After Mongolia.....

Don't worry, I haven't lost my bearings, not seriously anyway. Just wanted to say that Namibia is the second least densely populated country on earth after Mongolia and, although it's fairly well developed, more so than Tanzania, Zambia and Malawi, things are ....er.... far apart. I wanted to write something in Katima Mulilo, 5 days and 500 km ago, but the whole town had an internet plague, so I just concentrated  on eating, drinking and resting.

Since then it's been mostly trees. Anyway, I expect most of you are too busy, superglued to the Olympics or permanently drunk after Halifax's magnificent defeat of Feath, to be reading about an obsessive cyclist.

Now I'm in Rundu, another pleasantly scruffy, but well appointed town on the River Okavango, which forms the border with Angola to the north. The Okavango, as some of you will know, is the river that flows into Botswana and finishes in a big, swampy delta, famous for it's wild life. Here it's just a lovely river full of tasty, if rather bony, fish, crocodiles, also on local menus, and hippos, which are best avoided.

After Livingstone....

So, just to summarise the last 8 days since Livingstone and the Vic Falls..... I left Livingstone and soon ran into some  impressively large wild elephants. I'll swear the minibus at the front of the queue could've driven under the leader's legs. I'd been told they were all round the town. These were ambling slowly across the road.

A couple of miles later I earned a load of points for my I Spy Book when I saw a lone elephant pursuing a man in a green suit, collar and tie and with a Bible in his hand. The latter is a common sight on a Sunday, which this was. Jumbo was marching purposefully alongside a railway line running parallel to the road. The guy in the green suit was also walking, increasingly briskly, down the line about 100 yds in front of it and shooting nervous glances over his shoulder. I'm not making it up ! You see some strange sights in Africa.

I did about 70 km that day to a run-down town called Kazungula. About 20 km short of it I got the dreaded back tyre puncture. Dreaded because the good quality Schwalbe tyres I use are a bit of a bad dream to get on and off. I know, as I'd put this one on a couple of months before. There is even stuff on line telling you how to get this brand of tyre on and off. It was 1 o'clock in the afternoon and hot and the flies were buzzing. It took about an hour to get a new tube and tyre on, as all the luggage had to come off. So I entered Kazungula a bit bad tempereed. It was meant to be an easy day. I found a decent B and B with a large room that made an excellent cycle workshop. I located a tiny shard of glass in the old tyre, fished it out with tweezers and put the tyre back on.

Let me help you....

This section is devoted to all the people since Dar who, unasked, have offered help. It's made the trip a pleasure.

Next morning I was sitting on my bed drinking tea and looking absent-mindedly at my bike when it appeared that the main support on one side of the rear panier rack had snapped in two. It must be an optical illusion, I thought, a pessimistic turn of mind. Sadly not, it had sheared in half. There were rumble strips across the road yesterday to slow the traffic down at elephant crossing points. Cars mostly ignore them but they shake bikes to bits. Literally in my case. Oh bugger! The ride to the Namibian border that day was off. I'd been told about the ingenuity of African metal bodgers but did not think I would have to put them to the test. I wheeled my bike into the lounge (OK in Africa) and told them I might need another night and showed them the problem. I thought I might have to return to Livingstone.


The lodge factotum, a skinny guy of about 45 called Joseph, was there. "I know a man. Let me escort you there." It was just dawn and chilly. Outside we set off down some dusty footpaths. At this time of year - the dry season - there's a lot of soft sand about. Even pushing a bike is hard work. "Let me help you " he said and grabbed the handle-bars. We reached the local metal- basher's place, an open-air workshop with mountains of scrap metal from previous and ongoing jobs. Their main line was door frames, windows and security grills. The owner wasn't there yet and Joseph built a fire to keep us warm. We chatted till a guy of about 25 arrived. Within an hour he'd cut a neat steel bracket to match the broken bit, off-set it perfectly, drilled it and rivetted it to the rack. The rack is ali so there was no welding it. "How much do I owe you? I asked. 10,000 Kwatchas, he suggested, unsure what to charge me. That's about one pound 25. Mistakenly I gave him 100,000 Kwatcha (12 pounds or so). Embarrassed, he gave it me back and pointed to the correct note in the collection in my fist. In the end I gave him 50,000 telling him how pleased I was to have it fixed so quickly and so well. Joseph pushed the bike back for me, said good-bye, and set off home. He was the night watchman and was probably going to bed.

I set my sights for the day on a town called Mwandi, 70 kms away on a flat, easy road. I arrived about 3 pm. It was just a big village, right on the Zambezi and with a nice feel to it.There was a tidy lodge and I settled in ready for a beer and a  siesta after the hassle of the day.  When I took the luggage off - unbelievable - the other side had sheared identically. Double bugger! I thought it was a remote possiblity and I had thought of asking the guy to fix both sides but I wanted to get moving. I showed the break to a young bloke called Peter who just happened to be around. Like in a scene from Groundhog Day we pushed the bike up the street to another metal-basher, showed the two men there the previous job and asked them to do something similar. They dropped what they were doing and spent 2 hours on it as they had no electric drill or rivetter. I gave them some of my spare screws, they took it to a wood-worker over the street and got it drilled there. "What do I owe you?". "What did you pay the other guy?" they asked. I told them and handed them 50,000 Kwatcha. They seemed suited.

I've tried to rationalise the kindness of the  Africans I've met. Why are they so helpful? I think they like it when a different face appears in town. Whites don't get to the smaller places much and they are curious to know what the hell you are doing, especially on a bicycle. Also they live mostly outside in the sun, which is an important factor. And their time is not as scheduled as ours. Many work very hard but are happy to break off. Many others are unemployed and are happy to have something useful to do. And I think some like speaking English, which they do very well, to the English. I suppose equally, a lot of poverty engenders a certain mutual cooperation. Whichever and whyever, it's made my trip so much better and I'm grateful to many of them for it.

The next day, day 54, I reached Katima Mulilo on the other side of the Zambesi and the first town in Namibia. When I spotted an internet sign on a building the following day I went in and tried a computer but, as I said, the whole town was on an internet go-slow. The owner was a 76 year old Jewish gent called Michel. He'd lived in Egypt, where he still had family, and Iraq and had finally come to rest in this corner of Namibia. He showed me photos on his computer of his family and of himself, literally rolling around with well grown lions in the lion sanctury in Livingstone. He ran the business with his Chinese wife Luna. I showed him some family snaps and told him of my Dad in army gear posing in front of the Sphinx in 1940. They told me to come back for lunch later in the day which I did. Luna had cooked up a delicious spicy chicken stew. After lunch we watched an American horror film on the computer and then took photos of each other. Michel looks remarkably like Omar Sharief. 

Maybe it was Michel rolling around with the lions that persuaded me I'd be safe cycling through the Caprivi Game Park. From Katima I rode 100 km  to Kongola the last town, just before the Park. There I followed a sign pointing down a sandy track to a campsite. It was a nice little spot on the River Kwando. That night I opted to eat 2 km down river at their lodge. I was taken their for free in a motor-boat and had another good meal in a palatial guest-house which caters for upmarket tours. It's surprising to find such peace and luxury stuck in the middle of the bush. After the meal, in the dark, under a starry sky, I was taken back by boat to the camp-site.

The next day was a bit nerve-racking. It was 200km across the Game Park to the next town Bagani. I can't do 200km in 12 hours, the length of daylight, so I'd have to spend one night in the park. Fran Sandham, on his walk, must have spent several nights in the park, so I reckoned I could manage one. There is a tribe called the San who live in the park, about half way along the road. I planned to have a night with them. About 7.30 am I reached the Park gate. "Aren't you afraid of lions?" one of the park wardens asked. I said something cool and British, like" I'm more afraid of mosquitos and humans in big scary lorries", while thinking, "why the f*ck did you have to mention lions?". I don't think there are many in there. Some guide books don't mention them at all. But since, I've been asked by a number of  local Namibians the same question, "weren't you afraid of the lions?" After 100 km of the park I'd only seen only butterflies, birds and ants, so I was growing in confidence. Also I'd hatched another "accommodation" plan. I didn't really fancy sleeping at one of the villages as I'd be tired and have to be sociable, a good guest, all evening. In different circumstances I don't mind that. I've said Namibia is more developed, well, they have laid on concrete pic-nic tables and 2 concrete benches every 10 kms along the road, another indication that the lions stay away from the road, I reckon. I thought I could throw my tent fly-sheet over the whole lot, table and benches, and spend a comfortable night under the table. So that is what I did at about km 140. There are elephants in the park and I thought that lying under a concrete table with a concrete bench on one side was as good a protection as you could get from an elephant trampling, which is bound to be painful. On the other hand I did seem to remember that Fran Sandham  mentioned in his book that 2 tourists were killed by lions while pic-nicking one evening. But, to counter that dismal thought, I'd been told several times that lions leave tents alone. Perfect ! I went to bed about 6.30 . I read a large chunk of Hunt for Red October under there and had a good supper of peanut butter butties - they have a very high energy rating if you look at the stats on the jars - dried fruit, nuts, wet fruit (an apple) and various other delicacies. And I slept surprisingly well on my camp mattress.

I got up refreshed when it came light - that's when lions go to bed - and it was another glorious African sunrise, cool and clear. The birds were singing sweetly and I had a good breakfast. I don't normally grumble or rave about the weather. Weather is weather. Early tribes came to England partly because it had decent weather, not for sitting in the garden but for growing stuff and not freezing to death in winter. But I've got to say that the weather here is wonderful. Even the middle of the night is good with clear skies and a refreshing chill. I sometimrs wish I had Patrick Moore with me to point out what's what. The stillness at dawn is magical. And the light around 8 or 9 o'clock is special. It must be the sort of light that Van Gogh loved in Arles when he was knocking out a painting every day and begging his brother for more money for paint. The colours here at the moment are the deep blue of the sky, the golden yellow of the grass and the green of the trees. 

I just had 60 km to go to the exit gate to the park. I was only about 20 km from the gate when I got a reminder that this was an African Game Park and not a Sunday ride to Harrogate. I was riding along in a bit of a trance when a snake shot across my path. It was going at a hell of a speed in that strange rolling motion they have. I must have missed it by a hair's breadth. I was out of my trance in a millisecond and my left leg shot up somewhere near my left ear in order to avoid any poisonous lunge at my bare leg. It was about 6 foot long, light green and skinny. And probably more terrified than me.

Only about a mile later I saw my first elephants in the park. A very large elephant was standing by the road side. It was unmistakably a bull elephant. It was standing there not doing  much at all. When I drew level - I'd pulled over to the other side - it turned it's head slowly to look at me. He decided I was just too scary and he ambled off briskly deeper into the bush to join his mate, who was ravaging some trees.

All in all I was happy to get to the park boundary. For one thing there hadn't been a shop for 2 days and supplies were getting low or rancid. At Bagani there was a good food store full of locals doing their Sunday shop, just like in the UK. I found a nice lodge on the banks of the Okavango. The next day I cycled a further 100 km and found a very comfortable  lodge, Tatella Lodge at Ndiyona, on the old dirt road which runs closer to the river. The tarmac road, a few kms away and parallel was only built in the late 90s. It was Sunday. The big steel security gate was locked when I arrived and no amount of shouting could raise anybody. A neighbour directed me to a bar just across a field. There I found Luciano, a son of the owner. He let me into the lodge and told me his older brother Lazarus would be along later to "look after me". Lazarus turned up later and had clearly had a few. He was very amiable and invited me to join him in the meal he was cooking. I said I wouldn't mind a beer, so he was quite happy to walk back across the fields  to the bar for one. The meal wasn't a huge success with the fish half fused to the oven dish.We ate on a terrace overlooking the river. Lazarus threw his unwanted food over the wall into the river and broke off his rambling tales every so often to urinate over the wall. In the end I followed suit not wanting to appear rude. And so ended another day in Africa. Next morning I was up around 5.30 as usual. I let myself out. Fortunately Lazarus had forgotten to put the padlock on the gate. I thought I wouldn't wake him.  I had another 100km to do to reach Rundu where I am now. I developed another puncture 10 km short of town: the bike slowed and started to wander. Another back tyre puncture. Aie! Caramba!. I pumped some air into and it just got me in. A patch on the tube had worked loose.

From here it's about 850 km to Walvis Bay. I have 2 weeks to do that. If all continues to go without major problems I should be able to pedal there in relative comfort. The roads in Namibia are good and straight and flat which is fine for knocking out the kms. And the coast is over 1000 m lower than here. It's all downhill to Walvis Bay !  Thanks for reading and, the usual reminder, you might want to sponsor me. See the end of the post entitled One sleep later to get details of what it's in aid of, how to sign up etc.