ZIMBAWBE BORDER – 18 JUNE
About 70 kms to the border and most obvious are the queues at the petrol pumps – obviously you’d best fill up prior to crossing over so we do. The border itself proves simple, in and out of the Moz side in minutes and then into the Zim side after only a few minutes of jostling about with tankers trying to force their way ahead in the bottleneck of the entrance. I enter with docs in hand and leave Clare to guard the truck as we’d done in Moz – though here there is nobody loitering about and police a’plenty so am confident vehicle security will not be a concern. Having filled out Visa applications for us both I arrive at the desk of the most stern-looking woman I have ever been confronted with. I smile, she scowls dismissively; I greet, she ignores. I hand over both applications and passports and she studies each carefully; on Clare’s she looks at the passport, then at the application, and demands “Who is this woman?” My wife. “Where is she?” In the truck I say, indicating, as it is parked in plain view of the door. “Did you sign this for her?” Yes. “Can she not write?” Uh, no, she can write. I am met with silence. Shall I bring her in? Silence, but she does scratch out my signature on her form (this is allowable on the Moz docs). I’ll go and get her then, shall I, going all schoolboy in the face of her unrelenting scorn. Silence. So go and get Clare, only to return and find the agent’s chair empty; she has obviously had quite enough of ridiculous tourists for today and has gone into the tea room adjacent, leaving passports and docs scattered on her desk. In her place though is the world’s friendliest guy, who cares not who signs what and Clare is shortly back out at the truck and I am lightened by 110 USD for both single entrance visas.
Next desk over for third party insurance and Temporary Import Permit; sorted quickly, as is the paying of all applicable fees totalling a further 55 USD. The issue is, however, nobody has any change and so we go round in circles for some time trying to put together the 15 USD I am owed (plus additional 50 Rand I am asked to throw in to try and make things easier by raising the amount of return required to a large bill not several small) – it takes two versions of a detailed funds-transfer diagram produced by all parties cooperatively to finally clarify what has been paid to whom and for what – and what has been returned as required - before I can leave assured all has come out on top (they insist I must not leave until I am clear so have no cloud of doubt about them in any way ...). All is laughs and smiles through it all though, no hassle at all just a bit of embarrassment on their part for not being able to cover the funds easily enough – especially with the lights going out repeatedly throughout the process, adding to the sense of folly and degraded states ...
In need of air for one of the tires we begin the fruitless search for a service station either a) still operating; or, b) with electricity to operate the pump. We pass a few very rudimentary stations: some with unleaded only, some with diesel only and many others, although open, having neither on offer ... At writing we’re now in Bulawayo and have still not found an air pump operating – it’ll have to be the compressor instead (with some degree of trepidation given first workings with it, and I will definitely be heaving it if it melts out the fuse again ...); diesel though is fairly prevalent now.
300+ k on and we arrive at the Great Zimbabwe Ruins campsite outside of Masvingo, having first driven through some of the most beautiful scenery along Lake Mutirikwi and across the Dam (where we come across a column of over a dozen vintage Mercedes Benz’s parked on the wayside and at the tail end of a 3 week circumnavigation of Zimbabwe). The campsite is operated by the national parks board the site and is fine, though with some fairly aggressive baboons and very cheeky Vervets who succeed in stealing my breakfast sandwich just prior to our departure after Clare turned her back for one second ... After setting up we are shocked at how quickly it becomes exceedingly cold, given how nice the day has been, and even though we have plenty of firewood provided by our guard – who will be sitting under a tree 100 yards away from us for the night – we are frozen by 1800 (I in thermal undershirt, light thermal second layer, quilted puffa jacket under windstopper fleece and hat and am shivering uncontrollably until I can stoke the flames up high enough to ward off the freeze ...). But it is World Cup and we must find it, so we trudge off to find the lodge, where we have been told at reception they will be showing England versus Algeria at 2000. We find not a lodge but a frozen night watchman under a tree, who on several takes of explanation finally gathers what we are asking about and ushers us into an empty guest cottage, where another watchman is set up on the couch with the game ready to go. Huge greetings, much laughing about why we would be out and about in such cold weather but we’re all soon set in and well into the spirit of it all together (though we do not find the local commercials near as funny as our new friend does, who gales, snorts and slaps his thigh through each one while we exchange quizzical glances ...).
After a surprisingly decent and warm in the tent night’s sleep huddled in thermals under a sleeping bag and poncho liner each we set off to explore the ruins (circa 1200-1500 AD) – the largest stone buildings south of the great pyramids of Egypt. Stunning; really, absolutely incredible, and a very well run site as well with informative guides available for 3 USD and an excellent, though small, supporting museum displaying just how extensive the trade routes through the area were at the time, with pan-African beads, European coins, Chinese pottery and Arab copperworks found in abundance.
Not willing to face another night’s freeze in the park we struck out at 1300 for Bulawayo, 280 km southwest, arriving at 1800 – in the dark, of course - after a great run through stunning scenery of baobab trees and bougainvillea bushes huge as the trees they stand beside and along perfect tarmac roads – marred only by the direct west route for the final 30 minutes into Bulawayo that places the setting sun directly into driver’s eyes and makes the road ahead disappear like some mean-prick-of-a-conjurer’s trick ...
There are two campsite options within town lines, and we chose Packers, a private house that allows both B&B as well as camping options (on the grass out front and in the gravel lot in back). At 10 USD pppn it’s a decent deal, with lovely lounge, kitchen and toilets/showers shared between all guests (how nice to be able to eat at a table!). Bulawayo itself proves very quiet on the Sunday when we head out, the streets pretty much roll up for the day with the exception of the numerous churches competing to send their sermonizing out into the masses, but it is lovely with many old colonial buildings still retaining some of their original charms despite looking a bit sad around the edges now, and the people all prove very pleasant and friendly ...
Monday, June 21, 2010
Mozambique - Beaches and Bullet Holes
From R. Garcia we headed east on the EN4, a decent tarmac road but with a few fairly hectic and madly-congested, potholed and/or dirt-only spots due to road works on the surrounds of Maputo, then headed north on the EN1. Many radar traps as well, though fairly easy to spot as a pack of bright white shirts and blue trousers on the roadside ahead (usually converged under a large – and obvious - shady tree or some overhang for shade). We’d been warned of four traffic police issues that would have to be regularly contended with in Moz: bored police looking for a ‘spot fine’; radar guns with suspect calibration; and spot checks to ensure the vehicle has a blue background/yellow triangle decal on front right bumper (and corresponding, larger one, on rear of any trailer in tow); and a yellow high-viz jacket not just in carry but placed in sight over the drivers chair and worn anytime out of the vehicle in a mechanical issue or accident. Apparently any of these were all fairly flexible hassles at one time or the other but so far – and to the experience of everyone else we have met so far – the only stops have been for legitimate speeding infractions and nobody has had the slightest hassle in any way other so all agree there must have been a (surprising but highly-welcomed) decree from on high to leave the tourista alone unless truly justified. Though in trying to drive legally it can be a bit maddening to just hit top cruising speed in a clear 120 Kph zone (about 105-110 for us) only to have a random downturn to 80, then 60 be required (always the two in tandem, about 200-300 metres apart) and have to slow for no apparent reason but seems easy enough to avoid the fines if you just play the game and drive as demanded (note to all those ZA-registered vehicles with trailers, convoyed up to 5 in total regularly roaring past us in a grouped right-side pass at 160+ ...).
From all the warnings and prior generalizations we continued to be impressed with the quality of the roads and were able to hit a decent stride and sit back and enjoy the passing, stunning scenery; all long lazy climbs and descents across rolling hills lush with palm though admittedly spare of much else (unless you count piles of hardwood stacked road side to be sold as firewood as an arboreal sight ...). Oddly enough there are also few birds, and many times I’ve started as a butterfly wings past my windscreen, realizing I’d not seen anything else fly by in hours ... A lot of fruit though: papayas and oranges arranged in pyramids of bright colour at roadside vendors, or cashew nuts bagged up and held aloft to attract the passing trade by young guys pulling off odd dance moves as an eye-catcher and appeal for his trade over those of the competition strung out along the road (though no matter how appealing the individual’s act it’s tough to get down from 100 to zero in enough space to stop direct at the chosen vendor and not instead about 8 others down the line ...).
We stopped for lunch at Manhica, nice a break from the usual routine of a boervors-stuffed bun on the go, and Clare enjoyed her first round of Mozambique prawns in a mild curry, while I went for a Portuguese-style beef casserole as we were still far from the coast so I thought I’d hold out til I could smell the sea. Both excellent – a relief, as Clare has been looking forward to Moz prawns since arriving in SA and as the rest of the trip is going to be fairly non-vegetarian friendly it was good to see the seafood here was going to live up to the hype.
We camped that night at Praia do Xai-Xai, arriving at Xai Xai Beach Camp to see John and Lynda set up ahead of us. A fairly dismal place with ablutions you felt dirtier leaving than on entering so we had a nice night’s wine drinking in their camper but were both underway early – them far earlier than us as all they had much to do is start the truck whereas we must collapse the tent, fire up the kettle on the gas burner etc and it all takes time regardless of sense of urgency to get away and on the move ...
On leaving, the GPS seemed very confused and directed us not back up to the main road but instead to turn on ourselves and head onto the dirt road bordering the beach used more for ATV’s between lodgings than any vehicle traffic. Turns out that dirt rack was in fact the main road and cleanest route north. So in second we dug into the sand and began to bang along the beautiful coastline for a kilometre or two, rolling with the potholes and dips in the road, soon in a ‘like being at sea’ rhythm and was even able to proceed along with coffee mug in hand, thinking this was actually a very pleasant route when on turning up at the abandoned hotel (which the GPS uses as a route marker) I in one frantic move swore in surprise, shot the coffee mug over at Clare and threw the gears into diff lock low as I faced an immediate very steep, very thick with sand gradient up and right which we hit with perfect speed but were soon ground to a halt two thirds of the way up. Back down and gave it another go but made it only a few feet further. Back again and walked back up lugging the rubber sand mats to give it a proper ‘dune driving’ effort but that too was for nowt and we had to admit defeat and turn back along the road to our campsite and then up to the main road as seemed the logical route to me in the first place. Lost 90 minutes for it all but did get in some good, if completely unexpected, sand experience ... Lesson number whatever number it was by that time: ignore the Garmin if it just doesn’t seem to make sense when measured against your own common sense ...
The road up between Xai Xai and Chissibuca is under construction (by a Chinese company, of course – though for a change with local work crews employed for labour, not imported in as is apparently the norm in most other Chinese projects ...) and is a huge mess, torn down to bare earth and badly rutted, potholed and corrugated; do not attempt in the rain and luckily the 90 minute dune battle had allowed the road to dry out from the pre-dawn shower we’d woken to so that thick mud was not also added to the mix which we’d been warned would make it virtually impassable. Hard going, running the gears from 2 through 4 and back down again repeatedly, slaloming the obstacles and very competitive against the oncoming traffic with often single track being the best way through it all but when it does clear up and you hit the tarmac of the finished areas it is very smooth sailing and will be a terrific stretch of road on completion (should it last the next rainy season ...).
We made it up to Pandene, 350 km’s north, muddy but unscarred, and banged down the corrugated road from the highway for a few kilometres towards the beach before fatefully choosing the more “scenic” of the two routes into the campsite – from ‘normal’ road to diff lock low and a ridiculous narrow, rolling, thick sand road in through the local village housing before emerging somewhat ‘wtf??’ from that unexpected change of driving requirement to the Pandene Beach Resort, which greeted us with a large sign stating “4WD only beyond this point; drop all tires to 1 bar before proceeding.” However the road was downhill to our spot so no issue other than the usual sand wrestling but on getting to the bottom had no choice but to drop all down to 1000 psi to make it the final 5 feet in to set up. After getting the tent up and camp sorted I set up the compressor to re-inflate the tires, which proved easy enough and had all back up within 30 minutes; however – and there’s always an however to such tales – in doing so the plug, set into the cigarette lighter for power, got so hot it fused the fuse into a solid bright red cap of solid plastic and shorted out all of our required plug-in points for GPS, snack fridge, etc. Much swearing; but the camp itself is on an incredible stretch of beach though we were the only ones staying on the entire site the neighbouring resort’s bar was bar lively for the World Cup and SA vs France rugby so overall a decent spot and a nice 2 nights chilling out.
Up next towards the hub for north/south travel at Vilankulos, on the worst road experienced anywhere outside of the legendary stretch between Siem Reap, Cambodia and the Thai border, where whole vehicles get swallowed in the sinkholes – and I didn’t have to drive that one ... Just had to laugh through it, over 120 kms of total disaster; drove most of it on the dirt soft-shoulder, the road itself pitted like moonscape and so beyond repair it doesn’t even look like a road but just random tarmac in between potholes ... Made a mess of timings and got into town late, settling in on the beachfront at Complexo Turistico Josef e Tina, which though recommended (and locally run) is about as spare and spartan as you’d want to actually have to pay for ... Yes; there is an ablutions block; but, no, though, there is no water ... With no fresh on board and no re-supply available en route we need to, unfortunately, head out for dinner. Where’s best to eat, we ask? Across the road we are told, though we should go over there now and wake up the staff and ask they go and “find some seafood” so we can order dinner in “about 3 hours or so.” Uhhuh, I think we’ll just go for a walk and see what else might be available ... Safe around here? Sure, no problem at all unless you’re a single female we’re reliably informed by the South African woman who runs the fairly swank guest house next door. The coastline was badly hit by a cyclone in “2006 or 2007” according to everyone we spoke to (why then, being such an obviously catastrophic event, did nobody know exactly what year it had happened in ...??) but appears to be well under re-construction though still quite a ways away from being fully back on its feet (if in fact it actually ever was there ...). Nowhere though to eat and on we truck, first in one direction and then doubling back on ourselves back the other. Finally after about 90 minutes – in the dark – we find Smugglers and collapse in for a few beers and very good prawn curry. A welcome respite and not at all the pumping sports bar we thought it might be from the way it is advertised. Having (suitably/almost) recovered, we head back rejuvenated, accompanied by two local dogs who obviously find us to be the most entertaining action going in town and provide a good perimeter escort, veering alternately left and right as people appear from the shadows and giving a bark or two announcement that they were there on guard and they’d best give us some distance and they walked us right to our gate before peeling off without ceremony, task done and more adventures certain to be found elsewhere. Only on meeting other travellers later on the route were we told that was actually a very bad stretch of road nobody would recommend anyone ever walking on after dark as muggings were commonplace ...
The next morning we went off in search of a mechanic with electrical expertise and at the local supermarket, just past Smugglers, and while Clare shopped for dry stores I struck up a convo with a local guy who pulled up in a CARE-logo’ed Land Cruiser. He was working HIV awareness programmes in the area and knew everyone – we must go and speak to Dodo, a left turn down off the Barclays on the high street, of which we are currently at one far end of, with the market anchoring the other (and an area best avoided unless you want money changed, carry an aggro don’t-mess-with-me-attitude on display and have a firm hold of your wallet at all times ...). Dodo has our fuse issue sussed and sorted within 90 minutes, and for 400 Meticos (less than 10 GBP) - the best deal in labour yet ... We turn back down the high street to Taurus for fresh goods and find John and Linda in the parking lot. We’ve not been receiving any of their texts so have no idea they’ve been providing road updates and travel schedules for us along the way and so, once shopped and stocked up on good Glen-foods like steaks and boervors head north 60 km to camp with them at the lovely Hotel Seta in Inhassoro, the nicest campsite yet in Moz and a rival to the best anywhere else we’ve stayed at so far on our travels. With the exception of too many children about (not an issue if everyone is from Natal I am told by a number of holidaying South Africans – only those not from Natal don’t know how to camp without disturbing others, or how to control their children in public ...) we pass a very enjoyable 3 nights at the site, doing little more but journal-updating, greeting those passing by, vehicle maintenance and reading ... Wonderfully relaxing – though not for J&L, who escape the mess of children early and are (sensibly) gone after 2 nights ...
Underway early, with a quick stop at the local bakery for hot-off-the presses buns at 2.5 Meticos a piece we’re off northeast, aiming to get as close to the border as possible for an early run at it for the next day. We rocked up at Chimoio for a solid Shoprite re-supply in the CBD just prior and before 2k’s of rolling road to a surprisingly-decent site complete with crocodile enclosure next to reception and a croc-infested lake to camp beside and electricity but with warm water on one side of the ablutions only – male – and a very friendly staff: Paul soon sorted us out with best location to set up at plus tp, soap and hot water for the loo and dry fire wood for the braii. A very good option on the road to the border (and not sure if there is anything else other really ...).
From all the warnings and prior generalizations we continued to be impressed with the quality of the roads and were able to hit a decent stride and sit back and enjoy the passing, stunning scenery; all long lazy climbs and descents across rolling hills lush with palm though admittedly spare of much else (unless you count piles of hardwood stacked road side to be sold as firewood as an arboreal sight ...). Oddly enough there are also few birds, and many times I’ve started as a butterfly wings past my windscreen, realizing I’d not seen anything else fly by in hours ... A lot of fruit though: papayas and oranges arranged in pyramids of bright colour at roadside vendors, or cashew nuts bagged up and held aloft to attract the passing trade by young guys pulling off odd dance moves as an eye-catcher and appeal for his trade over those of the competition strung out along the road (though no matter how appealing the individual’s act it’s tough to get down from 100 to zero in enough space to stop direct at the chosen vendor and not instead about 8 others down the line ...).
We stopped for lunch at Manhica, nice a break from the usual routine of a boervors-stuffed bun on the go, and Clare enjoyed her first round of Mozambique prawns in a mild curry, while I went for a Portuguese-style beef casserole as we were still far from the coast so I thought I’d hold out til I could smell the sea. Both excellent – a relief, as Clare has been looking forward to Moz prawns since arriving in SA and as the rest of the trip is going to be fairly non-vegetarian friendly it was good to see the seafood here was going to live up to the hype.
We camped that night at Praia do Xai-Xai, arriving at Xai Xai Beach Camp to see John and Lynda set up ahead of us. A fairly dismal place with ablutions you felt dirtier leaving than on entering so we had a nice night’s wine drinking in their camper but were both underway early – them far earlier than us as all they had much to do is start the truck whereas we must collapse the tent, fire up the kettle on the gas burner etc and it all takes time regardless of sense of urgency to get away and on the move ...
On leaving, the GPS seemed very confused and directed us not back up to the main road but instead to turn on ourselves and head onto the dirt road bordering the beach used more for ATV’s between lodgings than any vehicle traffic. Turns out that dirt rack was in fact the main road and cleanest route north. So in second we dug into the sand and began to bang along the beautiful coastline for a kilometre or two, rolling with the potholes and dips in the road, soon in a ‘like being at sea’ rhythm and was even able to proceed along with coffee mug in hand, thinking this was actually a very pleasant route when on turning up at the abandoned hotel (which the GPS uses as a route marker) I in one frantic move swore in surprise, shot the coffee mug over at Clare and threw the gears into diff lock low as I faced an immediate very steep, very thick with sand gradient up and right which we hit with perfect speed but were soon ground to a halt two thirds of the way up. Back down and gave it another go but made it only a few feet further. Back again and walked back up lugging the rubber sand mats to give it a proper ‘dune driving’ effort but that too was for nowt and we had to admit defeat and turn back along the road to our campsite and then up to the main road as seemed the logical route to me in the first place. Lost 90 minutes for it all but did get in some good, if completely unexpected, sand experience ... Lesson number whatever number it was by that time: ignore the Garmin if it just doesn’t seem to make sense when measured against your own common sense ...
The road up between Xai Xai and Chissibuca is under construction (by a Chinese company, of course – though for a change with local work crews employed for labour, not imported in as is apparently the norm in most other Chinese projects ...) and is a huge mess, torn down to bare earth and badly rutted, potholed and corrugated; do not attempt in the rain and luckily the 90 minute dune battle had allowed the road to dry out from the pre-dawn shower we’d woken to so that thick mud was not also added to the mix which we’d been warned would make it virtually impassable. Hard going, running the gears from 2 through 4 and back down again repeatedly, slaloming the obstacles and very competitive against the oncoming traffic with often single track being the best way through it all but when it does clear up and you hit the tarmac of the finished areas it is very smooth sailing and will be a terrific stretch of road on completion (should it last the next rainy season ...).
We made it up to Pandene, 350 km’s north, muddy but unscarred, and banged down the corrugated road from the highway for a few kilometres towards the beach before fatefully choosing the more “scenic” of the two routes into the campsite – from ‘normal’ road to diff lock low and a ridiculous narrow, rolling, thick sand road in through the local village housing before emerging somewhat ‘wtf??’ from that unexpected change of driving requirement to the Pandene Beach Resort, which greeted us with a large sign stating “4WD only beyond this point; drop all tires to 1 bar before proceeding.” However the road was downhill to our spot so no issue other than the usual sand wrestling but on getting to the bottom had no choice but to drop all down to 1000 psi to make it the final 5 feet in to set up. After getting the tent up and camp sorted I set up the compressor to re-inflate the tires, which proved easy enough and had all back up within 30 minutes; however – and there’s always an however to such tales – in doing so the plug, set into the cigarette lighter for power, got so hot it fused the fuse into a solid bright red cap of solid plastic and shorted out all of our required plug-in points for GPS, snack fridge, etc. Much swearing; but the camp itself is on an incredible stretch of beach though we were the only ones staying on the entire site the neighbouring resort’s bar was bar lively for the World Cup and SA vs France rugby so overall a decent spot and a nice 2 nights chilling out.
Up next towards the hub for north/south travel at Vilankulos, on the worst road experienced anywhere outside of the legendary stretch between Siem Reap, Cambodia and the Thai border, where whole vehicles get swallowed in the sinkholes – and I didn’t have to drive that one ... Just had to laugh through it, over 120 kms of total disaster; drove most of it on the dirt soft-shoulder, the road itself pitted like moonscape and so beyond repair it doesn’t even look like a road but just random tarmac in between potholes ... Made a mess of timings and got into town late, settling in on the beachfront at Complexo Turistico Josef e Tina, which though recommended (and locally run) is about as spare and spartan as you’d want to actually have to pay for ... Yes; there is an ablutions block; but, no, though, there is no water ... With no fresh on board and no re-supply available en route we need to, unfortunately, head out for dinner. Where’s best to eat, we ask? Across the road we are told, though we should go over there now and wake up the staff and ask they go and “find some seafood” so we can order dinner in “about 3 hours or so.” Uhhuh, I think we’ll just go for a walk and see what else might be available ... Safe around here? Sure, no problem at all unless you’re a single female we’re reliably informed by the South African woman who runs the fairly swank guest house next door. The coastline was badly hit by a cyclone in “2006 or 2007” according to everyone we spoke to (why then, being such an obviously catastrophic event, did nobody know exactly what year it had happened in ...??) but appears to be well under re-construction though still quite a ways away from being fully back on its feet (if in fact it actually ever was there ...). Nowhere though to eat and on we truck, first in one direction and then doubling back on ourselves back the other. Finally after about 90 minutes – in the dark – we find Smugglers and collapse in for a few beers and very good prawn curry. A welcome respite and not at all the pumping sports bar we thought it might be from the way it is advertised. Having (suitably/almost) recovered, we head back rejuvenated, accompanied by two local dogs who obviously find us to be the most entertaining action going in town and provide a good perimeter escort, veering alternately left and right as people appear from the shadows and giving a bark or two announcement that they were there on guard and they’d best give us some distance and they walked us right to our gate before peeling off without ceremony, task done and more adventures certain to be found elsewhere. Only on meeting other travellers later on the route were we told that was actually a very bad stretch of road nobody would recommend anyone ever walking on after dark as muggings were commonplace ...
The next morning we went off in search of a mechanic with electrical expertise and at the local supermarket, just past Smugglers, and while Clare shopped for dry stores I struck up a convo with a local guy who pulled up in a CARE-logo’ed Land Cruiser. He was working HIV awareness programmes in the area and knew everyone – we must go and speak to Dodo, a left turn down off the Barclays on the high street, of which we are currently at one far end of, with the market anchoring the other (and an area best avoided unless you want money changed, carry an aggro don’t-mess-with-me-attitude on display and have a firm hold of your wallet at all times ...). Dodo has our fuse issue sussed and sorted within 90 minutes, and for 400 Meticos (less than 10 GBP) - the best deal in labour yet ... We turn back down the high street to Taurus for fresh goods and find John and Linda in the parking lot. We’ve not been receiving any of their texts so have no idea they’ve been providing road updates and travel schedules for us along the way and so, once shopped and stocked up on good Glen-foods like steaks and boervors head north 60 km to camp with them at the lovely Hotel Seta in Inhassoro, the nicest campsite yet in Moz and a rival to the best anywhere else we’ve stayed at so far on our travels. With the exception of too many children about (not an issue if everyone is from Natal I am told by a number of holidaying South Africans – only those not from Natal don’t know how to camp without disturbing others, or how to control their children in public ...) we pass a very enjoyable 3 nights at the site, doing little more but journal-updating, greeting those passing by, vehicle maintenance and reading ... Wonderfully relaxing – though not for J&L, who escape the mess of children early and are (sensibly) gone after 2 nights ...
Underway early, with a quick stop at the local bakery for hot-off-the presses buns at 2.5 Meticos a piece we’re off northeast, aiming to get as close to the border as possible for an early run at it for the next day. We rocked up at Chimoio for a solid Shoprite re-supply in the CBD just prior and before 2k’s of rolling road to a surprisingly-decent site complete with crocodile enclosure next to reception and a croc-infested lake to camp beside and electricity but with warm water on one side of the ablutions only – male – and a very friendly staff: Paul soon sorted us out with best location to set up at plus tp, soap and hot water for the loo and dry fire wood for the braii. A very good option on the road to the border (and not sure if there is anything else other really ...).
Mozambique Border - Into Moz
MOZAMBIQUE BORDER (R. GARCIA)
Not so much just en
tering another country as dropping into another world within 50 feet of crossing over; an immediate, in-your-face, get-on-guard and plow on through, hand-clutching passport in vice grip to deter swell of eager-to-be-helpful-really-you-have-no-choice-it’s-all-in-Portugeuese-give-me-your-passport-and-I-will-get-it-stamped-for-you jump into the deep end of Real Africa after the easiness and ‘sortidness’ of South Africa. But friendly.
Leaving Clare to guard the car I immediately saw the value in having Henry’s fixer on site – if he’d still been there, mind – as there are dozens of his clones swarming about the crossing, insisting on assisting. Picking one of the lot by instinct alone – but keeping all docs firmly in hand – he got me over to the right counter for visa processing (which, admittedly, I would have struggled to have found solo as there are no signs indicating what desk does what and this one was tucked into the close right hand corner to the entrance and very easy to overlook – plus the agent there spoke zero English and my Portuguese is ... uh, fairly rusty) and so issued the correct docs to complete. I had to repeatedly turn over the docs and stand up straight and firmly shoo multiple helpers away from the left and right as what they need are your passport details in order to fill out the vehicle registration forms concurrently. Seemingly a helpful – to be at a cost, of course – gesture but 1) I don’t provide passport details to anyone other than someone in uniform; and, 2) it just smelled of scam. Which I then quickly identified on subsequently being led over to the vehicle registration counter, still under great chatter from both sides. One of two accompanying me tried to distract with ‘where you from/going’ convo while the other passed the docs across the counter to the very bored-looking agent there. A quick stamp and that was done without issue but then the claim the one had paid 150 Rand “out of my own pocket” for the stamp to go through without issue and I would need to cover that processing fee “when we’re all done.” Easy, easy scam to fall for if you’re not watching closely, as no, no funds were involved at all, his or anyone else’s. Back across the floor for visa’s (174 Rand pp) and out in 20 minutes total.
Then, Scam Part II: on arriving back at the truck I am met by both initial fixer and “his friend” (note all wear official-looking id badges on chains from their necks and act the part of being part of the process very well) who wants to see my entry pass (as issued by the security staff as you drive in). No. But he has a friend who will stamp it with the Customs stamp here at my car; otherwise, if I try and leave, Customs will stop me and go through every inch of my car and if I have not listed something they find that is not on my registration docs they will confiscate or fine. No. I will be sorry I am not cooperating. No. Ok, how about a fee for helping? No. No? No I say, you’ve not been helpful you’re being a pain. You will not give us anything? No. Start engine, have guys realize this really hasn’t worked out well in their favour at all. They then start to laugh, deflated: “You are clever man, very clever. Ok, maybe just something for us?” I hand 10 Rand out the top inch of open window of the truck and we’re off into the inky black of a no-power Mozambique night (and without a Customs agent in sight ...).
The biggest real issue with crossing at R.Garcia is that between there and Maputo, about 90 kms from the border, there is just one option for camping (or overnight stay of any sort) so if you’ve crossed anytime from about 1630 forward you’re in for a dark drive for lodging in, or after, Maputo (which in and of itself is not the best place to be aiming to stay over in – like any major city it’s got its fair share of issues better to be avoided and certainly best not tackled in the dark of your first night in-country). But 6 km from the border is Casa do Campo Lodge, a farmhouse converted into private rooms with shared bath, a small camp area (but without ablutions, though you are free to use the ones in the house), and restaurant, run by a gregarious Afrikaaner married into a Portuguese-Mozambique family who have owned the property and surrounding farm for generations. Though a bit run-down and in need of a woman’s hand (the wife gave up on living there a bit ago after husband shot at for third time, this time successfully ... Though he laughs , as within a few weeks of her moving across into SA the house was invaded and she was tied up while it was ransacked and “not only that but they had the cheek to choose a very nice bottle of my wine for their dinner the buggers – made it up in my kitchen!” so “might as well be here as there” ...) it is a safe refuge and more than adequate for a night (and the chicken from his farm outstanding). The most amusing anecdote he told was that, when the war was on they had their farm nationalized and they were kicked out; on it finishing the army, who’d used the grounds as a base, blew up all the boreholes and had killed off all the livestock long before so left behind “complete and utter devastation”; however, the new Moz government invited anyone who had lost property, especially commercial enterprises, to return if they could produce substantiating documentation. So back across he and the wife moved, generations of papers in hand. They got the farm back – and then were presented with a bill for 25 years of back taxes on the property to cover the years when it was nationalized! He just shrugged it off with a huge laugh, saying it’s a “damned corrupt country but there’s nowhere else I’d rather live.” So, bit dirty, bit spartan, but an entertaining night’s stopover.
It’s probably worth throwing in a bit of background here for context: Mozambique has only recently come out of over 25 years of war, first for independence from Portugal followed immediately after by an east-supported versus west-supported civil war shocking in its savagery (east-supported - Cuba, Russia and China, with only China being the economically-important ally now - coming out on top, with the Marxist Frelimo party still maintaining the government since independence despite a strong - political now not military - opposition from the previously west-supported Renamo). Portugal has had a footprint here for over 500 years and during its colonization considered Moz, and it’s (white) citizenry, to be not a colony or a territory but as much a part of Portugal as the European homeland itself; the battle for independence was vicious and protracted and lead to the Portuguese government’s overthrow (national service of Europeans for wars in Africa do not a happy citizenry or Army make ...); however, for it all the country retains a strong European flavour, with Portuguese still the official national language, everyone you meet a Pedro and some stunning obviously mixed blood people on the streets ... But it is just a bit disconcerting to have a very black African start conversing with you in what sounds like Italian with a lisp ...
Not so much just en
tering another country as dropping into another world within 50 feet of crossing over; an immediate, in-your-face, get-on-guard and plow on through, hand-clutching passport in vice grip to deter swell of eager-to-be-helpful-really-you-have-no-choice-it’s-all-in-Portugeuese-give-me-your-passport-and-I-will-get-it-stamped-for-you jump into the deep end of Real Africa after the easiness and ‘sortidness’ of South Africa. But friendly.Leaving Clare to guard the car I immediately saw the value in having Henry’s fixer on site – if he’d still been there, mind – as there are dozens of his clones swarming about the crossing, insisting on assisting. Picking one of the lot by instinct alone – but keeping all docs firmly in hand – he got me over to the right counter for visa processing (which, admittedly, I would have struggled to have found solo as there are no signs indicating what desk does what and this one was tucked into the close right hand corner to the entrance and very easy to overlook – plus the agent there spoke zero English and my Portuguese is ... uh, fairly rusty) and so issued the correct docs to complete. I had to repeatedly turn over the docs and stand up straight and firmly shoo multiple helpers away from the left and right as what they need are your passport details in order to fill out the vehicle registration forms concurrently. Seemingly a helpful – to be at a cost, of course – gesture but 1) I don’t provide passport details to anyone other than someone in uniform; and, 2) it just smelled of scam. Which I then quickly identified on subsequently being led over to the vehicle registration counter, still under great chatter from both sides. One of two accompanying me tried to distract with ‘where you from/going’ convo while the other passed the docs across the counter to the very bored-looking agent there. A quick stamp and that was done without issue but then the claim the one had paid 150 Rand “out of my own pocket” for the stamp to go through without issue and I would need to cover that processing fee “when we’re all done.” Easy, easy scam to fall for if you’re not watching closely, as no, no funds were involved at all, his or anyone else’s. Back across the floor for visa’s (174 Rand pp) and out in 20 minutes total.
Then, Scam Part II: on arriving back at the truck I am met by both initial fixer and “his friend” (note all wear official-looking id badges on chains from their necks and act the part of being part of the process very well) who wants to see my entry pass (as issued by the security staff as you drive in). No. But he has a friend who will stamp it with the Customs stamp here at my car; otherwise, if I try and leave, Customs will stop me and go through every inch of my car and if I have not listed something they find that is not on my registration docs they will confiscate or fine. No. I will be sorry I am not cooperating. No. Ok, how about a fee for helping? No. No? No I say, you’ve not been helpful you’re being a pain. You will not give us anything? No. Start engine, have guys realize this really hasn’t worked out well in their favour at all. They then start to laugh, deflated: “You are clever man, very clever. Ok, maybe just something for us?” I hand 10 Rand out the top inch of open window of the truck and we’re off into the inky black of a no-power Mozambique night (and without a Customs agent in sight ...).
The biggest real issue with crossing at R.Garcia is that between there and Maputo, about 90 kms from the border, there is just one option for camping (or overnight stay of any sort) so if you’ve crossed anytime from about 1630 forward you’re in for a dark drive for lodging in, or after, Maputo (which in and of itself is not the best place to be aiming to stay over in – like any major city it’s got its fair share of issues better to be avoided and certainly best not tackled in the dark of your first night in-country). But 6 km from the border is Casa do Campo Lodge, a farmhouse converted into private rooms with shared bath, a small camp area (but without ablutions, though you are free to use the ones in the house), and restaurant, run by a gregarious Afrikaaner married into a Portuguese-Mozambique family who have owned the property and surrounding farm for generations. Though a bit run-down and in need of a woman’s hand (the wife gave up on living there a bit ago after husband shot at for third time, this time successfully ... Though he laughs , as within a few weeks of her moving across into SA the house was invaded and she was tied up while it was ransacked and “not only that but they had the cheek to choose a very nice bottle of my wine for their dinner the buggers – made it up in my kitchen!” so “might as well be here as there” ...) it is a safe refuge and more than adequate for a night (and the chicken from his farm outstanding). The most amusing anecdote he told was that, when the war was on they had their farm nationalized and they were kicked out; on it finishing the army, who’d used the grounds as a base, blew up all the boreholes and had killed off all the livestock long before so left behind “complete and utter devastation”; however, the new Moz government invited anyone who had lost property, especially commercial enterprises, to return if they could produce substantiating documentation. So back across he and the wife moved, generations of papers in hand. They got the farm back – and then were presented with a bill for 25 years of back taxes on the property to cover the years when it was nationalized! He just shrugged it off with a huge laugh, saying it’s a “damned corrupt country but there’s nowhere else I’d rather live.” So, bit dirty, bit spartan, but an entertaining night’s stopover.
It’s probably worth throwing in a bit of background here for context: Mozambique has only recently come out of over 25 years of war, first for independence from Portugal followed immediately after by an east-supported versus west-supported civil war shocking in its savagery (east-supported - Cuba, Russia and China, with only China being the economically-important ally now - coming out on top, with the Marxist Frelimo party still maintaining the government since independence despite a strong - political now not military - opposition from the previously west-supported Renamo). Portugal has had a footprint here for over 500 years and during its colonization considered Moz, and it’s (white) citizenry, to be not a colony or a territory but as much a part of Portugal as the European homeland itself; the battle for independence was vicious and protracted and lead to the Portuguese government’s overthrow (national service of Europeans for wars in Africa do not a happy citizenry or Army make ...); however, for it all the country retains a strong European flavour, with Portuguese still the official national language, everyone you meet a Pedro and some stunning obviously mixed blood people on the streets ... But it is just a bit disconcerting to have a very black African start conversing with you in what sounds like Italian with a lisp ...
South Africa - Mozambique Border Crossing
SA – MOZAMBIQUE BORDER CROSSING – 09 JUNE
Just prior to the border is a large BP station with forecourt full of various shops and roadside entry blocked with dozens of money sellers keen for currency exchange. Off to the left of the pumps is a small tin-roofed shed housing Global Alliance; in it, Henry will sort you out for 3rd party insurance prior to hitting the border and, being a bit of a fixer, is available for any other requirements you may have – he also has a colleague there from the Moz side who can accompany you through both sides of the border, translate documents and just generally smooth the way through for about 100 Rand (negotiated and paid on successful clearance of the Moz side). We agreed on all services, as well as Henry’s choice of money seller picked out from the crowd, a large matronly woman in a huge flowered ‘best for church’ hat who bustled into the already crowded shed and pulled out a six-inch wad of notes kept safely stashed within the vaults of her (ample) bosom, offered at an exchange rate 2 points better than the Bureau de Change (4.3 versus 4.1). That sorted we were off in convoy, us in the lead followed closely by the Church Lady driving the Moz fixer, as we’d no room for a passenger and he’d no car but was certainly not losing the business for it.
Then things got interesting.
The SA side was packed, heaving with a mix of aggro’d holidayers (in the minority) frustrated with the delays and traders who crossed the border daily to purchase cheaper SA goods for mark-up and sale on the other side trying any angle to dodge the queues and get moving through quickly (I “Oi, get back in here, we all wait in the same line”’d one young guy who made a dash under the barrier behind me to get to an open kiosk faster than the head of the queue could react ... To his credit he did reverse but I now had Mr Surly behind me for the next 30 minutes ...). The system (seems wherever you go and whatever the circumstances it’s always the fault of ‘the system’) was running slow “but scheduled to be upgraded soon” and it took about an hour total to get the entry pass stamped (first queue) then passport stamped for exit (queue two). Then we went to get our VAT refund outside and it all went to hell in a handbasket for the next six hours ...
The process: have agent lounging about outside the office (really a trailer) take receipts and go through each line by line to ascertain what is and is not eligible for a refund, then calculate how listed VAT is summarily affected (our Macro receipt alone was about 4 feet long ...). Realize we are owed more than 3000 Rand and the border office cannot process such receipts. Do u-turn in border car queue (despite now being stamped out of country) and head for airport for commercial customs clearance centre some 30 minutes back down highway. Have agent there go through each receipt line by line (again) to ascertain what is and is not eligible for a refund, then calculate how listed VAT is summarily affected. Get receipts stamped and return to border. Have same original agent still lounging about outside the office take now stamped and duly-authorized receipts and go through each line by line (again again) to ascertain what is and is not eligible for a refund, then calculate how listed VAT is summarily affected. Discuss in detail. Agree on total eligibility and join queue at office for payment processing. Wait. Finally get to one of only 2 out of 6 kiosks operating and have agent there go through each receipt line by line (again again again) to ascertain what is and is not eligible for a refund, then calculate how listed VAT is summarily affected. Have them photocopy passport and applicable credit card used for any purchases (ensure to insist on crossing out all visible numbers of card save for final 4). Get cheque issued for very small amount purchased on Clare’s card, which we are informed can – now this is very helpful – be deposited and paid out at the local bank back in town (process seems to have lost focus that at this stage recipient is out of SA and heading into Moz, not having day’s outing for fun at border ...). Have agent say I must return in 2-3 weeks to pick up cheque as it exceeds amount they can issue (again, that above 3000 Rand rule appears, but in a new context ...). Inform agent you will probably be in Zambia in 2-3 weeks time and, as obvious from passports she is holding, you are not South African so would have no intention of returning there to pick up cheque that should be issued on the spot. Have agent leave desk to confer with all other agents in room – all work now ceasing – and stall queue behind for further 10 minutes making you Most Hated Man at South African Border for those who clutch one single, simple receipt behind you, not wad of two dozen obviously problematic ones as you have handed across an hour before. Have women in queue 15 places behind you – but directly behind due to snake of ropes – burst into tears on mobile phone, obviously explaining why it is taking her so long to a very unsympathetic authoritarian figure on other end of call. Agree to solution – and only solution - with agent that cheque will be posted to UK address once processed; provide address on small slip of paper and lay poor odds it actually gets somehow connected to stack of receipts. Lose possession of all receipts and therefore record of all purchases as they must be held by VAT office for cheque to be issued and are never returned, making re-sale, warranty’s, etc, a bit of an issue (issue for future confrontation). Depart deflated by process yet giddy with victory over bureaucracy. Approach Mozambique border six hours off initial timings and without fixer who has given up and left. And in the dark, of course ...
Just prior to the border is a large BP station with forecourt full of various shops and roadside entry blocked with dozens of money sellers keen for currency exchange. Off to the left of the pumps is a small tin-roofed shed housing Global Alliance; in it, Henry will sort you out for 3rd party insurance prior to hitting the border and, being a bit of a fixer, is available for any other requirements you may have – he also has a colleague there from the Moz side who can accompany you through both sides of the border, translate documents and just generally smooth the way through for about 100 Rand (negotiated and paid on successful clearance of the Moz side). We agreed on all services, as well as Henry’s choice of money seller picked out from the crowd, a large matronly woman in a huge flowered ‘best for church’ hat who bustled into the already crowded shed and pulled out a six-inch wad of notes kept safely stashed within the vaults of her (ample) bosom, offered at an exchange rate 2 points better than the Bureau de Change (4.3 versus 4.1). That sorted we were off in convoy, us in the lead followed closely by the Church Lady driving the Moz fixer, as we’d no room for a passenger and he’d no car but was certainly not losing the business for it.
Then things got interesting.
The SA side was packed, heaving with a mix of aggro’d holidayers (in the minority) frustrated with the delays and traders who crossed the border daily to purchase cheaper SA goods for mark-up and sale on the other side trying any angle to dodge the queues and get moving through quickly (I “Oi, get back in here, we all wait in the same line”’d one young guy who made a dash under the barrier behind me to get to an open kiosk faster than the head of the queue could react ... To his credit he did reverse but I now had Mr Surly behind me for the next 30 minutes ...). The system (seems wherever you go and whatever the circumstances it’s always the fault of ‘the system’) was running slow “but scheduled to be upgraded soon” and it took about an hour total to get the entry pass stamped (first queue) then passport stamped for exit (queue two). Then we went to get our VAT refund outside and it all went to hell in a handbasket for the next six hours ...
The process: have agent lounging about outside the office (really a trailer) take receipts and go through each line by line to ascertain what is and is not eligible for a refund, then calculate how listed VAT is summarily affected (our Macro receipt alone was about 4 feet long ...). Realize we are owed more than 3000 Rand and the border office cannot process such receipts. Do u-turn in border car queue (despite now being stamped out of country) and head for airport for commercial customs clearance centre some 30 minutes back down highway. Have agent there go through each receipt line by line (again) to ascertain what is and is not eligible for a refund, then calculate how listed VAT is summarily affected. Get receipts stamped and return to border. Have same original agent still lounging about outside the office take now stamped and duly-authorized receipts and go through each line by line (again again) to ascertain what is and is not eligible for a refund, then calculate how listed VAT is summarily affected. Discuss in detail. Agree on total eligibility and join queue at office for payment processing. Wait. Finally get to one of only 2 out of 6 kiosks operating and have agent there go through each receipt line by line (again again again) to ascertain what is and is not eligible for a refund, then calculate how listed VAT is summarily affected. Have them photocopy passport and applicable credit card used for any purchases (ensure to insist on crossing out all visible numbers of card save for final 4). Get cheque issued for very small amount purchased on Clare’s card, which we are informed can – now this is very helpful – be deposited and paid out at the local bank back in town (process seems to have lost focus that at this stage recipient is out of SA and heading into Moz, not having day’s outing for fun at border ...). Have agent say I must return in 2-3 weeks to pick up cheque as it exceeds amount they can issue (again, that above 3000 Rand rule appears, but in a new context ...). Inform agent you will probably be in Zambia in 2-3 weeks time and, as obvious from passports she is holding, you are not South African so would have no intention of returning there to pick up cheque that should be issued on the spot. Have agent leave desk to confer with all other agents in room – all work now ceasing – and stall queue behind for further 10 minutes making you Most Hated Man at South African Border for those who clutch one single, simple receipt behind you, not wad of two dozen obviously problematic ones as you have handed across an hour before. Have women in queue 15 places behind you – but directly behind due to snake of ropes – burst into tears on mobile phone, obviously explaining why it is taking her so long to a very unsympathetic authoritarian figure on other end of call. Agree to solution – and only solution - with agent that cheque will be posted to UK address once processed; provide address on small slip of paper and lay poor odds it actually gets somehow connected to stack of receipts. Lose possession of all receipts and therefore record of all purchases as they must be held by VAT office for cheque to be issued and are never returned, making re-sale, warranty’s, etc, a bit of an issue (issue for future confrontation). Depart deflated by process yet giddy with victory over bureaucracy. Approach Mozambique border six hours off initial timings and without fixer who has given up and left. And in the dark, of course ...
Kruger - 6th June
KRUGER – 06 JUNE
After a terrific few days at Callum’s, which afforded us the free time and space to fuss about and get familiar with all of the truck’s kit, get a second spare tire fitted on the bonnet, anti smash-and-grab film installed on all windows, eat impala steaks and biltong and watch rugby, we struck out for (a planned) 2 nights in Kruger, taking the beautifully scenic road from Polokwane through Tzaneen and entering Kruger at Phalaborwa. Luckily we’d been out that route previously to view the tea plantation Callum’s father has taken over so knew to keep the vehicle load as light as possible as it’s an incredibly hilly route which really tested the climbing power of the truck (and the squeeling-loudly-in-protest new brake pads on descent ...) but as (hoped) we were subsequently able to fill up all tanks with diesel and water just prior to the Kruger gates so we could set off from there at full fighting weight.
On arrival we checked in at the gate and were given spare directions to our camp for the evening, Rustic Camp, some 60 minutes away via a second check in at Mopani. Of course, being us, it proved to be actually 90 minutes away as we missed the short cut. That we were last in for the night didn’t phase or motivate the clerk at check in, who defied gravity in the slowness of her movements yet then had the nerve to admonish us we must drive quickly as the gates would be locked in 15 minutes time and we were at least 15 minutes away! We arrived with just seconds to spare – and in the dark, of course ... Really just a cleared bit of fenced-in ground with 34 spaces and a shared ablution block, Rustic Camp lived up to its name but proved a very nice, quiet and clean place to spend the night and once the tent was up, kitchen boxes out and gas cooker lit we settled in easy enough for the evening and we were enjoying a spag bol dinner and wine within 90 minutes.
Deciding we could go a little more up-market for our second night, as well as get that much closer to the Moz border crossing for the next day (there are three border points via Kruger: Pafuri Gate at the far north tip, but not recommended due to a required river crossing and terrible road made worse by the recent heavy rains; Giriyondo at mid-point and Ressano Garcia, the main one back down at the southern-most end – our aim was to combine a few days game drive through Kruger with a crossing that allowed us to avoid Maputo and surrounds once across so the mid-point served both aims perfectly) we moved on in the morning to Lebata Rest Camp, which is a large and really nicely set up camp complete with swimming pool, gift shop and store – and electricity at each spot which is great for technology-mad’ers like us to top up Ipods, GPS, laptop, cameras, and on and on, along with allowing the fridge to run off the mains and not car battery as well. And large signs warning - I would have thought completely unnecessarily but turns out not – that it was against regulations to feed the hyena tracking up and down the perimeter fence. Better be a damn good fence ...
Our truck was dwarfed by that of our neighbours, a massive 4x4 Mercedes Benz transport truck with bespoke camper attached owned by John and Lynda, under 60’s who’d retired early, sold up, and hit the road for the better part of a year’s driveabout (with another year’s planned after this). We soon struck up a discussion: me with John, covering questions I had about the Landy as he’d owned a few before and how the heck he changed the tires on his beast; and Clare with Lynda covering how the heck the Tracks4Africa GPS software loaded on our Garmin, as she used a similar model (T4A is a vital software upgrade that covers every country on the continent right down to campsite locations, hospitals, dirt tracks versus gravel road options, etc – pick up at any Garmin dealer or outdoor shop for about 800 Rand) – both very valuable problem-solving discussions that soon enough turned into wine and everything under the sun talks around their camp table as the sun went down and all thought of runs to the shop for supplies quickly dissolved in importance (though it did require my then building a fire and flaming up two huge coils of boervors at 10 that night to be prepared for the next weeks’ requirements ...). And a most opportune meeting too as despite separate planned routes and schedules we’ve since run into them on 2 subsequent occasions quite by chance as we’ve moved up through Mozambique and as of this writing have followed them on from meeting 2 in the Taurus supermarket in Vilakulous and from their recommendation on a lovely spot just north of there are now sharing a site with them in Inhassoro for 3 nights ... Good thing we got along that first night ...
Anyway, I digress ... back to Kruger: On John and Lynda’s reco we asked at Reception whether Giriyondo crossing was currently issuing visas. All previously gathered intel indicated they were; local knowledge however quickly and definitively contradicted that and so though now faced with a day’s drive back down south instead of the planned middle crossing, from John and Lynda’s timely intervention we were at least saved a day’s unnecessary drive east only to be rejected at the border.
Leaving early the next morning we spotted something crossing the road ahead – I say an antelope of some sort; Clare agrees, then revises to possibly a cat of some sort “because of its bottom.” Adhering to strident “pull over, pull over”s I slowed into a crawl in second and cut close up against the brush-line on the shoulder, peering in for whatever had disappeared so abruptly on crossing – only to come face to face at virtually full stop and from 2 feet apart – and through my very large and very open window – a Hyena staring back at me. Christ but I lurched and hit the accelerator! Fascinate me though they do they are one mean and malevolent-looking creature and I was definitely glad to put some distance – and a great big steel bumper - between us quick-like ...
We stopped for the night at Crocodile Bridge camp – fairly average, but entertaining with a pack of three warthog snuffling around the tents across from us, kneeling on front legs to forage, bums in the air; and with a service station if required – and left early for the border, passing miles of lush agricultural land before arriving in Komatipoort and a unplanned, spot-it-and-stop at the local Midas shop (a chain of automotive shops across SA – Wizard Midas in Joberg is excellent and assisted us on spares with great enthusiasm and friendliness). Dwelling on our minds since departing was that neither of our spare tires was locked on in any way, the one on the bonnet so brand new you could smell the rubber 10 feet away – far too good a prize for some “Tsotsi” (naer’do well ...) to leave so easily available. But nowhere we looked could we find either a solution for the bonnet and rear spares, nor locking lugs for the rest – Midas here was our last shot. A young Afrikaaner lad assisted and was genial enough that after saying no to any availability of anything remotely useful for our requirements came out to have a look at the truck for himself. We discussed various options John and I had come up with – all involving welding of various brackets, etc – and he said he’d make some calls and see who might assist (but this being a fairly one-horse town the options were not great and he had nothing good to say about the one welding shop in town, Rhinos, as they were “%$#holes who charged way too much”). After just enough time for me to decide to give it a pass now, head for the border and hope against odds for something the other side he came back over and said a man’d be right over to have a look – adding sheepishly that it was his dad. He duly arrived, took a quick look, assured he could sort something out and 5 minutes later we’re parked in his backyard and the welding torch is burning. An hour and a half later and 200 Rand (20 GBP) and we’ve two sets of bespoke locking brackets installed, front and back. I said to Clare that only in SA would some shop kid phone his father to come round and sort out an issue for a customer rather than just go with nothing being available as the easy first answer. Brilliant.
After a terrific few days at Callum’s, which afforded us the free time and space to fuss about and get familiar with all of the truck’s kit, get a second spare tire fitted on the bonnet, anti smash-and-grab film installed on all windows, eat impala steaks and biltong and watch rugby, we struck out for (a planned) 2 nights in Kruger, taking the beautifully scenic road from Polokwane through Tzaneen and entering Kruger at Phalaborwa. Luckily we’d been out that route previously to view the tea plantation Callum’s father has taken over so knew to keep the vehicle load as light as possible as it’s an incredibly hilly route which really tested the climbing power of the truck (and the squeeling-loudly-in-protest new brake pads on descent ...) but as (hoped) we were subsequently able to fill up all tanks with diesel and water just prior to the Kruger gates so we could set off from there at full fighting weight.
On arrival we checked in at the gate and were given spare directions to our camp for the evening, Rustic Camp, some 60 minutes away via a second check in at Mopani. Of course, being us, it proved to be actually 90 minutes away as we missed the short cut. That we were last in for the night didn’t phase or motivate the clerk at check in, who defied gravity in the slowness of her movements yet then had the nerve to admonish us we must drive quickly as the gates would be locked in 15 minutes time and we were at least 15 minutes away! We arrived with just seconds to spare – and in the dark, of course ... Really just a cleared bit of fenced-in ground with 34 spaces and a shared ablution block, Rustic Camp lived up to its name but proved a very nice, quiet and clean place to spend the night and once the tent was up, kitchen boxes out and gas cooker lit we settled in easy enough for the evening and we were enjoying a spag bol dinner and wine within 90 minutes.
Deciding we could go a little more up-market for our second night, as well as get that much closer to the Moz border crossing for the next day (there are three border points via Kruger: Pafuri Gate at the far north tip, but not recommended due to a required river crossing and terrible road made worse by the recent heavy rains; Giriyondo at mid-point and Ressano Garcia, the main one back down at the southern-most end – our aim was to combine a few days game drive through Kruger with a crossing that allowed us to avoid Maputo and surrounds once across so the mid-point served both aims perfectly) we moved on in the morning to Lebata Rest Camp, which is a large and really nicely set up camp complete with swimming pool, gift shop and store – and electricity at each spot which is great for technology-mad’ers like us to top up Ipods, GPS, laptop, cameras, and on and on, along with allowing the fridge to run off the mains and not car battery as well. And large signs warning - I would have thought completely unnecessarily but turns out not – that it was against regulations to feed the hyena tracking up and down the perimeter fence. Better be a damn good fence ...
Our truck was dwarfed by that of our neighbours, a massive 4x4 Mercedes Benz transport truck with bespoke camper attached owned by John and Lynda, under 60’s who’d retired early, sold up, and hit the road for the better part of a year’s driveabout (with another year’s planned after this). We soon struck up a discussion: me with John, covering questions I had about the Landy as he’d owned a few before and how the heck he changed the tires on his beast; and Clare with Lynda covering how the heck the Tracks4Africa GPS software loaded on our Garmin, as she used a similar model (T4A is a vital software upgrade that covers every country on the continent right down to campsite locations, hospitals, dirt tracks versus gravel road options, etc – pick up at any Garmin dealer or outdoor shop for about 800 Rand) – both very valuable problem-solving discussions that soon enough turned into wine and everything under the sun talks around their camp table as the sun went down and all thought of runs to the shop for supplies quickly dissolved in importance (though it did require my then building a fire and flaming up two huge coils of boervors at 10 that night to be prepared for the next weeks’ requirements ...). And a most opportune meeting too as despite separate planned routes and schedules we’ve since run into them on 2 subsequent occasions quite by chance as we’ve moved up through Mozambique and as of this writing have followed them on from meeting 2 in the Taurus supermarket in Vilakulous and from their recommendation on a lovely spot just north of there are now sharing a site with them in Inhassoro for 3 nights ... Good thing we got along that first night ...
Anyway, I digress ... back to Kruger: On John and Lynda’s reco we asked at Reception whether Giriyondo crossing was currently issuing visas. All previously gathered intel indicated they were; local knowledge however quickly and definitively contradicted that and so though now faced with a day’s drive back down south instead of the planned middle crossing, from John and Lynda’s timely intervention we were at least saved a day’s unnecessary drive east only to be rejected at the border.
Leaving early the next morning we spotted something crossing the road ahead – I say an antelope of some sort; Clare agrees, then revises to possibly a cat of some sort “because of its bottom.” Adhering to strident “pull over, pull over”s I slowed into a crawl in second and cut close up against the brush-line on the shoulder, peering in for whatever had disappeared so abruptly on crossing – only to come face to face at virtually full stop and from 2 feet apart – and through my very large and very open window – a Hyena staring back at me. Christ but I lurched and hit the accelerator! Fascinate me though they do they are one mean and malevolent-looking creature and I was definitely glad to put some distance – and a great big steel bumper - between us quick-like ...
We stopped for the night at Crocodile Bridge camp – fairly average, but entertaining with a pack of three warthog snuffling around the tents across from us, kneeling on front legs to forage, bums in the air; and with a service station if required – and left early for the border, passing miles of lush agricultural land before arriving in Komatipoort and a unplanned, spot-it-and-stop at the local Midas shop (a chain of automotive shops across SA – Wizard Midas in Joberg is excellent and assisted us on spares with great enthusiasm and friendliness). Dwelling on our minds since departing was that neither of our spare tires was locked on in any way, the one on the bonnet so brand new you could smell the rubber 10 feet away – far too good a prize for some “Tsotsi” (naer’do well ...) to leave so easily available. But nowhere we looked could we find either a solution for the bonnet and rear spares, nor locking lugs for the rest – Midas here was our last shot. A young Afrikaaner lad assisted and was genial enough that after saying no to any availability of anything remotely useful for our requirements came out to have a look at the truck for himself. We discussed various options John and I had come up with – all involving welding of various brackets, etc – and he said he’d make some calls and see who might assist (but this being a fairly one-horse town the options were not great and he had nothing good to say about the one welding shop in town, Rhinos, as they were “%$#holes who charged way too much”). After just enough time for me to decide to give it a pass now, head for the border and hope against odds for something the other side he came back over and said a man’d be right over to have a look – adding sheepishly that it was his dad. He duly arrived, took a quick look, assured he could sort something out and 5 minutes later we’re parked in his backyard and the welding torch is burning. An hour and a half later and 200 Rand (20 GBP) and we’ve two sets of bespoke locking brackets installed, front and back. I said to Clare that only in SA would some shop kid phone his father to come round and sort out an issue for a customer rather than just go with nothing being available as the easy first answer. Brilliant.
Kitting Out
KITTING OUT
We had been informed by the owner – but not by the AA, which should have been the first red flag – that the truck required only new shocks and springs, so we went out to Rob Leimer’s for the parts. Expecting a shop in an industrial park or smart-looking dealership it took a number of calls to them to actually find it in the end – tucked well down a dirt road and hidden from the highway. It’s more a LR graveyard than shop with dozens of dead and cannibalized LR’s of every style, age and condition covering the acres but if there is a required part for a LR that they don’t stock, or can source immediately for you, it probably doesn’t exist. Operating for over 30 years they are LR experts and a tremendous resource as well. Rob is the older namesake, Warren his younger partner – both excellent and very helpful and friendly. And, importantly, never up-selling and happy to provide non-LR parts if they are equal to the task but more competitively priced. Highly recommended.
I asked Warren if there was a mechanic he could recommend who could provide us with a quick-and-dirty bush mechanics course and he passed on Craig O’Briens number. I explained what we wanted and he was quick to agree, saying his team could both install the shocks and coils as well as run us through the ins and outs of daily maintenance so we could cover both requirements in one go. Perfect. Craig runs his shop out of the front yard of his house so again a bit of a “where the ‘beep’ is this shop???” experience trying to find it as you must drive into a rather upscale residential neighbourhood to find him and not round in circles in the commercial area just prior to his turnoff as you might reasonably expect (despite GPS protestations to the contrary ...). He runs a team of about eight local mechanics there and on arriving they swarmed all over the vehicle getting stuck into installing the shocks and having a good look round as they pointed out what was where for us so we knew what to look for as well.
Damn good thing they did as one after the other they began highlighting (and what was immediately obvious now) concerns (“No, that’s not an oil sweat, that’s oil spray, and you definitely don’t want it showing up there. But we’ll fix that ...”) and the list of what was needed to be done – and parts that needed to be picked up back at Leimer’s - began to grow. In went a new vacuum pump and brake pads (ah, so you CAN actually hit the brake and not instead just coast to a slow and dignified stop while pressing your foot through the mat ...), front and rear ball joints, radiator hose, fan belt and glow plugs that cured the “the truck doesn’t like cold morning starts” as the owner had put it to us (“Ach, nono, forget it, it just needs new glow plugs” said Craig on initial inspection and lo, that indeed was all it needed to go from 3-4 turns of the ignition to start down to one – and with no black cloud of unused diesel blowing out the pipe and poisoning the surrounds each morning ...); all definitely what was needed to be brought up to speed before we got underway. Their attention to detail and knowledge is outstanding: after 6 hours at it on day two all was finished and I rather guiltily asked the lead mechanic – who was off to clean up and call it a day - if he’d mind taking the truck for a run around the block as he knew best how it should run, and on returning he immediately popped the bonnet and extracted a small hose from deep within the workings and showed me the tiny crack he’d heard air escaping from ... In went a new one from their set of stores and up went my peace of mind even higher). Full marks and huge thanks to Craig and his team for the incredibly attentive service - even when we unknowingly kept them from their planned afternoon off – and an hourly rate that was incredibly reasonable. Highly recommended! And also a huge thanks to Clare for her patience and acceptance that her birthday this year was celebrated by me being under the truck all afternoon and her dinner a Filet ‘o’ Fish hastily picked up at McD’s in the midst of a spontaneous Leimer’s run ...
Other than mechanical fixes and spare parts (check any overlanding reference for a comprehensive list of required spares – or ask Craig or Warren ...), all we needed was a fridge and finally, after much wrestling with the options (and the cost, which was the highest of anything bar the truck itself) we went with a 40L ARB from 4x4 MegaWorld. An Australian brand aimed at breaking Engel and National Luna’s grip on the top of the market, ARB is one of the higher priced options but it has so far proven itself a terrific choice with minor amp draw, quick chilling properties and bomb-proof construction. It also sports a drain in the bottom which Engel did not, a consideration that seemed mildly useful on purchase but within a week proved itself key when a pack of boervors bled out everywhere ... Other than 4x4 MegaWorld, Outdoor Warehouse and Macro (a Costco-style big-box which requires membership, which is easily picked up at the entrance) covered every other requirement and we quickly had a series of colour-coded ammo boxes filled with stores, spares, clothes and enough canned goods, porridge oats, pasta and coffee to survive for weeks between shops. Macro is also excellent for liquor purchases at significant discounts – vital for cheapy local reds for around the campfire ...
And with that we were off on Phase 1 of the Grand Tour - and in the dark, of course, as seems our unplanned but despite all best efforts consistent theme - with an initial stay at Clare’s uncle and his family in Polokwane (ex Pietersburg), 4 hours - at our best cruising speed of 100 kph - north of Joberg on the excellent N1 (note the numerous tolls on this stretch will add up to around 200 Rand in total, and each has a police roadblock on the other side). ... Two weeks down and sometimes seemingly mired in the admin and last minute details of it all but, finally, on the move and with 4-5 months and two dozen or so further countries stretching out ahead of us ...
Getting Sorted - Starting Out
JOHANNESBURG - GETTING SORTED – 18 MAY
June 12, and we’ve arrived in Pandane, on the coast of Mozambique, with 2.5 weeks and 2658 km underway and finally some spare time to get our travels down; I’ll be trying to keep a fairly detailed journal of our trip aimed both at those who wish to keep up with our (mis)adventures, as well as for those who may find this blog in their own research as they may be planning such a trip themselves – there has certainly been a very steep learning curve for us so far, so hopefully our experience can be of benefit. When I’ll be able to post is another matter entirely, so I’ll date each entry so a timeline will be fairly evident even if many weeks pass in between getting the info live.
While the idea of a self-supported transafrica overland drive has been on my ‘bucket list’ for over a decade since first reading of the exploits of others on arriving to live in the UK, my thinking had always been a London to Cape Town route, preceded by months of training, planning and preparation. So of course the reality of our trip is the complete opposite: a spontaneous ‘we should just do it’ decision made – in sober mind - while in Livingstone, Zambia, at the end of an organized three week overland trip (16 pax, 3 crew) that kicked off our honeymoon, which went up through SA, Namibia and the Okavango Delta region of Botswana. Successful though we have been so far I would admit up front I’d really not recommend such a winging-it approach if at all possible; though, that being said, we can so far show that it can be done this way.
We rocked up in Johannesburg 18 May – initiating the first of what has been, and I expect will continue to be, many ‘don’t do this in Africa’ actions by getting lost on the way in from OC Tambo airport and driving our rental car right through central Joberg as the sun quickly set to pitch dark, Clare now with head torch on and poorly detailed map from the Lonely Planet guide being nav, quickly pulling down the torch and stashing the map as we approached each intersection and me doing rolling stops through the lights to make any opportunistic targeting us all the more difficult (as I quickly took note all other vehicles were doing) - and began trawling AutoTrader, Ananzi, and every local online Land Rover, Land Cruiser and overland travel forum we could find. Our aim was for an old LR, especially given Clare’s fathers passion for the brand, but I must admit I was keen on a LC 80 if at all possible – price would really be the main factor here though, not sentimentality, but we were open to all as long as we felt the vehicle was up to the fairly daunting task ahead.
As we quickly discovered, order of availability of suitable, fully kitted out and ready to go vehicles in both Joberg and Cape Town (and, oddly enough, though all north-south routes end in CT, there were far more trucks available for sale in Joberg than in CT as we could find listed online) they ranked as the Toyota Hilux far ahead of the pack (and the only vehicle we did not want – for no other appreciable reason than look-cool-factor, which we thought was sorely lacking in them ... Though, admittedly, they do win out for driver comfort, speed and cross-continent prevalence ...), then a close tie between LC’s and LR’s. The huge difference amongst all three however was cost: Hilux’s were going for about 80,000 Rand plus, LR’s mostly in the 135 – 185,000 range, and LC’s starting at 185 and going sky’s the limit from there (we were offered ones at 365 despite stating a max ceiling of 185, sparking off heated debates on the LC owners forum if a “decent” vehicle could be bought for any less or if the new owner was just “throwing their money away” and would never complete the route if going with anything less dear ... A debate won in my mind by the member who jumped in hundreds of responses into it all to say he owned both types and by experience they were equal to the task; and that LC’s were so much more expensive due only to their better resale value, not any head-and-shoulders-above-LR quality many others were spouting off about, and that he had a friend who’d done north to south on horseback 20 years ago so, really, you could do the trip in or on anything if you put your mind, muscle and right attitude into it ...). Damn straight says I, then - as I am a cheap bugger at heart – set about crossing LC’s off the list and concentrating entirely on finding the best LR for our limited budget.
In the end we test drove and picked apart about a dozen trucks, predominantly TD5’s but one terrific old Series 3 as well that had seen it all, most all fantastically kitted out by 4x4 and camping – and truck proud – locals, before finding the perfect option after about one week’s efforts: a ‘96 TDi diesel with 180,000 on the clock and a spotless mechanical record, fully loaded with 120 litre long-range fuel and 40 litre water tanks, a top-of-the-line Outback pop-up rooftop tent on a heavy-duty Outback rack, built-in internal drawer system, jerry cans, hi-lift jack, detachable side awning, solid bull bar (but no bash plate or attached winch) and many other essential bits and pieces being sold by a highly-motivated family man setting about emigrating to Australia and so selling all his possessions off at fire sale prices. While TD5’s are terrific to drive and the more modern of the two LR’s we were flipping a coin over, the TDi won easily with the simplicity of its engine over the fully-computerized and electronic TD5, which I just saw no way to get repaired while on the road should the system fry out in some of the more remote areas we expected to go through, while the TDi could get a complete service overhaul at any bush mechanics seemingly armed with little more than a spanner, wire and a roll of duct tape ... Which – having been previously a dedicated full service and authorized mechanic-only user - was about the extent of my own mechanical ability so the TDi was hands-down the right call for us ... I am later told the tale of a fellow who was stuck in Zambia for 5 weeks while the best minds there attempted to fix his fried TD5 electricals and, despite SA replacement parts being shipped up, it spelled the end for his trip and the vehicle had to be towed back home ...
The electronic funds transfer for purchase arrived at the owner’s bank within 24 hours of leaving my UK account so was a far simpler process than anyone had anticipated (or any other feedback/experiences we’d researched previously had shown, as we’d been reliably informed to expect it could take up to 7 working days to clear). Note though that for any incoming transfers of 50,000 Rand or more the recipient must complete paperwork at their branch before the funds will be cleared in, so have them contact their bank prior to transfer of funds to ensure they are aware what is required their side if you are in a hurry to gain possession of the vehicle. Also try and attach a return spring to those funds should anything go wrong in transferring ownership – there are plenty of stories out about unscrupulous sellers and it’s a bit of a clencher in any regard watching your funds leave but holding only the hope and trust of your chosen seller that they will be there the next day for transfer of ownership as planned (also note there is a bit of a racket going outside of SA in the selling of ZA-registered vehicles that are actually not the sellers to do so, so if thinking of purchasing somewhere on the continent but outside of SA be very cautious and note that you MUST return the vehicle to SA to change ownership, and that it must be a ZA-registered vehicle to cross neighbouring borders easily. All in all, buy only in SA and keep a close watch on the proceedings ...).
The seller must run the vehicle, at their own expense, through the AA (or an AA-authorized facility) for road-worthy testing and is then responsible for getting the vehicle up to code should any defects be noted. Good in theory, but in practise a useless exercise as ours passed with flying colours – even in telling the mechanic out of the owner’s earshot that we were aiming to purchase the vehicle and drive it back to the UK so to be extra vigilant – yet in subsequently getting it overhauled at a specialist overlanding mechanics shop they quickly identified numerous faults that should never have been passed in any thorough testing. Big lesson number one then in purchasing: do the AA testing for the pure procedural requirement of it all but then get the vehicle into a Land Rover or overland mechanics shop prior to purchase and have them give it a thorough once over. Agree only after both tests are run what the owner must cover and what you can consider acceptable post-purchase upgrading of your own responsibility and do not let the AA test be the only marker in any way. Luckily our issues were all fairly straightforward (and inexpensive) and full marks to Rob Leimer’s Land Rover for the requisite parts and Craig O’Briens Overland Land Rover Service & Repair for the install (coffee and beer). More on both of these vital connections in Joberg later.
Transfer of ownership was a remarkably seamless procedure but did take 3 working days to complete. The seller must take in all vehicle registration docs to the Ranburg Licensing Department, Civic Centre along with proof of residency (must be utility bill or the like, not just their driver’s license, which our guy did not know – and fruitlessly argued against – and necessitated his driving back across Joberg to collect one and then start the queuing all over again on return) but there was some confusion about whether my being on a visitor’s visa allowed me to take actual ownership of a vehicle and not just drive it with the owner’s permission – even the signs in the office contradict this with one point saying no and three lines down saying yes ... In the end Elsie, all 4’5” of youthful bustling enthusiasm for overcoming bureaucratic obstacles, took our case in hand and forced her way through it all, finding we must first apply for permission to take ownership via separate documentation (in the same building, but well the other side), a process that required a 3 business day waiting period (but in reality only because they accepted our papers on the Thursday and said they would be ready on the Monday, but only processed them as we stood at the desk Monday morning and had actually made no effort on prior days ... But all friendly and fairly efficient in the end). All a bit confusing but you do ‘own’ the vehicle on initial transfer of ownership papers (day 1) and so we were free to leave with it to finalize provisions, fixes, etc, but you must then wait to gather the next set of papers to gain complete ownership (and clear police verification) and leave the country with it, etc ...
For insurance there are many options available but ignore any differentiating sales pitch, all offer only the exact same coverage for the exact same southern Africa countries only and do NOT cover anything north, east or west of Zambia - we were assured repeatedly by our chosen provider we were covered right up to crossing into Europe but on receipt of the policy found that not to be the case at all. You must also then pick up third party insurance as you cross each border for full coverage. The vehicle must then go into a Glassfit office within 48 hours of ownership transfer to confirm anti-hijacking and theft devices are in place (immobilizer, alarm, etc) and the policy is then priced accordingly and finalized. Finally, the vehicle must go in for a police check at the vehicle testing station off Main Reef Road, where after reviewing all ownership docs and checking the VIN, etc, they will issue both a notarized document stating the vehicle is not stolen, as well as an export permit allowing it to cross all subsequent borders. Note this is only done between 0730-1130 Monday to Friday and by 1130 they mean if they’re busy and in danger of needing to stay on late regardless of the time you’ll be turned back for another try tomorrow and on our day the queue was 30+ cars deep by 10 - so arrive early ...
With all that behind us we were sorted – about a week all told – and free to hit the road.
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