to meet some other travellers, someone who we could relate to and share stories with. Well, this opportunity presented itself often in Uganda as routes through the country are firmly entrenched in the East African tourist trail. The mixture of beautiful scenery, interesting culture, wild animals and budget friendly travel makes Uganda a popular trip for tourists combining trips to Kenya and Tanzania. Our encounters with other travellers however, were a bit hollow and left us wanting to get back out on the road. This is not to say that we are snobbish or arrogant, but we are just having a totally different experience to others who travel by bus, truck or car. We did meet some lovely and interesting people who were able to give us lots of good tips among enjoyable conversation. Apart from being in the same country, it is hard for us to relate to a young backpacker who rides in a truck with 20 other backpackers from tourist destination to tourist destination. It is a totally different experience from the one we are having and hence our encounters were a little shallow. This is fine though, and every now and again it is nice just to be around other travellers. Most of the people we have met can’t believe what we are doing, and are always full of admiration and encouragement. We were glad to get back out onto the road though and spend 4 slow days getting somewhere that the truck covers in a speedy ½ day.

Game Ride
During our time in Uganda, we visited the oddly named Queen Elizabeth National Park in the far west. It was a great experience, and our first “touristy” activity since being here. Cycling in National Parks in Kenya and Tanzania is strictly prohibited, but as we pedalled up to the Park Gate, the ranger was very relaxed about the idea of us cycling around. He basically left it up to us if we were willing to cycle through the park which consisted of animals such as elephants, hippos, leopards and lions; all potentially dangerous to vulnerable lunatics on bikes. Excited by the idea of encountering wildlife from our saddles, we nervously cycled into the park and along the dirt track that dissected the savannah. It was about a 7km ride in to the major base where we would camp for the night. On the way in, we had up close experiences with some buffalo, bushbucks and kobs (deer looking creatures). We saw elephants and hippos in the distance, but going off track was strictly not allowed and incurred a huge fine if caught, so we settled for observing them through the binoculars.

Impala look up curiously from feeding in the long grass of the savannah.

Christine scared this African buffalo while taking this picture. She also got a big fright herself. I watched on in amusement as the buffalo ran one way and Christine the other.

We set up camp in a secure area. Secure accept for the resident warthogs which were grazing around our camp site. Apparently they would sniff out any food you had and go for it. They weren’t shy at all, and we had to be very vigilant with our food. It was quite comical to be guarding our food and chasing away warthogs; certainly a different experience from aggressive kookaburra’s which we are used to in certain places back home. After securing our belongings, we set out on an afternoon exploration. It was relatively unsuccessful apart from sightings through the binoculars. But we went to bed excited about cycling out the next morning when animal sightings were most likely.

Warthogs definitely aren’t the most attractive creatures, but this little fella was cheeky enough to try and sniff out our food. We had to chase him away.

We awoke and packed up quickly in the dark. As we sat around and waited for the sun to come up (we didn’t fancy riding through the park in the dark), all the other tourists were leaving to go on game drives in their 4WD’s. Their vehicles all had the roof cut out enabling them to stand up and poke their heads out the top to view the animals. As usual, we were going to be different and rather than a game drive, we dubbed our safari a game ride! A few people had told us that we weren’t allowed to ride, but the ranger said that it was up to us. We found it strange though, because walking around was definitely prohibited, but cycling was OK. Were we really any safer on our bikes as opposed to being on foot? I know I can run faster than I can ride with all my luggage on the bike, so we were definitely approaching our game ride hoping that the animals would all be friendly to us. You probably all think we are crazy, and this is possibly true, but for us it is the ultimate in freedom and independence to have the opportunity to experience African wildlife from our saddles. We also didn’t like the idea of joining all the other punters in their 4WD’s and paying lots of money to be driven around.
The sun came up and we left the safety of our camp site and headed along what is known as the Channel Track. The Channel Track is 24km long and separates the open savannah with a huge channel of water flowing from one lake to another. The track is where we were most likely to see animals, and it was also convenient because it would take us back to the main road and out of the park where we could continue on our journey. We cycled quietly along the dirt track, wide eyed with anticipation at what might present itself around each bend. We were scanning around, searching for movement. We moved slowly, and even stopped for some breakfast on the side of the track. Christine also bravely left the road armed with the trowel and toilet paper to find a spot to go to the toilet. Throughout the morning, we saw more warthogs, bushbucks and cobs, and a hippo from a distance. We also accidentally spooked a massive herd of buffalo who charged off; luckily not in our direction. It still gave us a fright though. It was quite an experience to see a herd of buffalo thundering past in a puff of dust. We disappointingly didn’t see any elephants or leopards. We saw tracks and dung, but I think we were just unlucky. Or maybe we were lucky. As we reached the gate we met a Scottish lady who travelled the Channel Track a few days earlier in a mini bus. They met a huge lone elephant on the track who wasn’t very friendly. She told us how the elephant chased the bus away. At this point we were secretly thankful that our encounters with elephants in the park were through the binoculars and from a safe distance. Our quest for freedom and independence would have turned to absolute stupidity had we been chased on our bikes by an unhappy elephant. We didn’t see any leopards or lions this time, but we have our sights set on another park in Tanzania which will hopefully bring some encounters with big cats. We thoroughly enjoyed our game ride, and as we pedalled off back along the main road we found ourselves initially bored by the surroundings. We quickly adjusted to kids yelling out and crazy Ugandan drivers.

An impressive looking male bushbuck.

Welcome to Rwanda
We had another simple border crossing into Rwanda. We had to pay a huge US$60 each for our visa. This is because Australia gives no aid to Rwanda, whereas many other nations, including the UK, receive their visa for free. Christine thought she would try and bluff the immigration officer by explaining to him that Australia was part of the UK because we have the same Queen. The man laughed and told her to hand over $120, and then told her to tell our government to start giving some aid and then our visa will be free. We left the rocky and bumpy road behind in Uganda to join smooth tarmac on the Rwandan side. Our first impressions of Rwanda? Crowded (Rwanda has the highest population density in Africa), people friendly but intense, gone again was our personal space, the hills continued (Rwanda is known as the land of a thousand hills) and the language was now French. So far, it has been popular for the people in Rwanda to run and ride with us, and to gather around when we stop. They have been friendly, and although the intensity of the people makes it difficult and often not very relaxing, there hasn’t been any hostility. We had a nice descent into the capital, Kigali, which is where we will catch up on some jobs and also visit the Kigali Memorial Centre. We have been looking forward to seeing this place for some time as it documents the horrific genocide that took place in 1994 when approximately 800,000 innocent victims were slaughtered, often being butchered to death. It is apparently quite graphic and very powerful and sad, but will give us an insight into the recent history of the country we are in. Much of the population has been affected by what happened in 1994, with high numbers of people having seen dead victims and having members of their family killed. It will be quite a moving experience, and probably similar to when we visited the Tuol Sleng prison in Phnom Penh, Cambodia.

Where to now?
When we met German Man way back in Ethiopia on day 3, he quipped, “oh, you guys are still fresh, you’ve only just started”. We didn’t like this as we felt a bit green, like we were just starting high school in year 7, and German Man was a seasoned year 12 student. We are now two months, 4 countries and 2500km into our trip, and feel like we have really sunk our teeth into this adventure. It is a satisfying feeling, and we no longer feel like the African newbies. Travelling slowly through different landscapes and cultures has given us a definite sense of journey in every meaning of the word. We now reflect on Ethiopia, and it feels like so long ago. That is a sign that the journey has well and truly begun.
We now have to work out our route through the rest of Rwanda, Burundi and then Tanzania. We first have to find out if Burundi is safe, and then think about Tanzania. It is such a big country, with no obvious route to Malawi. From our research so far, we are starting to get that feeling of rough roads, minimal supplies and facilities and plenty of “middle of nowhere” sections; the feeling of adventure!

The slow demise of Christine’s sleeping mat
If you remember back to our campsite at the Kenyan Police Post after our adventurous day coming from Ethiopia, well it was extremely hot. So hot in fact, that the sand our tent was pitched on hadn’t cooled down from the scorching daytime sun and was like an oven all night. This caused Christine’s trusty sleeping mat to develop a bubble. Ironically though, in the confusing darkness we unknowingly ended up sleeping on each others mats. So it was me who was on the mat when the bubble developed. Since then, the small bubble has turned into a large mound that Christine can neither get comfortable on if it is at her head or her feet. So while I’m snoozing away on my flat mat, she is battling the bulge. Now, before you all throw your arms up in disgrace at me not offering my mat to Christine, because after all it was me who was sleeping on it when it developed it’s bubble, we agreed that it was an accident and that it could have happened to either of us. So why not alternate you might ask?? Good question, and as I sit here and write this I don’t have an answer, nor can I bullshit my way out of it. So from now on we will alternate and take it in turns to battle the bulge. The thing is, the closest dealer for this specific type of mat is all the way down in South Africa, so it is going to be a bit of a mission to get a new one.

The small bubble has grown each night, and is now a huge bulge.

Only in Africa
We have decided to create a section where we can share some of our more random observations of which we see so many as we cycle each day. Each update we will add 3 new observations.
1. Bicycle taxis are common in this part of the world where someone rides with a passenger sitting on a cushioned back rack. We watched as one passenger was side saddling while breast feeding. The bike was going pretty fast and the road was bumpy, so her boob was bouncing everywhere and because the baby was attached to the boob, it was also bouncing all over the place.
2. Vehicles in Uganda were always full. And I mean full. We once counted 10 people in a small 5-seater sedan. They were all adults and it included 2 in the drivers seat.
3. Fighting crime in Uganda was interesting. Although we didn’t see this, thieves in the capital city are often dealt with by mobs who strip off all their clothes leaving them naked in public. Slightly more serious is in the countryside where thieves are often killed by mobs and left to be viewed by the village.

The Real Africa

2007-01-28T16:54:00.000+10:00

Arba Minch (Ethiopia) to Kitale (Kenya) 581km to 1270km
Since the last diary entry, we have had more challenging as well as rewarding experiences. We have cycled through the different tribes of south west Ethiopia, had an extremely scary border crossing, been defeated by sand and harsh conditions in northern Kenya, forced to ride in a truck because of bandits and Christine has got sick and contracted Giardia. As well as that we are absolutely exhausted and worn out, and in desperate need of some R and R. The last few weeks have definitely been a journey that has pushed us and tested us more than anything before. Every day continues to be jam packed with adventures. When you read on, it seems like months worth of adventures. But it is only a snapshot of what we have experienced, and I have left many stories out.

Leaving the smooth tarmac - Ethiopia
After I posted our last entry, we left the smooth bitumen. For the next 430km we experienced bone jarring and butt punishing bumpy roads, as well as gruelling and frustrating sand. On the Ethiopian side, the kids became less and less of a problem. Having said that, the demands changed from money and pens, to water. So now kids were chasing us demanding water, and our drink bottles on our trailers were easy targets. Twice I had to chase kids that had jogged with us for a while before darting off with one of our bottles. After a few days though, the nightmare of pesky Ethiopian kids was over. The people didn’t become more friendly or welcoming, in fact they were possibly less hospitable, but no more rock throwing or chasing or demanding handouts was a welcome relief.

Ross got his feet caught and took a tumble. Instead of rushing to assist, Christine was very quick to grab the camera!

This came at a cost though. As we ventured into more remote regions, the travelling became much more challenging. Food, water and accommodation were becoming very unreliable, and towns few and far between. As well as this, the weather was becoming unbearably hot. We were easily consuming 6 litres of water a day each, and this was barely touching the sides. We were constantly dehydrated, and finding water was a problem. Often we could buy bottled water, but this was expensive and not always practical. The villages had no running water, and the water from the wells and pumps was hot and salty. The water was always warm from the heat, and never really re-hydrated us. Still, we somehow managed and thankyou to those random vehicles we flagged down to spare us some water. And if we couldn’t find water to drink, then showers were definitely out of the question. After a hot and dusty day in the heat on the bike, we just needed a shower. This occasionally came in the form of a bucket of water. Electricity in the region was also non-existent, bar the odd generator churning for a few hours in the evening. It was impossible to find a cold drink, and our head torches came in handy as we often left early in the morning to ride for an hour in the dark to escape the heat.
Food was also a problem; there wasn’t any. It was so difficult to find food, and we always felt bad buying it and eating it because nobody seemed to have any. In Australia we have so much food, and so much gets wasted. In this region the people hardly have any food. It made me think of how unequal our world is and how lucky we are in Australia. We have certainly developed a new appreciation for food, water and electricity. We survived much of the time on biscuits and nutella bricks (we managed to buy a jar of nutella previously, and the bricks were hard and stale bread rolls). There weren’t any fruit and vegetables, and our nutrition was very poor. This wouldn’t have been a huge problem, but when you are exerting yourself physically for 5, 6 or 7 hours a day in the heat, you need to be hydrated and well fuelled. We weren’t, and Christine particularly suffered as a result. Towards the end of Ethiopia she became weak and exhausted. We were hoping that the Kenyan side would bring some relief. We couldn’t have gotten it any more wrong.

Jumping of the bulls and Dutch hospitality
Before writing about crossing the border and our adventures so far in Kenya, we were lucky enough to travel through some amazing tribes and witness an intriguing ceremony in our last few days in Ethiopia. The Omo Valley is famous for it’s various tribes occupying the region. The different tribes are known for their striking dark skin and features, colourful jewellery, interesting hairstyles and fascinating ceremonies and rituals. We were fortunate to cycle through a few of the different tribes and this has been a highlight of the trip so far.

A young Abore woman.

Beauty and the beast. This was a frustrating day and the humungous thorns in the area were defeating me. I had to stop 7 times to change/repair my trailer tyre. On this occasion some curious Tsemay girls watched on.

The people weren’t particularly friendly and mainly just wanted to be left alone to live their lives. We had one sleepless night in one of the villages as the young man who was “looking after us” turned out to be a con, and just wanted us to send him money and a mobile phone. We had no choice but to sleep in the village that night, but we slept under a shelter with our bikes right next to us and we were quite scared (but that is a long story in itself). Generally, the tribes in the area weren’t interested in us, but just thought we were crazy or stupid for cycling across their land. Often we get a little bit of extra respect from locals and travellers because we are cycling, doing something physical that requires a considerable effort. But the tribes in this area didn’t posses any extra respect; in fact they just thought we were weirder than the other tourists travelling in 4WD. Even with their lack of friendliness, it was truly amazing to see these remarkable tribes living their lives in such a harsh environment. They were such beautiful looking people and totally at home in the natural environment.
The people I was most interested in was the Hamer people. I had seen pictures of them, and they’d always fascinated me with their looks, jewellery and hair. We cycled through their region and it was amazing.

Some striking Hamer women on the side of the road where we were stopped for a rest.

When we arrived in the main central village, we met a group of Dutch on an organised tour who had come to also experience the different tribes. They immediately were friendly and hospitable, and it was the first time in a while we were able to speak to other travellers. It was also the first time that people were genuinely nice to us and we warmed to them straight away. Whenever we have met Dutch travellers, we have always got along well with them. This group was no exception. Being a cycling country, they were very interested in our trip and asked many questions. They were a group of about 20 or so and aged between 25 and 65. They were travelling in style compared to us (although this is not saying much as I don’t think there is such a thing as travelling in style in Ethiopia). They informed us that the next day the local Hamer tribe would be having a Bull Jumping ceremony. We asked if we could join them, and they said it was “no problem”. We were going to be Dutch for the day.
When a young Hamer boy is to become a man, he must participate in this right of passage where he is to jump across a line of 7 bulls. He must do it without falling and go back and forth twice. We were about to witness the ceremony and watch this young boy become a man. The actual bull jump was the conclusion of the ceremony, and although it was interesting to see, the initial parts of the ceremony was what left me disturbed and in shock and disbelief. In the hours leading up to the actual jump, other Hamer men whip young female relatives of the boy with sticks. Not only are they whipped once, but they come back for more and beg to be whipped. The more scars they have and the deeper their wounds, the more love they have for the boy.

About to be whipped.

Being whipped. Some whips made a dull sound, but every so often there was a deafening “crack” which gave you a fright and made you wince.

We were not sure if the girls took any natural drugs to dull the pain, or if they just worked themselves into a trance like state. But not once did a girl flinch as the stick cracked over their backs instantly drawing blood.

It was disturbing to see the brutal results of the whippings.

It was a chaotic atmosphere as they sung and danced, blew horns and jumped up and down with the bells around their legs chiming. The crack of a stick across a young girls back was a distinct sound above all else, and girls were fighting each other to be whipped next. It was quite disturbing, and some of the wounds were painful to look at. Some had to have chunks of stick plucked from their wounds as they had become lodged under their skin after a whip. Most girls would have been whipped at least 10 times, and this was clearly evident as blood and scars had damaged their beautiful black skin.

Deep scars.

We watched and snapped photos along with a group of other tourists, but it really did feel wrong to be there. This was something very foreign to us, and we didn’t belong. We were out of place witnessing such a unique ceremony that belongs to the Hamer people. Having said that, it was something I will never forget and I have a lasting image of these brave young women being brutally whipped and not even flinching all for a young boy to become a man.

We also felt sorry for the bulls. They were very confused and scared, and the method of arranging 7 in a line was far from gentle.

As the naked 15-year-old boy completed his last jump, it was a bit of an anticlimax. He was now a man and would be married to his first wife in 3 months time, but by far the bravest participants on the day were the handful of young women who would surely have had trouble sleeping for the next few days because of deep and infected wounds on their backs.

The boy clears the last bull to enter manhood.

It was an interesting as well as disturbing experience. One that has left a permanent impression on me. We finished the day by joining the Dutch for dinner. It was the best feed we have had in days, and while we displayed our best table manners, we were secretly devouring the fresh and delicious food.

Crossing the border … what a day!!
We woke up sweating in our tiny prison cell (room is too nice a word) after a horrible night. The loud music didn’t stop until 1am, and the sticky humidity made sleeping nearly impossible. It was 34 degrees when we woke at 5:30am as we left under the light of our trusty head torches. The last 4 days had been without electricity (except for generators churning for a few hours in the evening) and running water so we were uncomfortably used to being without such services, and something as simple as a head torch was so valuable. The road out was flat and a little bit sandy and rocky, but OK for cycling. We rode all morning barely stopping, as shade was difficult to find and the sun was stifling. For the first time in Ethiopia, we didn’t pass through a single village throughout our 72km to the border town. In fact, we didn’t see a single person, proving that the dry and sandy conditions in this area are even too harsh for the hardy people of this region. We didn’t mind though, because it gave us our most relaxing morning on the bike so far. When we rolled into the border town, Omorate, just after midday, it was like a ghost town. The construction of the unfinished immigration building looked like it had come to a halt, and we had to find the shack of where the immigration officer lived so we could get our exit stamp in our passports. He was taking the hot part of the day off, and was sleeping at home. He was pretty helpful though, and stamped our passport with minimal fuss. So far so good. Surely a border crossing couldn’t be this easy? We were then lead down the main dusty street of the unsightly town that resembled so many other border towns we have passed through. We didn’t get hassled though; it was too hot here. We arrived at the shack where the “business man” lived. He was also sleeping, but he was the only person in town who could change our money. After an audience watched, and “business man” displayed appalling maths and calculator skills for the only person who changes money, we got our Kenyan Shillings and were out of there. It was a little unnerving having most of the town now know that I had enough Kenyan Shillings for a couple of weeks travelling, but which was probably a small fortune to the locals living here. This made the next part of our departure a little tricky. We had to negotiate a price to get taken across the river. In true Ethiopian style, the ‘boat boy’ started at about 20 times more than what a local would pay, quite ambitious. After some tense and unpleasant bargaining, we ended up paying half of that (about $12) which was still ridiculous, but there was literally no other way across the river except to swim.

Paddling across the Omo River in dugout canoes.

As we were paddled across in dugout canoes, it was now 3pm and very hot. We were tired, but glad to be on our way out of Ethiopia. More so, we were glad to be saying goodbye to Ethiopian people. Although we improved relations in the last week or so, we never really hit it off with the Ethiopian people. We didn’t trust any of them, and unfortunately we found their culture to have a “give give” attitude. They seemed to always want handouts, especially from farangis. It was neither comfortable nor welcoming for us as visitors, and we couldn’t wait to leave.
We were now on our way, but this is where the adventure and our troubles begin. There is about a 40km stretch that belongs to neither Ethiopia nor Kenya, known as “no mans land”. This area, and this border crossing is unstable and we were told dangerous. Tribes around this area have a history of stealing cattle from each other causing fighting and violence. When we reached Omorate though, the locals said that it was fine at present and crossing wasn’t a problem. Still, we were keen to scoot across no mans land and get to Kenya. The trouble is, no mans land is a baron, flat and roadless landscape. Cattle and vehicle tracks were scattered, and we were told to follow the “main” vehicle track which had fresh tyre tracks. This seemed a little sketchy, but we thought we’d give it a go.

The beginning of “no mans land”. No roads or features made crossing difficult.

It started well as we sped across the landscape through Galeb tribes living peacefully, and almost anciently, along the mighty Omo River. They were friendly people, and as the women sat and cooked or weaved baskets, the men moved cattle and the kids splashed in the river. What a beautiful way to live. It must have been this tranquil lifestyle that distracted us, as we hadn’t passed the Ethiopian Police Post yet, and we should have quite a few km ago. We were now lost, and starting to get worried as the day was drawing to a close. We found some local tribesman herding cattle to give us directions. Explaining that we wanted to go to Kenya was a task in itself, and his directions were dodgy at best. Things were now starting to look bad, and I got that awful feeling of fear and nerves in my stomach. I didn’t allow this to come to the surface though as the situation didn’t need it. So I put on a brave but fake “she’ll be right” attitude to try and boost the sprits of Christine. In contrast, Christine was clearly honest with her feelings as she said she felt sick with fear and was about to pass out. As well as this she was clearly exhausted physically, and was starting to become emotional. We now had a “situation”! This was not a good place to be lost, because as well as unpredictable bandits, wild animals such as hyenas also roamed in the evening. Any track we thought was the right one, quickly ran out and petered into sandy nothingness. Our brains weren’t functioning well after a long and hot day, a sleepless night before and a lack of food and water. We’ve been worried before, but this time we were truly scared. Our thoughts were irrational and our options minimal. We were losing hope, and our spirits were at a low. We then stumbled upon a group of about 6 teenage boys herding their cattle. They found our distressed looks and obvious fear at being lost amusing, and didn’t express an ounce of concern or good nature. When we communicated that we wanted the track to the Kenyan Police Post, they said they’ll take us there but only for money. They were displaying a mixture of laughing and aggressive behaviour, and seemed to be a little unpredictable. Like most Ethiopians, they saw us as a chance to make some money, and helping us out as a favour and out of good will didn’t appeal to them. By this stage we were fed up with Ethiopians and them asking for money, and we had decided earlier in the trip that we would not give anything to the Ethiopian people. I wasn’t going to start now, so I played dumb as they led us across the sandy plains to the track. Christine was now very scared, and when one of the boys exposed himself to her (I found this out later in the evening), she started crying. The sun had now just disappeared as we reached a vehicle track and they pointed in the distance to where the Kenyan Police Post was. They then started to aggressively demand money and the situation was getting very uncomfortable and scary. We were in the middle of no mans land without a single person or building in sight. We were helpless. Luckily and thankfully, there was one boy out of the 6 who so far had been rather nice and friendly. He had the most jewellery and earrings out of any of them. This was possibly a sign of higher social standing within their tribe because when he said to leave us alone they all disapprovingly listened. One young man however, wasn’t going to let us go that easily, so he chased us for a while and threatened to grab our things. He finally stopped, and I heard him laugh as I got stuck in the sand and fell off in my panic to get away. It was now dark, and we had no idea how far it was to get out of no mans land and to the Kenyan Police Post; to safety. If you’ve ever wondered around in the bush at night you know how it can be a little eerie at times. Well let me tell you, no mans land between Ethiopia and Kenya is bloody scary in the dark, and to say we were a little on edge is an understatement. No power meant we wouldn’t be able to see any lights ahead, so we had to put our head torches on. This meant that anybody around knew we were there, but we had no choice. After what seemed like hours of riding and pushing through the sand, we saw a flash of light in the distance. Our spirits lifted, and as we drew near it was the flashing light of a torch we could see. We approached and started calling out “hello, hello”. When we shone our torch on an old weathered sign that read “Kenya Police Post”, relief and comfort washed over us. “Welcome to Kenya, you are safe now” was the greeting from the deep voiced Kenyan soldier standing at the gate with his massive gun strung over his shoulder. We entered the ramshackle compound where another soldier also welcomed us. It was about 8:30pm now, and after beginning our adventure at 5:30am we were well and truly exhausted. There was nothing like the feeling of being safe in that compound. The two soldiers were very friendly and welcoming. What a pleasant change from the Ethiopians. They didn’t ask for money and just left us to cook our dinner and set up our tent. They even supplied us with water to wash and cook with. As we sat and cooked some pasta with tomato paste and got eaten by mozzies, we reflected on one of our most adventurous, and definitely our scariest days bike touring ever. What a day!

Our campsite at the Kenyan Police Post. We have never been so relieved as we were when we arrived.

Defeated by the sand
After entering Kenya, we hoped for some relief. Well, it didn’t come. In fact, conditions got tougher and we started to suffer. There was one major positive though - the Kenyans. Immediately, we felt welcome and help was always on offer. And we very rarely were asked for anything. It was such a pleasant change. The strong religious culture was also quite a comforting atmosphere as each town always had a mission with priests and other “church people” who would seek us out and help out in any way possible. Although this sometimes lead to some preaching and annoyance, most of the time they were just plain helpful and as one young man told us “friendship was his mission in life”. We even stayed at spare houses that belonged to the church a few times and the harmony of singing coming from the churches in the morning was music to our ears.
Not so nice were the roads, heat, and continued lack of food, water and electricity. We were drained from Ethiopia and needed to recuperate, but we were still a long way from any form of modern living. There was still no electricity, running water, showers or cold drinks. We were yet to see a washing machine since leaving Addis Ababa, and our clothes were certainly suffering despite Christine’s best hand washing efforts (I am in charge of maintaining the bikes and Christine is responsible for hand washing). We tried our very best, and left early in the morning to avoid the heat, but the sand was too much. We were pushing more than we were riding. And pushing your bike through deep hot sand is tiring stuff, especially when your bodies are in desperate need of food and water.

Ross pushing through the sand. Progress was very slow (average about 4km/hr walking and 7km/hr when we could ride). Covering 25km was a huge effort, especially when it was so hot.

We tried 2 days in row and hardly covered any ground, but then with the knowledge that the sand continued for about another 100km, and with Christine especially deteriorating quickly, we had no choice but to catch a truck to the next major town and sealed road. We wanted to cycle the entire trip so we were both disappointed with the outcome. But, I don’t think we had any choice. Christine was looking very weak and exhausted and was regularly ‘emotional’, and it would have been 3 more 5-6 hour days of slogging through the sand in 40 degrees with minimal food and water and no accommodation.

We caught this tractor for a little bit, before eventually riding in the back of a truck for about 100km.

I think we made the right choice, and it turned out that despite our careful efforts treating water, Christine had contracted Giardia somewhere along the way. This was one of the contributing factors to her being so tired and having no energy, and losing weight and strength. After some rest and half decent food in Lodwar, and some drugs for Christine, we were off again, but not before we were halted again.

Bandits force another truck ride
For quite some time we had had been looking forward to getting to Lodwar. We had seen on the map that the road south was the A1 highway. After many days on challenging roads, we had been dreaming of super smooth tarmac. More so, we needed it, and so did our bikes. We are starting to learn that in Africa, one should never get their hopes up and one should never have high expectations. The A1 was another reminder of this reality. Apparently it was super smooth in the 80’s, but it has now been washed away and either has more potholes than Swiss cheese, or has disappeared completely. This really sunk our spirits, and as we set out from Lodwar we were moving slowly and bumping along in the hot sun.

The A1 Highway … not what we were hoping for.

Apparently Northern Kenya receives little assistance from the government as it is at the very bottom of the priority list. Most towns have no electricity and running water, and the roads are terrible. We shouldn’t complain though, because we have left this part of Kenya now, but the people who live there have to put up with the challenges and frustrations every day.
In Lodwar, we visited the District Police Commander to get some information about a stretch we had heard was dangerous. We left his office with the strict advice “do not ride between Lokichar and Marich”. This was about a 90km stretch that was regularly being targeted by bandits hijacking and robbing vehicles due to tribal battles and political issues. Only 5 days before we were there, the driver of a milk truck was robbed and shot in the leg. Apparently we would have been prime targets because we were white and were presumed to have lots of cash. We reached Lokichar and had an interesting evening as we pitched our tent in the yard of a local family.

After deciding that the local Hotel was not fit for animals, and another place wanted to charge us a ridiculous price to camp, we met a local family who let us camp in their compound (backyard). They were very welcoming and generous.

The next day we hailed a truck and loaded our bikes into the back. We crammed into the front with some stinky but friendly Kenyan men, and for the next 5 hours we bounced along wondering if the bandits would strike. We were also wondering if our bikes would survive the rickety ride in the back, as the huge pot holes were eating up the truck resulting in our bikes being thrown all over the place. It was quite a horrible trip, and 5 hours for 90km tells you how bad the road was. We made it though, and the bikes emerged looking dusty and in need of some TLC, but were otherwise OK.
We spent two nights camped on the river where we were entertained by the resident monkeys who were energetically flying around and playing with each other. As we enjoyed some rest, news filtered to us that the bandits had struck again, and that all trucks were now travelling in convoy. Luck was on our side as it was only the day before that we nervously travelled through bandit territory. We left the next day and headed into the mountains. We climbed and climbed and climbed, and we crossed into a new region of Kenya. This marked our end to the sand, thorns, hot sun, bad roads, no water, no electricity, no food and flat dryness of northern Kenya that we had come to know.
Wow … what a start to our trip! We are now finally resting in a “normal” town. We have good food, plenty of shops and most services like internet and telephone. We have even found a washing machine, Cadbury chocolate and a big supermarket. It looks like easier days ahead. Christine is now back to full health and is looking normal again. With a good rest under our belts and rejuvenated spirits, we will now head west and will be in Uganda in a few days. We will be sad to leave Kenya as the people and culture have really grown on us. The kids have been an absolute treat as they say hello and come up and shake our hands. They look so neat in their school uniforms and have been very polite and friendly. The people have been nothing but helpful and welcoming, and we have experienced the charm of the Kenyan people. What a pleasant change from Ethiopia! We are very much looking forward to Uganda, which is when our next update will reach you.

LET THE ADVENTURE BEGIN

2007-01-11T17:14:00.000+10:00

This is our first update from the road. Before reading on, we would like to say a big thank you to all the people who have donated so far. As you can see, our tally is slowly and steadily growing. However, we are still seeking more donations. It doesn’t matter how big or small, it all counts and goes to a worthy cause.
By the way, I like to write, so print this update off, wait until you have some down time, grab yourself a refreshing beverage, kick back and relax, and enjoy the story! (If you want to skip the intro on Ethiopia and Addis Ababa, scroll down to “Time to ride, but it hasn’t all been pleasant” to read about our cycling experiences so far).
Please Note: I have written honestly and personally about our experience only. It isn’t necessarily a true representation of how others may experience Ethiopia. Nothing is intended to offend anybody, nor is it a guide to travel in Ethiopia.
ADDIS ABABA (ETHIOPIA) TO ARBA MINCH (ETHIOPIA) 581KM

Welcome to Ethiopia
Making it to Addis Ababa in Ethiopia was not easy. After 2 days of flying, getting picked up and dropped off at airports, resting in transit lounges, going in and out of customs, collecting baggage and unwillingly consuming disgusting plane meals (the last of which cost me a day sitting on and hovering over the toilet when we first arrived) we finally touched down at Addis Ababa. Our body clocks were all over the place, and being sick didn’t help. History tells me that in this situation Christine would tell me that my stomach wasn’t tough enough, and that if I can’t handle rough plane food then how am I going to deal with the ‘interesting’ fare that will be on offer in the coming months (ex Howqua girls will know exactly how Mrs Hopkins can be towards injury and illness – especially before fitness). But no, to my pleasant surprise she was actually very supportive and helpful which was nice.
We changed some money at the airport (we had to carry about 1 months worth of money as there are no ATM’s in Ethiopia) before negotiating a taxi fare to our hotel, which I had booked in advance. While en route to Lido Hotel, we were stopped at some traffic lights. A young boy approached the taxi window where I was seated. He only had a few teeth, was bare footed and very scruffy looking. But more strikingly, he had only half of his left arm and the butt of it didn’t look like it had been ‘neatly’ tied off. He was begging for money and mumbling something in one of the Ethiopian languages. As we drove off the taxi driver wound up the windows and locked the doors. This was our first impression of Ethiopia.
Ethiopia is a country of 73 million people, the population has a life expectancy of only 49, coffee is the major export, 83 languages are spoken with even more dialects and it has a history surrounded by war and poverty. Time is measured in 12-hour cycles beginning and ending at 6am and 6pm. So 7am is actually 1 in the day here, and 7pm is 1 in the evening. To make matters more complicated, they have a different calendar also. They celebrated Christmas two weeks after us, New Years Eve is in September sometime, and the year here is 1999. That’s right, we really are living in the past over here.

Crazy City
Negotiating different forms of traffic while leaving Addis Ababa

Addis Ababa was an interesting capital city. It is the third highest capital city in the world and lies at nearly 2400m - higher than any Australian mountain. It has a diverse mix of rich and poor, and two distinct religious populations in Muslims and Christians. Much of the city is under construction, so dust and unfinished roads and buildings seemed to dominate. Our sense of smell was also very active during our stay. The smell of fresh food and coffee could be inhaled as we walked past cafes, but more often we smelt the fresh odour of urine. Men in Addis urinate wherever they like, and in full view of passers by. They obviously have no choice, but it made for some interesting sights and smells. The hustle and bustle of everyone going somewhere throughout the sprawling city made for some interesting city adventures. The construction sites were amazing to see. Men digging huge trenches in the hard rocky ground with nothing more than a pick, and a row of men chipping away at concrete with a hammer and chisel were 2 of my observations. The scaffolding for multi storey buildings was also a sight. Put it this way, I would be very nervous working 10 stories up on their ‘slapped together’ scaffolding.
There is a huge gap between the rich and the poor within the city. We saw many well-dressed Ethiopians driving the latest Mercedes Benz or Toyota 4WD. At the other end of the scale, the majority was many poor Ethiopians roaming the streets begging for money, trying to sell random items, or cleaning the shoes of the wealthy. The begging was especially quite distressing and hard to observe. Many kids walked with us for a few hundred meters begging for money. They would spot us from far away, and then target us for money. As much as we tried to blend in, being white made us glow in the sea of black skin. It was quite draining to spend a morning roaming the streets and to be approached or walk by about 50 beggars; ranging from small children, to mothers with babies, to the elderly, to people with horrible disabilities or deformities. Some parts of South America had many beggars, but in Addis it was constant, and very sad, sometimes heartbreaking. A classic example of rich and poor was when we saw two men herding their goats past the world class Hilton Hotel. It is the first capital city where we have seen goats and sheep being walked up and down in search of green city pastures.
Security in the city was also interesting. Banks and other important buildings were always guarded with uniformed soldiers carrying automatic weapons. Our hotel also had a guard, but he was a scruffy looking man that had no weapons or uniform, and got bossed around by the female hotel staff. He made us feel safe though!
Although nothing could prepare us for the crazy city that it was, over time, we became more and more comfortable being there. However, being non-city people, we were glad to leave the hustle and bustle, and the fumes from the ancient and overused cars, and start pedalling.

Time to ride, but it hasn’t all been pleasant
Although many kids ran along next to us and were harmless and friendly, these little buggers were trying to jump on the trailer. I had to stop and negotiate with them.

A couple of cute and curious kids outside their house.
The friendly version of chasing kids.
Stopping in some places was not possible without getting mobbed. This crew were very friendly. There is a bike and trailer under there somewhere.
We liked kids who just looked and waved.One thing is for certain, there is never a dull moment while riding your bicycle through Ethiopia. So far it has brought us many fond memories of interesting villages and culture, and charming people who have survived atrocities in their country to still smile and tip their hat as we ride past. It has also been a tiring stretch, both physically and emotionally. Physically, it will take a while to get our fitness level up, so pulling our heavy loads has been tiresome. Emotionally, the Ethiopians have been extremely taxing. Each village we have cycled through has given us a different reaction, but one commonality is the intense attention we receive. This has come in the form of staring, and it has also come in the form of mobs of locals running along next to us as we cycle through their village. In the early part of this stretch, most of the attention was bearable, and it was easy to find plenty of nice and genuine Ethiopians to drown out the little shits who liked to torment us. It was still constant though, and I swear each village had an informer who sat about 500m to the north, who then relayed a message to the village chief that we are approaching, and the village chief then put an announcement over the loud speaker which went something like: “Attention everyone, and I mean everyone, STOP WHAT YOU ARE DOING IMMEDIATELY. We have two Faranjis (white people) coming on bicycles and when they arrive, I want you all to stare at them, chase them if you are up to it, ask them for money and if they stop, surround them and hassle them”. This is how it felt anyway, but rarely was anyone unpleasant towards us. They always had a smile on their faces and were just curious. Going downhill was fine as we could speed away. Uphill through a town was different story. We were sitting ducks for the little kids and they knew it. They would make the most of it and run/walk beside us all the way. They found it to be a great game and lots of fun. Although it was frustrating and difficult to relax, it was harmless and rarely hostile.

On the outskirts of a town, this donkey was most likely worked until its demise.

“You, You, You … Give me da money”
The innocence and respect soon changed as we ventured further south. It suddenly became the most unpleasant place we have cycled in (which is saying a lot), because along with the attention came aggression and dislike, and hatred in some instances. I’m not sure why, and we have been bewildered as much as we have been frustrated and worn out. Demands of money, water, pens … anything were prevalent, and many people honestly believed that we should have given them something. Maybe irresponsible and thoughtless aid to this country has contributed to this attitude? I’m not sure, but their attitudes of expecting handouts from farangis was disgusting and disturbing. Shouts of: “YOU, YOU, YOU … GIVE ME DA MONEY” came from everyone, and finding nice genuine Ethiopians started to become a rarity. The occasional “fuck you” was also directed our way and suddenly our forced smiles and hellos weren’t as effective anymore. Ignoring them often invited a few rocks or fruit scraps hurled our way. It was horrible to ride through a town and be subject to such abuse and hostility. We didn’t feel in real danger, but nor did we feel welcome. In fact far from it, and it was enough for me to store a couple of rocks in my pocket as a bit of an insurance policy a few times. The stares were like southern China, and the rudeness and disrespect was like parts of Peru. Combine the two, get some kids chasing you and throwing a few rocks at you and you have a bloody unpleasant place to cycle. The invasion of personal space also became tiresome. To the locals, it is OK to touch any part of our bikes or trailers (some little buggers try and sit on the trailer as we ride, and we have had to remove the flags due to kids trying to pinch them), or us physically. Sometimes this has been a harmless handshake, but often it has been a slap as we ride past. I have learnt quickly that any reaction that may be perceived as being angry or disapproving only spurs them on more. There is nothing more entertaining than an upset and angry ginger bearded farangi on a bike. There isn’t much we can do except cop it, and this becomes quite challenging after hours and hours, and days and days of the same treatment. On more than one occasion I have lost my cool, and my male bravado took over from my brain momentarily as I chased kids through dusty streets on my bike. One kid threw something at Christine as kids were chasing us out of a town. I made a beeline towards him and he quickly made for the safety of the maze of dirty and confusing streets. I was shouting and pointing at him as I rode after him and I think a few of the locals were quite shocked. The boy disappeared, but he got the message. This was not the only time I had to turn around to seek out some kids who either threw things at us or slapped us as we rode by. Usually we could rely on the elders to tell the little kids to “piss off”, but they weren’t always around.

Stick Boys
This place didn’t include a “stick boy”, so the crowd could watch in peace.

Escaping at roadside cafés for a drink has invited much attention in towns too. It is in the owner’s best interest though, to keep us there for more business, so they have dealt with audiences making us uncomfortable swiftly and violently. As we sat in some cafés, the owner would employ a stick boy. Stick boys job was to keep the masses at bay, and if anyone came too close as to disturb us, then stick boy had free range to wield his weapon (usually a solid branch or a whip like stick). Young Ethiopian boys are very cheeky, and very brave, so they would often test out stick boy to see how close they could get to the farangis. On more than one occasion, we saw little kids running away holding their backside or arm after a whopping blow from stick boy which sure would have stung and left a red mark. When they hit each other or throw rocks at each other here, they don’t muck around and go all out. We didn’t like seeing kids get whacked by stick boy, and it was very violent, but to be honest, we didn’t feel that much sympathy. We had been tormented by plenty of little kids along the way. We really have felt all alone at times with nowhere to hide. Luckily we have always had our bikes to speed off and hope for the best with the next town.

Poor Animals
They have not only become hostile towards us, but the way they treat their horses and donkeys which pull their carts full of goods and people is downright cruel. They literally flog them until they die, after which they are sent to a crocodile farm as food. They beat them with sticks, throw rocks at them and whip them to move in the heat. The animals often have untreated wounds, are underfed and look worn out from years of hard work. Being animal lovers, this is difficult for us to accept. It is hard to see the charming side of the people so far when they treat us, and their animals, in such a disrespectful way. But this is Ethiopia, who are we to say something is right or wrong? We have no idea what they have been through and why they behave like this. We will learn to accept the people like we have in different countries. We may not enjoy or agree with the people, but we will experience their culture and accept that this is how they live.

You can’t quite make Ross out, but in the middle of this mayhem Ross is trying to ride out of a town with a mixture of friendly and not so friendly kids.

German Man

We realised we weren’t alone when one day we were riding and we saw the unmistakable image of another loaded bicycle approach from the other direction. German Man (we didn’t get his name) has been riding around the world for the last 8 years and has ridden much of what we will ride having come from Cape Town. He is on his way home via Europe and Scandinavia to finish his 9-year tour. We chatted with him on the side of the road for a while (after which I discovered that a little girl spent the time writing all over my bag which she thought was quite alright) and he was enjoying speaking to us as he hadn’t seen or spoke to another white person in about a month. He said that Ethiopia has been one of his worst countries in terms of the people being rude and disrespectful. He also said that it gets worse the further south in Ethiopia you go. This sunk our spirits as we had already had enough by then. He said that it only happens in Ethiopia and that he was counting his days before he left Ethiopia to enter Sudan. On a brighter note, he got us excited about Kenya and the rest of Africa. We have much to look forward to, including plenty of friendly locals. We are definitely getting the hardest part done first.

A Sad Day
By far the most disturbing thing we have witnessed was a poor donkey getting hit by a truck. We were cycling along one day and we had had a few incidents with pesky kids chasing us throughout the morning. On numerous occasions I was having verbal disputes with kids to tell them to stop chasing, asking for money and grabbing on to everything as we sweated our way through towns. One little kid slapped Christine on the bum. I turned around to chase him but he scampered away into the maze of dirty and dusty streets nowhere to be seen. We wanted and needed a break, and this only came in secluded parts of the road between towns. Along this stretch though, there were people everywhere, and finding a spot on the side of the road to eat our bananas and bread without an audience was not easy. We finally spotted a vacant patch of grass, and pulled over. Like always, before too long an audience had gathered out of nowhere. We weren’t very friendly has we had experienced quite a draining morning, and just needed some space. A group of teenage boys were herding their dozen or so donkeys along the road, so naturally they stopped to analyse and laugh at the farangis eating on the side of the road. Meanwhile, their donkeys were all over the road enjoying a rare moment of freedom and not being hit with a stick. A huge tanker rounded the bend and made little effort to brake before he collected the back half of one of the donkeys. It went down, with its back legs, pelvis and back clearly broken and mangled. Its head was not hit, and the impact was at a speed which was not enough to kill the donkey. It did not die, but just lay on the road in obvious excruciating pain. There was a lot of shouting as the truck sped off, and a few of the boys started chasing the truck. The peaceful rest spot had turned into chaos as this poor donkey lay on the road unable to get up. There was nothing we could do, so reluctantly we rode off. We were very shaken, and very upset. As we left they were standing around the donkey, I suppose wondering what to do. It would have died eventually; I just hope it was put out of its misery sooner rather than later. It was horrible, and we were in quite a lot of shock for the next part of the day. Enough shock to lose our security instincts, which was exploited by a group of kids in the next crazy town as they relieved Christine of her bread and biscuits off her trailer.

Cycle in Ethiopia and you can cycle anywhere!
Ethiopia so far has been an experience, and as we read about our friends (the Devers) riding in Asia, we have longed for the friendliness of the Thai, Laos and Cambodian people. Ethiopia will be a country we’ll look back at and be glad we cycled through, but not one we’ll rush back to in a hurry. We knew it would be challenging, and this trip is not supposed to be holiday. It is an adventure, and a trip to visit and experience the way different cultures live. So if you are feeling sorry for us at some of our trying times, DON’T, because we wouldn’t have it any other way. We consider ourselves lucky to be able to experience such a different country, and although it has been mostly unpleasant, tiring and frustrating, it is all part of the adventure. Being optimists though, we still have high hopes for the next stretch. We have much more cycling to go in Ethiopia as we venture into the remote part of south-western Ethiopia where traditional villages live how they have always lived, and remain distant from the modern world (so far we have encounted an Ethiopia which is extremely poor, but is trying to join the modern world. It is not working very well). We are excited about this change of scenery, and we are hopeful that our image of Ethiopia and its people will be restored. We will also venture into wild animal territory, which we can’t wait for (the only African animal we have seen so far has been road kill – a hyena). German Man told us of memorable encounters with wild elephants, hyenas and even lions. One thing we aren’t looking forward to is 100’s of km of rough and bumpy unpaved roads. We have only ridden 50km of dirt road so far and it was tough going. South-western Ethiopia and north-western Kenya are renowned for terrible roads, and long stretches of nothing … that is why it is so remote. Oh, in case you were wondering, the food has been getting “more challenging”, and the weather has been scorching. Challenging and interesting days lie ahead!

Fundraising is going well.

2006-12-12T08:02:00.000+10:00

Firstly, from now every update will include our progressive tally for our fund raising. You can see that our tally so far is $1,597 … a great result. However, we do have our sights set on $10,000 ($5,000 for each of our charities).
Tally so far:
13 Nov 2006 Craig Hopkins $100
13 Nov 2006 Robbie Hunt $20
16 Nov 2006 Howqua Girls $1,227
20 Nov 2006 Unknown $200
28 Nov 2006 Annabel Marshall-Roth $50
Total $1,597
This leads me on to my next point. We are asking for people to put their hand in their pockets to donate to our charities. It is not in our nature to make such a request, but we are committed to achieving our target and supporting the charities which we have chosen. It will only be a few months before we visit the Tumaini Training Centre in Northern Tanzania, and we would like to present them with the money that we have raised. We realise that now is a difficult time financially for many people as Christmas and holidays fast approach, but we feel that this is all the more reason to donate. Australians spend so much money on presents in a society that already lives comfortably and already has so much. While we are stressing about what to buy and how much to spend, many people around the world go without. I am proposing that you buy one less present, or spend a little less on presents this year and donate the remaining money. A friend of mine said to me that he had only raised $35. I said to him that although $35 may not be much to us in Australia, $35 to our charities means a great deal. EVERY CENT COUNTS and it all adds up and it all makes a positive difference.
Please, if you do donate into the nominated bank account, leave your name or send an email so we can acknowledge your contribution on the website. You can see from our progressive tally table that we have some unknown donators. Please forward this update on to people who may be interested, and direct them to the website where they can subscribe to receive our updates from Africa.
Below is a recent article in the Mansfield Courier Newspaper. It is nice to have this article in the paper just to give the locals an idea of what we’re setting off to do. We have got to know many people in Mansfield through our sporting commitments and it is a place we are very fond of. There is something about life in small country towns that is friendly and relaxing. Mansfield is definitely that.

As the bushfires ravage through North Eastern Victoria, we hope that people, properties and animals come out at the end of it all still intact. Where we live at Howqua is still at risk. It is scary to think about what could happen, but being the optimists that we are, we are confident that all our belongings will be OK as we store them for next year.
We have finished school now and our departure is fast approaching. It was sad to finish school and farewell the students. We love working at Howqua and the nature of the job means we become quite close to many of the students. It is hard to leave some of the girls when we spend all year being their teacher, outdoor leader and tutor (which is like being a parent in many ways). It is so rewarding to watch the girls grow and develop over the year and we definitely had a fantastic 2006 Howqua year. Howqua really is a magical place and we will certainly miss it next year.
We recently visited the Ethiopian Consulate in Melbourne to get our Ethiopia Visa. We started to get excited as we sat and read books and looked at maps. It is shaping to be a challenging country. Water, food, accommodation, roads and people are all going to be “interesting” aspects of the country. At this stage we plan to cycle a route through a less visited area of Ethiopia which is going to make it a tough start to our trip. But we are ready!!
All our preparations are coming together and we are as prepared as we’ll ever be. The next few weeks we will be enjoying some time with family and friends, as well as completing our final preparations. We will also be eating as much nice food as possible because a variety of delicious food is something that we certainly won’t have for the next 10 months or so.
Our next update will be from somewhere in the crazy and wild place that is Ethiopia.
Merry Christmas,
Ross and Christine

biking4bikes

2006-11-20T10:14:00.000+10:00

13 November 2006

Welcome to the Biking4Bikes website. It is not long to go now before we leave and preparations are going well. As we juggle our busy lives at Howqua with getting ready for our big adventure, we find ourselves enjoying the exciting lead up period. We have had all our vaccinations and have nearly finished organising all our equipment which we will rely so heavily upon. When we find ourselves battling challenging conditions off the beaten track in Africa, the last thing we need is for our equipment to fail.

Christine riding in our “backyard”.
The trailer bag and panniers are empty.

Christine with her bike and trailer.

We have to think carefully about what to take. We also have to make sure our bicycles are properly prepared. Our bikes in the past have not only been our source of transport, but they have also been our freedom and independence. They mean everything to us when we are bike touring. We have made some adjustments from our New Zealand trip and we took them for a fully loaded test ride. They were beautiful! Very comfortable, and we started to imagine how they would take us 12000km through Africa. How they would carry us through deserts and jungles, along rough and bumpy roads, over high mountains and through the hustle and bustle of African city life. They will become more than just a bicycle. Thanks to Rick Hay at Dean Woods Cycles for the great work he has done.

Our study has become our storage and preparations room at home.

A new and exciting addition to our trailers is our flags. The yellow “BOB” flags weren’t that exciting and we needed a change. We wanted something original, something Australian and something that couldn’t possibly offend the locals. We decided on the Australian boxing kangaroo in green and gold. It will also remind us of the fighting Australian spirit when times get tough.

Howqua Girls Kick Off Fund Raising

This is a photo of the girls who completed the most laps in the Ring Road For Charity. They are a great group of girls who were so keen and positive. From left is Char Debenham, Georgie Collinson, Lizzie McMahon, Sophie Edwards, Julz Canavan, Annabelle Russell, Emma Smith, Jade Soo and Lauren Wilson. We think they are stars!Over the past 5 weeks many of our students at Howqua have participated in the Ring Road For Charity. They basically were sponsored by friends and family to ride as many laps around the Ring Road as possible (the Ring Road is a 2.2km circuit road around the Howqua Campus). At the end, they totalled up their laps and collected the money which will all go to our chosen charities. It was a fantastic effort and it was inspiring to see so many girls trying their best for a great cause. Some of the girls were so keen and would be out on the bikes early in the early morning rain, hail or shine. We did have a friendly competition between each of the student houses and Mirrabooka House completed the most laps. In total, the Howqua girls completed 390 laps and raised a total of $1252.50. An amazing effort and a response that was far greater than our expectations. Congratulations and thankyou to all who participated. Your efforts are certainly appreciated and you have done yourselves and the Lauriston community proud. The money you have raised is certainly going to greatly help people in need in Namibia and Tanzania. When we are in Africa we will give an update on where the money goes and how it helps the local communities. Please see below for a full list of the students who raised money:

Ring Road 4 Charity – Fund Raising Totals
Amanda Ma $22.10
Alicia Kalus $56
Poon Ratanabanthoon $9
Char Debenham $138
Jade Soo $84.50
Lou Bensz $14
Marissa Schulze $4
Rosheen Kaul $20
Jessie Carter $10
Anita Schmidt $28
Alice Roberts $2
Laura Blair-West $4.20
Maneka Sivanathan $56
Sarah Rockefeller $20
Eleanor Bulford $31
My My Carroll $10
Harriet Geddes $10
Morgan Koegel $
Annabel Marshal-Roth $18
Teddy Musolino $50
Sarah Cathcart $2
Jess Stockton $21
Lauren Wilson $27.70
Julia Canavan $400
Lizzie McMahon $100
Emma Smith $28
Georgie Collinson $7.50
Annabelle Russell $17.50
Sophie Edwards $22
Lexy White $30
Jess Connor $10