Africa Uncut

OutThere Magizine Feature

2010-05-13T05:46:00.000-07:00

Wow... been home now for almost as long as i was away and still trying to settle into the routine of "Normal" life.

For all those interested:

There is an Article about my trip and the ease of Motorcycle Travel in Africa in the latest issue (autumn) of OutThere Adventure Magizine (The OutThere Gear guide).

Videos Uploaded

2010-01-14T08:43:00.000-08:00

I have uploaded the Charity films to YouTube so click on the following links if you are interested:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rmRbpATh-V0

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ibyKT3pU670&feature=related

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dk-CpWvJL4s

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mWslJRqhpX0

Homeward Bound

2009-11-15T03:02:00.000-08:00

"A man travels the world in search of what he needs and returns home to find it." George Moore.

After the dramas with the rear shock, things had not gotten off to the best start on our final leg of the journey. This leg would see us crossing into Botswana and riding down the eastern side of the country before returning home to South Africa. The mechanic that fixed the rear shock gave new meaning to the term “bush mechanic”. His workshop literally consisted of a pile of scrapped motorbikes and tools spread across his back yard. Nonetheless, he managed to take out my rear shock and fit it with a wide spacer that would hopefully make the suspension stiff enough to get me home.

The morning spent at the mechanic meant that we were off to a bit of a late start so we did not push too far on the first days ride. It was an hour down to the border and we were going to stay in Kisane just over the border. The border crossing, however, took longer than the sum total of time spent on the bike that day. We eventually got ourselves onto a pontoon and crossed the Zambezi River into Botswana. Upon entering Botswana one can immediately notice the relative wealth of the country. It has been one of the most successful African countries and since achieving democratic rule in 1966. This is mostly due to three of the world’s biggest diamond mines that are found within the country’s borders.

There are a number of campsites along the Chobe River not far from Kasane Town so we got some supplies from the well stocked Spar Supermarket and found a nice quiet little campsite at which to set up for the night. The next day involved a fairly straightforward ride down to Nata, Julia managed to get a lift in a double cab and I rode the 300km stretch solo in an effort to limit the strain on the rear shock. I encountered a couple lone elephant bulls along the way, one of which was just meters from the road and had me “on edge” as I skirted around the far side of the road. We regrouped in Nata before making camp at the Nata Safari Lodge, another campsite aimed at the many 4x4’ing enthusiasts frequenting Botswana for its rough roads and wild animals.

We decided we too should try and get to a game reserve seen as we were in Botswana and all. It is always tricky on a motorbike as the parks do not allow you in and our situation was made trickier as we could not tackle very rough roads with the failing shock. After some phone calls we decided to spend the next night in Karma Rhino Sanctuary as it had a tar road all the way to the gate and they would allow us to drive all the way to the camp on the bike. It was brilliant to camp in the real wild with animals roaming around us constantly and we were treated to a real show when a 2m Black Mamba attacked a chameleon in our campsite.

From Karma Rhino Sanctuary it was only 150km to the South African Border. I was filled with bitter-sweet emotions as I crossed the Limpopo River at the Martin’s Drift Border Post. It had been the most amazing experience and I had really enjoyed the diversity of the different African cultures but I was so looking forward to finally getting home and seeing my family that I felt it was time to return. I have not spent much time in the northern reaches of South Africa so things were not looking all that familiar just yet. We camped just outside Ellisras and went into town to enjoy some good South African food at the Keg and some “not so good” South African singing as it was karaoke evening.

We were planning to meet my family in Pilansberg Game Reserve for the weekend and still had a night to spare so we headed into the Waterberg Mountains along what was thankfully a very smooth dirt track. We Found a nice little private game reserve with affordable accommodation for the night. We only had 200km to cover on the final day so got off to a late start but Murphy’s Law ensured it would not be as straightforward as we could have hoped. The chain on the bike snapped just 10km from the Pilansberg gate. It was the controversial “magic link” that had given way after all these miles. Before leaving some people had told me not to put a magic link on the chain and some people had said you have to have a magic link. I had decided to go with a magic link and was carrying a normal spare link just in case this happened. I had been lucky up to now with my chain and all other mechanical concerns for that matter but now, 10km from the finish line, my luck had run out and to make things worse, the spare link was the wrong size and would not fit on my chain. With the help of some local mechanics I eventually managed to shorten the chain and get the bike running again but it was now extremely tight and I held my breath as I put it in gear and rode off.

The chain held out and I after 6 long months I finally got to see my family again and best of all; I got to meet my niece for the first time. We had a wonderful weekend relaxing at Kwa Maritane in the Pilansberg. For me, the ride back to Jo’burg was just a formality but it was nice to arrive back at the very spot I had departed from, I had gone full circle. The adventure had been everything I was hoping it would be and more.

Living it up in Livingstone

2009-10-30T13:01:00.000-07:00

“I do not remember a morning in Africa, when I woke up and was not happy.” Earnest Hemingway

After some serious time on the road it has been fantastic to relax and take a little holiday within a holiday for a couple weeks in Livingston. We got into the swing of things pretty soon after our arrival, we met all the kayakers hanging about the place, some of whom had also been up at the Nile in Uganda and had now flown down to the Zambezi (the standard African kayaking package). We managed to get our hands on some gear and we were on the water on our second day here! For our first day we opted for the “easier” second half of the rapids in an effort to get into things gently but we were only fooling ourselves..... there is nothing gentle about any part of the Zambezi! The waves are huge, the holes are retentive and the lines are far tighter than the Nile! We spent a good deal of our first day upside-down but it was great fun none-the less! Bobbing down the mighty Zambezi gorge also provides for some amazing scenery and even a little wildlife with the occasional croc head making an appearance. If you are not completely knackered from fighting for the right to breath all day then the walk out the gorge at the end will ensure that you get a good night’s sleep.

For our next adventure, we chose to do a multi-day trip. We were offered a brilliant deal by the rafting company in order to fill the spaces on the planned trip. Our first day involved a full day on the boats. Julia opted to hop in the raft for most of it so that she could just enjoy the day without having to fear for her life the whole way down. In the late afternoon we pulled up onto a beach and set up camp for the night. The guides provided an astonishingly good meal after which we sat round the fire and marvelled at the incredible experience of camping aside the Zambezi with the steep gorge walls pointing up to a beautiful African night’s sky.

Day two was a little flatter and the gorge started to open out a bit. We let the slight current do most of the work as we snaked our way down the river at a gentle pace all morning before having lunch next to the thundering Moemba Falls. The hike out the gorge was not quite as gruelling as the guides had warned but still made us feel as though we deserved the iced cold drinks waiting for us at the top.

The next few days involved quite a bit of lounging round the pool at the ever popular Jollyboys Backpackers. We visited a Local Pre-school in a village near Livingstone where some amazing people are doing great work. The school is predominantly funded by a bicycle tour operation set up by a Zambian with incredible vision. “Cliff the Cowboy” as he is known (because of the big hat he sports), realised the need for a school within his community and didn’t let the absence of government funding stand in his way. He takes tourists on “safari” cycle tours around Livingston and ploughs the profits into this amazing community project. We took some footage of the project and put together a little video to try and help them get some extra funding from whoever may realise just what a worthwhile cause it is!

A highlight of our time in Livingston was an afternoon spent at the Royal Livingston Hotel mixing it up with the other half of the tourists here to see Victoria Falls. We enjoyed the most amazing spread of cakes and treats for high tea, sitting on the colonial style patio in high back lounge chairs. We then took a short walk through the beautiful gardens, along the water’s edge and ended it all off with sundowners. The orange glow over the river dispersed by the spray from the falls made for one of the most amazing sights of my time in Africa.

After almost two weeks in Livingston we were both feeling restless and getting ready to get back on the road. The bike is starting to feel the effects of the last 6 months on the road and needed a few things done. A small crack in the frame needed welding, a few spokes in the rear wheel had broken and the rear tyre was finally due for replacement. One cannot put a time frame on getting these seemingly small jobs done and it all took quite a bit longer than expected and a fair amount of negotiation.

Finally, after we thought we had the bike back into good running condition, we loaded it up and set off down the road.... 300m down the road before the rear shock let us know that it too, had had enough and didn’t fancy absorbing the bounces inflicted by two people and ALL their luggage anymore! We just happened to break down outside Faulty Towers, the other backpacker’s jaunt in Livingston, so we checked in here after what will definitely be the shortest day’s riding. I managed to find a bike mechanic who assured me it will be fixed by mid morning tomorrow so if, by some miracle, he sticks to his word we should be in Botswana tomorrow. Exactly where in Botswana... I do not know but adventure always lies within the Unknown.

Zipping through Zambia

2009-10-24T03:08:00.000-07:00

“I travel a lot; I hate having my life disrupted by routine.” Caskie Stinnett

Entering Zambia meant the arrival of better roads, more frequent shops and, of course, a change in the local language and customs. It also meant saying goodbye to Eastern Africa and some of the eastern niceties such as spiced masala tea and ginger flavoured coffee (tangaweezi). Roadside snacks changed from chapattis (fried flatbread) to scones. After living in “Eastern Africa” for the last 3 months I had started to get used to the people and food influenced by the Arabic culture but Zambia falls into the “Southern Africa” region and things started to look far more like home as soon as we crossed the border. The shops here are stocked full of South African products, the people are more similar to those in South Africa and even the road works are controlled by stop-go/ry signs.

Our first stop in Zambia was in Mpulungu, the land-locked county’s only port town on the southern reaches of Lake Tanganyika. We stayed at a little placed called Tanganyika Lodge, 5km out of town on a terrible road but situated in a beautiful setting on the water’s edge. The camp was almost full of swiss biologists who were doing research on a certain species of chiliad fish endemic to Lake Tanganyika. They would spend 4 to 5 hours a day underwater studying the behaviour patterns of these bottom dwellers. We considered staying on at this spot for a little longer but it was extremely isolated, with no electricity or shops around and after the wild west road we needed to try find internet and get in touch with the world again.

From Mpulungu, Julia caught the coach and I cruised solo for 440km down to a small junction town called Mpika. The newly surfaced road passed by effortlessly and we managed to arrive at more or less the same time, just as the sun was setting. Mpika would serve only as an overnight stop and in all honestly, I don’t think it has much more to offer the traveller. The next day was another long one and the infrequent bus schedule meant that we would tackle the 440km to Kipiri Moshi riding two up once again. This road offered little in the way of spectacular scenery and was more of a chore than anything else. To visit anywhere of interest along the great north road through central Zambia meant navigating away from the tarred surface for some distance and the failing rear shock had begun to rule out such options.

Kipiri Moshi was another brief stop before a quick morning’s ride down to Lusaka. We stopped just outside Kabwe for breakfast at the Fig Tree, a nice little coffee shop serving all the tastiest western delights and very good coffee! We arrived in Lusaka before lunch and made our way to Chachacha, the well known backpacker hangout in the capitol city. Lusaka gave us the chance to get what we needed from Game and Shoprite, two South African stores that are spreading like wildfire through Africa. We then retreated to the backpackers and into the welcoming pool to escape the scorching heat!

Oops Julia missed her flight. Julia had planned to fly out of Lusaka on the 15th of October but her commitments back home changed and so she decided to just keep going on the epic journey south. The last leg of the whirlwind tour of Zambia would be from Lusaka to Livingston. Julia boarded the luxury coach and I headed out on what would be the second longest day of my trip so far. To make things a little more interesting, southern Zambia was suffering from a fuel crisis and most petrol pumps in Lusaka had run dry . The few stations that had some fuel left had massive queues but with rumours of things getting worse down south, I had no option but to wait it out with the rest of Lusaka in order to get my hands on a few litres of the precious commodity. It was almost 500kms to Livingston and I didn’t quite think things through when I set out with no extra fuel and a range of about 450kms. After passing through town after town with lifeless petrol stations I realised I could have a slight problem on my hands. I have covered in excess of 14000kms already, though some of the most remote parts of South Eastern Africa and never really had to worry about the availability of fuel. Now, in one of the far more advanced African countries, I was in a spot of bother. Luckily there will always be an African with a cunning plan to make a quick buck and eventually I managed to find a guy who had been making trips down to Botswana to get fuel and was now selling it at more than double the normal price out of containers in the boot of his car behind the market in Choma. I bought enough fuel to get me to Livingston. At R20 a litre I was not about to fill up the tanks but at least I would not be stranded in the middle of nowhere.

I arrived in Livingston 20 minutes after Julia’s bus and met her at the ever popular Jollyboys Backpackers. It had been a mammoth day’s ride and the road works over the last 70kms leading into town had been cause for a slight sense of humour failure but Livingston meant that it was time for a bit of a holiday. The next few days would no doubt involve some extreme kayaking on the Zambezi, the obligatory sight-seeing at Victoria falls, a few nice rest days by the pool and good company with the hundreds of young backpackers passing through and kayakers hanging around.

The Wild West of Tanzania

2009-10-18T10:53:00.000-07:00

“Exploring is delightful to look forward to and back upon, but it is not comfortable at the time unless it be of such an easy nature as not to deserve the name.” Thomas Euxbery

Chris:

Looking back at the wild west road trough Tanzania I will remember it as an adventure, with the enchanting parts taking precedence in my memory but there is no denying that there were tough times where all I wanted was for it to be over. There is only really one road linking north and south Tanzania on the western side of the country and this road takes the form of a windy dirt track in various states of disrepair.

We crossed the bridge over the impressive thundering Rusumu falls, which forms the boundary between Rwanda and Tanzania and had our Tanzanian stamps in our passports before we knew it. The Rusumu River not only forms the border between the countries but also the border between the steep green Rwandan hills and the more undulating bushveld of northern Tanzania. The road continued to be good tarmac all the way to our overnight stop in Lusahunga. This small trucker’s town had little to offer any kind of tourist. The constant stares were a sign that not many an mzungu stops off here. The dusty road was lined with trucks that had stopped over for the night and after the 5th guest house and still no free space we were beginning to get a little worried. Our self appointed Lusahunga tour guide had even given up on trying to find us a room but we eventually managed to find something in a very dingy little place. Rob and Polly had taken the wild west road up on their way to Rwanda and had said the guest houses usually have at least one of the three luxuries: electricity, water or mosquito nets. This guest house had none of the above. No surprises in the fact that we didn’t hang around long in Lusahunga. We arrived as it was getting dark and left first thing in the morning to begin the 1000kms of dirt road that lay ahead.

The first stretch consisted of roughly 250km of fairly good dirt road down to Kigoma, a bustling port town on the northern reaches of Lake Tanganyika. We broke up the trip into manageable sections of roughly 50km each between towns where we would dismount to give our bums a rest and cool down with a cold coke or two. The day before we had been stopped by a policeman at a roadblock and warned that there had been an attack on a passenger bus along this road by Burundian rebels just a week ago. He said it should be safe as they had now deployed quite a few troops to maintain safe passage along the road but it was definitely something that was playing in the back of our minds while we drove along the section no more than 10km from the Burundian border. We had been considering driving through Burundi en route to Lake Tanganyika as it would have been much shorter and quicker but after consulting numerous travel safety websites we took the advice they issued and went around. According to the websites the capital of Burundi, Bujumbura, was relatively safe by day but the roads through the country were still a little on the dodgy side. The last of the rebel armies was supposedly disarmed in April this year but the ambush on this very road the week before was testament that all is not well in this little country.

The last 50km into Kigoma provided for the first big challenge that the wild west road would throw at us. Road works were being carried out on this section and the temporary road that had been haphazardly engraved between the piles of earth and masses of construction works was in a pretty bad state! It did not help matters that the luggage rack on my bike had broken 10km before this all started and was now being held together with straps until I could get it welded again. We bounced along through a constant cloud of dust for 15km longer than the map had indicated but all was forgiven when we eventually arrived at an idyllic little camping spot just above a private little beach on Lake Tanganyiaka. This beautiful spot was the perfect place to spend a few nights recharging before continuing on what would undoubtedly be one of the toughest parts of the trip. Originally we had been planning to catch the ferry down the lake but got our days mixed up and ended up arriving an hour after the ferry had departed, the next departure would be in two weeks. We weren’t quite sure if we were going to be able to get the bike onto the ferry or if it was even running at present so we had thought there was a fairly good chance we would have to tackle the Wild West Road anyway.

I got quite sick quite suddenly whilst at our idyllic camp site and was man-down for 24hours. At one stage I was convinced that I had malaria but the rapid test said otherwise. My glands were badly swollen which probably meant that I had just been bitten by some or other insect. I used a full day in Kigoma to give the bike all the attention it required before it was put through some challenging times. The luggage racks needed quite a bit of welding and reinforcing so I spent some time doing at a welding workshop getting it all done. The welding and new stabilising bar they made for me took some time so I ended up leaving my bike at the make shift workshop and walking around the downtown auto parts shops looking for new mirrors, oil filter etc. Only after I returned to my bike did I realise that the welding workshop was an employment project for ex-prisoners. I had left them with all my tools, my helmet, jacket and even the keys to my bike. To my surprise, it was all still there and they had done a sterling job on the bike. They were an extremely friendly bunch of ex-cons, they seemed to take an extra bit of pride in the job on my bike (probably because I was their first and probably only Mzungu customer they will ever have) and didn’t try rip me off when it came time to pay, which is usually to be expected in Africa.

Jigs:

On our third day we packed up our camp and headed into the unknown once again. We planned about a 240km day. The road was meant to be unrideable in the rain... as we pulled out of Kigoma the grey sky opened. Fortunately it didn’t last long and the quality of the bad road would be preserved for a few more days...

This was one of our most challenging days, with ‘towns’ and thus petrol spread sparsely. The road went from brilliant dirt to corrugation, soft sand and fine dust. We took a few knocks and falls but made it in tacked to the planned stop over. This would be our first night of ‘wild camping’, next to a bubbling stream that carved through the bush. The Pommies had given us the GPS coordinates for this perfect place for weary travellers. Cooking on an open fire in the middle of nowhere, we were vulnerable to Mother Nature and the elements.

We were cooking pasta for dinner and Chris went off into the dark in search of some rocks to prop up the pot. “Jigs, I’ve been stung by a scorpion.” Chris called out surprisingly calmly. “What!” “Come here,” he said, as he was killing his attacker with his shoe still holding his finger where the scorpion had got him. His finger had a black sting in it, we tried to get as much poison out as possible and tied off all blood to his finger to buy us time to make some decisions. So, we were out of cell phone reception, it was dark, the roads were terrible and we didn’t know how poisonous the white scorpion was.... I couldn’t ride the loaded bike on these roads if things got messy. Hectic! Our only option seemed to be to sit it out and see what happens. Scary stuff! Other than numbness of the affected finger tip and a pain shooting up his arm at one stage, he was alright and has no residual symptoms.

Chris:

Wow that was a close call. The next day I woke up feeling absolutely fine, we loaded up the bike and got on our way fairly early. The day before had ended with about 70 challenging kilometres. The road was mainly soft sand, punctuated by the occasional bumpy hard gravel section. The rear suspension had been taking strain with the two of us on the bike and the entire luggage piled up high behind us. It had started to get worse and worse towards the end of the previous day so we decided to rather take it a bit easy and cover shorter sections each day so that we could travel slower in an effort to help the suspension. The road improved slightly that day, which allowed us to get to Mpanda, the district capital, in good time. We stopped at the market in the middle of the dusty town to stock up on a few supplies for the next stretch. After Mpanda the road improved dramatically and we sailed down to a small village called Sitalike on the fenceless border of Katavi National Park. It was only lunch time but we thought we had done enough for the day so set up camp in the Riverside Camp Site. Our tent was a mere 30meters from a pool in the river that was home to no less than 100 wallowing hippos. All that lay between us and the biggest killers in Africa was a rickety paddock fence with missing stiles here and there. We had a nice relaxing afternoon on the river bank, watching the hippos yarning the day away.

That night would prove to be another interesting one. Just before bed I had put an old plank across the nearest gap in the fence as we had been told that the hippos came out the water at night to graze. This was a good move. In the middle of the night we were awoken by the loud clank of the plank being knocked over. A hippo had tried to make tracks right through our camp. It had come within 5 meters of our tent but was frightened by the noise of the falling plank and scurried back to the water’s safety. We lay there a little tense for a while. Just as we were starting to dose off again we were suddenly roused by the calls of a Hyena... and the calls were getting closer and closer until eventually the Hyena walked right past our tent. So close that we could hear it breathing in a purring sort of manner as it strolled by. We lay there dead silent until long after it had gone, partly because the sequence of events in the last half hour had left us a little in shock.

The sun finally rose and we had survived yet another truly wild African night. It was a splendid day and a good one for travelling. The first 50km of that day’s ride took us straight through the Katavi National Park. We rode past herd after herd of buffalo and saw a fair amount of zebra and the occasional giraffe. We could not stop until we were well out of the park on the southern side as the tetsi flies were quite bad in that area and when we did try to stop we would find ourselves instantly swarmed by them. The road was bumpy at times but we just took it easy and slowly made our way along the 200km down to a town called Sumbawanga. There we found a very nice guest house with all three of the west Tanzanian luxuries and to put the icing on the cake... the water that FLOWED from the shower was HOT!!!!!! WOW!!!!!! It was the small things in life, which one usually takes for granted, that had begun to bring much happiness. The next day was our last in Tanzania and involved a short 100km ride down to a town called Mpulungu in Northern Zambia. The 100km took longer than the 200 we had done the day before as the road got worse and worse the further south we headed. The border was hassle free, there wasn’t even an immigration office on the Zambian side of the border gate so we were instructed to go and find immigration in the next town so that we could legally be stamped into the country. Seeing the first bit of tar in over a thousand kilometres was a marvellous site. The rear shock was close to finished by then and would not have handled another day on the dirt. Luckily it was tar from here on in.

The Land of a Thousand Hills (Rwanda)

2009-10-16T08:15:00.000-07:00

“A good traveler has no fixed plans, and is not intent on arriving.” Lao Tzu

In the last couple weeks, Jigs and I have gone in search of true adventure, and boy have we found it. After a couple of restful days at Lake Bunyoni, in south-western Uganda, we packed up the bike once more and started the trek into Rwanda, the land of a thousand hills. The friendly dutch manager at the campsite at Lake Bunyoni told us of a ‘shortcut’ to get to the border. He had also said that the road wound its way around the lakeshore and was far more scenic than the main route. He was not lying. The first 30km of that day’s ride was undoubtedly the most scenic road I have ridden in the 13000km I have covered since departing Jo’burg more than 5 months ago. Lake Bunyoni is guarded by extremely steep slopes all round and the road we took around the northern part of the lake was carved into the side of the steep slope the whole way. It probably was a short cut but it definitely took us a good deal longer than the normal route would have as we had to stop to take pictures around every bend because the views just kept on getting better and better.

From the lake we started to climb and climb for what felt like forever, darting between yellow construction trucks constantly as the road was undergoing some much needed improvements. The road then snaked through forests of bamboo before popping out on the other side of the mountains with infinite views all the way to the Park National Volcanoes, a row of four peaks that lie roughly on the border between Uganda and Rwanda. We descended from the mountain top as fast as the hairy switchback road would allow and rolled into Kisoro town for a bit of lunch and found refuge in an internet café while an early afternoon storm drenched the earth in a matter of minutes. From Kisoro we made our way down to the Rwandan border along a now muddy road with the volcanoes towering up to the right hand side. The border crossing was quick and easy, the toughest part of which was trying to work out just how badly the money changers were trying to rip us off as neither of us had any idea about the latest exchange rates for Rwandan francs.

Once in Rwanda it felt a little strange to all-of-a-sudden be driving on the right hand side of the road, something I have not done before. We had been for warned that most road accidents in Rwanda happen within a few kilometers of border posts as people are still trying to adjust to the new road rules. The landscape did not change dramatically as it so often does when you cross these imaginary lines drawn across the earth but there did seem to be loads more pedestrians ALL over the road. We cruised along 50km of smooth tar down to a town called Ruhengeri before starting the next challenge. We were en route to visit our friends Rob and Polly Summerhayse, who are working at a hospital in Rwanda, and they had warned us that the last 25 km form Ruhengeri was quite bumpy. That it was. We bounced our way down the “bumpy track” at little more than a crawling speed. The road followed a valley and provided some more breath-taking scenery all the way to Shyra Hospital, on top of a mountain.

Rob had Polly had just arrived at the hospital the day before we arrived. They had cycled all the way from South Africa!!!!! I stayed with them in Zululand during the early stages of my trip and it was incredible to think of the distance they had self propelled themselves since then. Dr Rob is volunteering in the hospital for 3 months, which they will use as a half way stop before continuing their epic journey home to the UK. They have been given a wonderful little house in which to live for their 3 months there and luckily it had a spare room so we were honored to be their first visitors. The house is perched on top of a mountain with brilliant views from the huge patio. We spent two fantastic days with them, catching up on each other’s adventures since we all last together.

We then made our way down to Kigali, the nation’s capital. We spent the night in Kigali and took advantage of the supermarket and treated ourselves to a nice western dinner. The next morning we were up early in order to pay a visit to the Genocide Memorial Centre before getting on the road. We knew that it was not going to be easy to walk through the museum, situated on the same site as the mass graves where thousands of people are buried but nothing could have prepared us for the hard hitting images and videos of people relaying their stories of the world’s most recent genocide and the shocking sequence of events that led to such a brutal atrocity. We left the memorial in shock and rode in silence all the way to the Tanzanian border on the eastern side of Rwanda.

It's a Jugle Out There

2009-10-03T04:02:00.000-07:00

“Travel only with thy equals or thy betters; if there are none, travel alone.” The Dhammapada

I made my way to Kampala for the first time since entering Uganda in order to meet Jigs. I had been in Uganda for 5 weeks already prior to her arrival but spent the entire time on the Nile River and it was good to get away from the familiar surroundings of Jinga, even if it was just down the road to Kampala. It was great to see her after all these months. We spent one night in the bustling bright lights of Kampala before heading back to Jinga so that she could tackle the mighty Nile, something she was understandably apprehensive about and her first sighting of the expansive river got the nerves flowing.

We wasted no time getting her set up with a rented kayak and gear and got on the water the very next morning to warm up with a relatively easy stretch of river usually kayaked by the beginner kayakers as part of their kayak school. This was a bit tame for her so when we got to the end she promptly suggested that we rather go and tackle something a little more adventurous. By the end of the day she had conquered Bujagali Falls, a rather tricky grade 5 rapid respected by all that have ever braved it! The next day we had a full day of Kayaking. We managed two runs down some of the biggest rapids on the river including the notorious “Silverback Rapid”. A rather sizable grade 5, regarded by many as the biggest commercially rafted rapid in the world. It was great fun to be on the river with Jigs and listen to her screams as she hit the big waves and sticky stoppers. When jigs is screaming you know she is still having fun, it’s when she goes quiet that you know she is really scared!

The following day we packed up and I said goodbye to Jinga for good. It had been a great break from being on the road and so good to spend so much time kayaking some of the best water in the world. They are currently constructing a dam wall on the river so the top section will not be raftable or kayakable any time from December. We made our way back toward Kampala and through the mayhem of the capital city traffic towards Masaka, on the western side of Lake Victoria. En route to Masaka we crossed the equator and stopped for some obligatory photos and water swirling displays. Masaka is a relatively unexciting town that would serve only as an overnight stop for us as we headed almost across the entire country to the Bwindi Forrest. Many buildings in Masaka were destroyed by bombs during the civil war and little effort has been made to clean up the derelict structures so the town appears to be in an everlasting state of disrepair. We found a nice little backpackers just out of town and set up camp overlooking the rolling green hills of Uganda and a pretty sunset. The next morning we continued to head west, Jigs on the bus and me on the bike. We travelled at more or less the same speed and met up again in a town called Natunga.

From Natunga we rode “two up” all the way to Buhoma, a small town situated on the edge of the Bwindi Impenetrable Forest. The ride was nothing short of spectacular! We followed a tiny gravel track down steep gorges, across rivers and through tiny villages for no shorter than 95kms. 95k’s might not sound far but the road was by no means a highway and posed a serious challenge to my riding ability as well as the capabilities of my poor little motorbike. We were riding through Uganda as I had imagined it (or seen in the movies) with dense green vegetation lining the road, terraced slopes as far as the eye could see covered in banana plantations and other local crops. Our speed averaged somewhere between 20 and 30km/h so the long and winding track took us close on 4 hours to get through. There were definitely times when I wished the end would come sooner and was reminded why to never ask locals for distance estimates when they told us we would be there 35km sooner than we were. We arrived in Buhoma just as the afternoon rain was settling in and after asking around a bit we managed to find the cheapest accommodation option and promptly got out of the rain and put our feet up in an effort to give our bruised bottoms a rest.

The Bwindi Impenetrable Forrest is not known as the impenetrable forrest for nothing. The view from our lodge was across a valley blanketed in thick jungle. Bwindi is famous for its gorilla population and attracts many tourists who pay an arm and a leg to do “Gorilla Treks” into the forest to see the gentle giants. Our tight pockets caused us to veer away from the $600 gorilla trek but we decided to pay the park entrance plus the $10 fee for a guide in order to take a walk through the prehistoric jungle to some impressive waterfalls and hopefully encounter some other monkeys as the forest has one of the highest densities of primates in Africa. Luck happened to be on our side that day and just after we entered the park gates we “just happened” to come across a troop of gorillas crossing the road including a couple silverbacks and some really playful babies hoping from tree to tree. The park officials did their best to try and stop us from seeing the gorillas (as we had not payed the ridiculous fee to do so) by ushering us around the other side of the reception but we could not avoid them as they were right there in front of us. It was absolutely amazing to encounter these hugely endangered animals and the experience was made even more enjoyable by the fact that we did not have to pay a small fortune to do so.

It was an exciting start to our hike through the jungle and the rest of the walk was also fairly impressive. We were accompanied by a tour guide named Florence as well as two AK47 wielding park rangers who were apparently there for our protection. We wound our way through the dense moist jungle gradually climbing up a creek via two smaller waterfalls to a large and impressive waterfall that would also serve as the half way stop and turn around point. After a little snack and a dip in the sparkling water it was time to head off again. We came across a few Duiker and some red-tailed monkeys on our way back to Buhoma but it was not the wildlife that impressed us as much as the shear density of the jungle. Everything appeared to be filtered through a green lense and the glare almost blinded us once we eventually emerged from the thinck canopy. It was worth the mission half way across the country to get there and the gorillas had made it that much more memorable.

The next day we got packed up fairly early as we knew we had another challenging ride ahead of us. Although it was only about 110km to Lake Bunyoni, our next destination, the guide books had warned us that the road from Buhoma to Lake Bunyoni was slow and bumpy and that you could expect it to take longer than the normal 4 hours if it had been raining. The ominous clouds were not encouraging, other than to get us moving before they fell from the sky. We managed the first 45km in relatively dry conditions and then the rain started. At first we stopped riding when the rain came, finding refuge under a shelter next to the road but soon realized that it was no use as the rain came and went throughout the day. We made slow progress for the rest of the day but no complaints were heard as the infinite views kept the spirits high. The road wound its way up and over mountain after mountain until eventually we crested a mountain to be greeted by the beautiful view of Lake Bunyoni.

Lake Bunyoni has, in recent years, become a very popular stop on the backpackers and overland truck’s circuits. This is understandable as it is a brilliant spot to chill out and appreciate nature’s beauty. There are many accommodation options on the mainland as well as on the various nearby islands. The guidebooks describe this place as something out of “The Hobbit” and after visiting it I can now see how they came to think this. The perfectly placid waters are surrounded by steep terraced slopes all around. The bird life is abundant and the soundtrack here is provided by nature with frogs, toads and crickets singing the night away. We have been staying at a brilliant little campsite on the water’s edge called Kalebas Camp where relaxation and good food come standard! Tomorrow we will be back on the bike as we head south for Rwanda. Another country, new cultures, different languages and the constant novelties of African travel await.

Agnes' Children's Care

2009-09-16T05:24:00.000-07:00

The past week has primarily involved the making a documentary for Agnes’ Children’s Care, an orphanage in Maligita, 30km outside Jinga. It was wonderful to visit the orphanage for a day to learn about how it works, meet the kids and find out how they have come to be in the orphanage. I also met Agnes, a lady with a wonderfully warm African heart and a vision to help the orphans.

I visited about 6 other similar orphan care projects in and around Jinga before deciding on making the documentary and felt that Agnes’s Children’s Care was doing a fantastic job and most in need of any kind of financial assistance. Agnes, together with two other matrons, are responsible for 50 children, mostly orphaned by the devastating affects of HIV and AIDS. They do their utter best to provide for the children but it is difficult to feed, clothe, school and accommodate 50 children without any sort of funding. I was touched by the caring nature of the people at the orphanage. I will return today to give them the copies of the documentary. Agnes has various overseas contacts she plans to send the DVD’s to in order to hopefully gain a little more financial assistance.

Apart from the documentary, I have been doing a bit of kayaking most days. Living on the water’s edge means that it is quick and easy to get a quick run down the river in. It takes about one and a half hours to kit up, get on the water, bumble down about 5km’s of river (including 2 grade 5 rapids and a few grade 4’s) and catch a boda boda (motorbike) back to the campsite. What a life.

Today I am heading back down to the Hairy Lemon, an island in the middle of the river 25km downstream. I will stay there for about 4 or 5 days, enjoying the excellent nearby play waves and a bit of a holiday within a holiday. There is no electricity down there and limited phone signal so I will be a little out of contact for a few days.

The Pearl of Africa

2009-09-07T00:28:00.000-07:00

“To travel is to discover that everyone is wrong about other countries.” Aldous Huxley

I have now been in Jinga for a couple weeks. Jinga is the playground of Uganda and likes to think of itself as the adventure capital of Africa, picking up new adrenalin junkies as quickly as Vic falls and Zimbabwe is losing them. There are a couple big white water rafting operations and a kayaking company running tours on the spectacular grade 5 rapids. Mountain biking, bungy jumping, jet boating and quad biking are all on offer here! it is understandable why the people of Uganda refer to their country as "The Pearl of Africa". Kenya attracts mainly upmarket tourists, who fly in for safari package holidays, so I did not see many other tourists while riding across the country so it has been a little strange to be constantly surrounded by young thrill seeking tourists.

My first few days here were mainly focused around trying to find some work on the river, doing filming for the rafting trips and cutting DVD’s in the evenings for that day’s clients. It turned out to be a little more tricky than I had hoped, most of the guys doing that sort of work here are free lance and only work for short periods of time but all the spots are taken at the moment and I arrived just as the busy season ended so things have suddenly quietened down substantially. Never the less, I will continue to try as I have been told I should be able to get a bit of work here and there. Next I had to sort myself out with some kayaking gear, I worked out that it would be cheaper to by a boat etc. than renting if I were to kayak for more than 7 days so that’s what I have done. I got quite lucky with a boat that fitted but broke the paddle I bought the first time I used it and am still borrowing a paddle until I can find another one for a reasonable price.
My first day on the mighty Nile was exhilarating and terrifying all the same! I had not done much kayaking in the last two years and was a bit apprehensive climbing into the boat and preparing to tackle what are arguably some of the biggest commercially run rapids in the world. I made it to the end without a swim and that was enough for me but I did realise that I was going to have to get a little bit of practice in before I could feel confident enough to work as a video boater. When doing filming for the raft companies you need to be 100% sure of what you are doing as you always go down the rapid first to set up, meaning there is no one at the bottom to save you should you take a swim and you also have to be able to eddie out of some of the rapids midway through to get the best shot. In short, you have to be good!

I have now spent a fair amount of time on the river but have had a few swims, which always batters the confidence. All the kayakers, mostly British, generally hang around together and collectively decide what section of river to run each day as there is always increased safety in numbers on the river. Last week all 11 of us all took a little trip down to an island in the middle of the river about 25km downstream. We stayed at the Hairy Lemon, which is a secluded retreat popular with the kayaking fraternity as it is very close to a famous play wave known as Nile Special. We spent 6 days there kayaking twice a day and not doing much else.
The ride to the Hairy Lemon was an adventure all in itself; I strapped my kayak and gear on to the back of the bike, atop the normal excessive load. It protruded a good deal on each side but after seeing some of the little 100cc scooters here carrying anything you could possibly imagine, I did not even feel as though it was that much of an achievement. I made my way tentatively back into Jinga town, across the dam wall and down a good tar road for about 30km, asking every local I saw for directions to the Hairy Lemon. I was sent down the wrong dirt track on more than one occasion and ended up bumbling along the Nile river bank on some tiny little tracks that invariably turn into footpaths before disappearing altogether. Eventually I came across a truck from one of the rafting companies that was heading down to pick up some of that days’ rafting clients so he showed me the correct road and I eventually got to the Hairy Lemon.
After a week practicing on a world famous play wave I was starting to feel a little more confident, it is quite a difficult wave to get on to as you have to use a ski rope that is fixed to a pole from the bank to ferry out to the correct position on the wave to begin surfing. I got to grips with the rope after a day or so but that was not the end of the challenge, the wave is very powerful and it’s extremely difficult just to stay on the wave. Towards the end of the week I found out just how powerful when I caught the wrong edge on my boat and had it whipped from beneath me so quickly that my shoulder popped out of its socket. Luckily it went straight back in but having to make two rolls afterwards did not help and that was the end of my play sessions on Nile Special. I took a few days off kayaking to try and let it heel. It was still quite painful after the first two days and I was unsure whether I was going to be able to do any more kayaking at all but luckily it has gotten a lot better and I managed to get back on to the water yesterday and had no problems with it.

During my time off the water I spent some time catching up with a bit of admin, doing a bit of writing and managed to visit a few child care centres to have a look around and see whether it might be worth doing a documentary for any of them. Unfortunately there was not a lot going o at the centres I visited but there are so many around Jinga that I hope to try and find one that might be able to use the positive exposure to create more opportunities for the kids. Hoping that can be next week’s mission.

Finding the source of the Nile

2009-08-31T00:22:00.000-07:00

"When you travel, remember that a foreign country is not designed to make you comfortable. It is designed to makes its own people comfortable" Clifton Fadiman

A few days at Lake Naivasha gave me the chance to recharge my batteries after a few tough days riding. The bad roads had also taken their toll on the bike and so this was a perfect time to give the bike a little service and a nice clean. Lake Naivasha was one of the most popular areas for white European settlers and the area is now home to many flower farms. The miles and miles of hydroponic tunnels scar the landscape and no doubt have an effect on the ecosystem of the lake and surrounds but the labour intensive farming practices create many jobs. One local told me that the flower farms are responsible for 90% of the jobs in the area and I would guess that tourism makes up the remaining 10% as there are quite a few lodges scattered along the lakeshore.

I spent a couple nights camping under the huge acacia trees on sprawling green lawns at a spot called Fisherman’s Camp. It is quite a popular spot with the odd overland truck and quite a few backpacker type tourists passing through. The trees are home to hundreds of Colombus Monkeys and the vocal hippos venture out the waters at night to graze on the campsite lawn, separated from the tents by a single electronic wire. A popular attraction in the area is the nearby Hell’s Gate National Park and the hot springs found within the park. The park is unique in that you are allowed to ride bicycles within the park’s fences and it is simple to rent mountain bikes so I took a ride through the park’s impressive gorge to the have a look at the hot springs. It is a brilliant way to view game and the main road through the park has many grazers that remain relatively docile as you quietly pedal by. En route to the hot springs I also stopped at a huge pinnacle of rock known as Fischer’s Tower. The aptly named tower is a well known rock climbing spot and there I met Joseph, with whom I had arranged to do some rock climbing the previous day. Even though the gear hire and climbing pass was a little expensive I could not resist topping out on Fisher’s Tower (45m high) and the views from the top made it more than worthwhile.

From Lake Naivasha I made my way northwards on a short stretch to Nakuru. My mother’s side of the family is from this area and en route I stopped at a town called Gilgil to visit Rob Harte, my mother’s cousin. It happened to be a Sunday morning so I joined in the tennis game at the Gilgil Country Club on the old clay courts that I remember my grandmother telling me about, it was great fun. Nakuru is the fourth largest city in Kenya and is set just up the slope from the beautiful Lake Nakuru. The crater Lake is found within National Park borders so I was not able to ride inside but could still view the masses of flamingos and grazing buffalo along the lakes shore from the hillside up towards town. I visited the hospital where my mother was born, it was strange to ride around the town, all the buildings that looked as if they were once so new and grand were fairly run down and market stalls found on every street corner. I watched the sunset from the hill above town and then made my way to the Kunste Hotel for the night, another place I have stayed that I recognised from Ewan Macgregor and Charlie Booman’s Long Way Down TV Series.

After having a relatively easy past few days, I packed my bike with intent and decided to head straight for Jinga over the next two days. The road westwards from Nakuru towards Lake Victoria provided for some amazing scenery! Around Nakuru the landscape was fairly dry as the rains have evaded the area through the winter months but as I rode westwards the land changed from dry baron and rocky to green, lush and overgrown within the space of 10km. I looked back at one point and saw what almost looked like semi-arid desert, then turned around to be met by green hills covered in jungle and looming grey clouds overhead. After driving through miles and miles of tea plantations and even stopping to enjoy some extremely fresh tea on the side of the road, I was eventually greeted by the truly magnificent sight of Lake Victoria! A view so vast that, if I did not know any better, I could quite easily have mistaken it for the ocean. Just as I started to drop off the hills surrounding the lake, the heavens decided to open and unleashed some of the heaviest rain I have ever seen, let alone ridden through. With nowhere to take cover I just chugged along slowly through the downpour, counting the kilometres down one by one until I reached Kisumu.

Kisumu is the third biggest city in Kenya, it is found on the eastern shores of Lake Victoria and recently, has become increasingly famous as it is home to the family of Barack Obama. The whole of Africa is “Obama Crazy”, Kenya, in Particular, is “Obama Crazy” but the city of Kisumu is on another level of “Obama Craziness”. Almost every car, bus, scooter, billboard, street sign and house window is plastered with the American president’s face with stars and stripes in the background. It is a little disconcerting but encouraging to see how unified the people of Africa could become under the reigns of a deserving and honest leader.

After one night in the rather dingy YMCA hostel in Kisumu and a little night time shopping in their rather impressive shopping complex, I got back on the bike for another fairly long day of riding in an attempt to make it all the way to Jinga that day. I wrestled with a little morning traffic to escape the city centre but before long I was on the open road and heading for the Ugandan border. The road to the border took me over the Equator. I stopped on the side of the road next to the big “EQUATOR” sign for some obligatory pictures and was suddenly struck by the fact that I had ridden my bike all the way to the northern hemisphere! WOW!

The border crossing could have been easier had I not allowed an “Official Helper” to usher me through from office to office. This is always a mistake but he told me that he worked for immigration services and had the “badge” to prove it. I was too tired and lazy to argue for my border crossing independence so just followed him and my documents through the procedures of African border crossings. This crossing seemed to require a little more homework to be done and to be honest my helper probably saved me a little time up until we reached the insurance office. In retrospect I realised that the only reason he was so willing to take me under his wing was to try and rip me off beyond comprehension when it came time to buying third party insurance. After a lot of arguing about the apparently “negotiable” premium for third party insurance cover I eventually got up and stormed out. They tried to charge me exactly 10 times what I eventually ended up paying in the next town. The argument forced a border crossing policeman to get involved, he stood in between myself and the insurance salesman wielding a M16 rifle and at that point I realised exactly where I was and what was going on and tried to get out of that place as quickly as possible. Luckily the border police were privy to the dubious ways of the insurance companies and sort of took my side, or at least allowed me to walk away from the border post alive.

I drove away from the border completely livered with how the whole situation had escalated but a short stop at an insurance broker’s office in the next town provided some sort of relief when I had all my papers in order in half the time and for a fraction of the price I had almost paid at the border. The last 100km into Jinga flew by and I eventually rolled into town in the late afternoon. I drove around the streets for a while just getting orientated with the place I would call home for the next while. I drove over the dam wall and back struggling to comprehend that I was actually at the very top of the Nile River, then made my way down the river a few kilometres to the area where all the rafting operations and majority of tourists congregate. I found a bed at the extremely popular Nile River Explorers, got myself a beer and sat overlooking the mighty river. I have arrived!

Of Masais and Mountains

2009-08-26T10:31:00.000-07:00

“I travel not to go anywhere, but to go. I travel for travel’s sake. The great affair is to move." Robert Louis Stevenson

One of the most beautiful aspects of travelling is experiencing new things every day. For much of the road up through Tanzania and southern Kenya the scenery was not necessarily breathtaking and the villages were not charming but it’s the novelty of strange places that poses such appeal!

I caught the night ferry back from Zanzibar to Dar es Salaam, boarding at 10pm and chugging slowly through the night to arrive in Dar at 6am. I chose the night ferry as the tickets were half the normal price and saved on a night’s accommodation in the process. Zanzibar, on the whole, was brilliant but it was a little weird to be in place much frequented by the package holiday type of tourist and a place where Mzungus are naturally perceived to have bottomless pockets. I did not hang about in Dar but rather decided to head for the Kenyan border straight away. I only spent a couple weeks in Tanzania in total. Partly because it is a fairly expensive country in which to travel but also because I constantly felt as though I was being ripped off by every “tour guide” or tout claiming to want “no strings attached” friendship.

The road north from Dar sailed beneath my tyres through sisal plantations and across the undulating landscape without too much trouble. I was not sure if I would make it through the border before dark so just decided to head from town to town and see how far I could get. A welcome addition on the Tanzanian roads were the small sign posts every 10km informing you of the distance to the next small town as well as the next major town, this took away much of the guess work on the road and resulted in less unexpected longer stretches that the maps do not care to share. I arrived in Tanga, on the extreme northern Tanzanian coast, in mid afternoon so decide to tackle the remaining 60km of dirt to the border that day. The 60km felt like 600km as the road was terrible! My bike and I rattled and shook for no shorter than 2 hours through the forest on the final stretch of Tanzanian soil. I tried to stop as little as possible as I was not sure what time the border would close but my hurry resulted in the death of a monkey, who tried to cross the road between my wheels and left me feeling guilty for my impatience. I got through the border without a hassle and was pleasantly surprised by the friendliness of the Kenyan immigration officials. One of the border guards took me under his wing and ushered me from office to office to get all the personal and vehicle paperwork done in record time.

From the border I cruised along the smooth tarmac for 70km under the setting sun and eventually arrived at Tiwi Beach under the rising full moon to be greeted by yet another beautiful white sandy beach and a comfortable bed in which to rest my worn body. After two long days of continuous travel I indulged myself with a day on the beach whilst a local welder reinforced my luggage rack that had felt the effects of the terrible road the day before.

Tiwi is only 50km south of Mombasa, which would be my next stop so the following day’s ride was short and sweet, the most exciting part of which was boarding the ferry for the 1km crossing to the island city. There was barely a queue to get onto the ferry, which was surprising considering the number of people constantly crossing to Mombasa Island. The three ferries worked like clockwork; 20 shillings (R2.00), 10 minutes and half a conversation later I was in Mombasa central, weaving my way through the traffic to the centre of town. I spent the afternoon in Mombasa strolling through the Old Town, which is similar to that of Zanzibar Stowntown but a little less touristy and, in my opinion, a little more interesting. Mombasa has been influenced through the centuries by the various forces of authority and this is evident in the segregated areas of old town. The Portuguese first landed there in the 16th century and took control for almost a hundred years before Mombasa leaders asked for military assistance from Omani forces to oust the Portuguese. Protection of Mombasa then alternated between British and Omani Navies until Kenyan independence in 1964. A self appointed tour guide walked me through the labyrinths, parting with his extensive historical knowledge of the town and slave trade as we went.

The next day I was back on the road and headed westwards towards Kilimanjaro. This involved the use of the main highway to Nairobi for the first 150km, which involved a serious game of “dodge the truck” as they blatantly disregarded my presence in their overtaking practices. From Voi I turned off the highway and cut through the Tsavo National Park on an EXTREMELY corrugated national road for just over 100k’s. The terrible state of the road meant that I had to concentrate hard on the best line through the corrugations and potholes and effectively meant that I probably missed a good amount of wildlife but I still managed to see the odd grazing antelope on the road’s verge. I spent the night in a town called Taveta. Taveta is on the border of Tanzania and is canvassed by a wonderful backdrop of Mount Kilimanjaro. From Taveta I faced probably my biggest challenge to date in trying to get to Kimana, on the northern side of the mountain and only 80km away. The road I would tackle was not on the map but I had been assured that it was in decent condition by the Tsavo game rangers. I chose this route as the road seemed to circumnavigate Kili, which it did but the low lying clouds and thick dust meant that I could barely see past my front wheel for most of the time. How the game rangers managed to use the words “good condition” in their description of this road, I do not know. The first 20km of the road was covered in about 10 centimetres of talcum powder textured dusty sand that made beach-sand riding feel like a breeze. After the dust ended, the corrugations came back and shook me all the way to Kimana. Although the road was tough and definitely got me down at times, I arrived in Kimana with a sense of achievement and revelled in the fact that the toughest times are often the most fondly remembered.

I awoke the next day to a wonderful, uninterrupted view of the snow capped mountain from Kimana town. I had tried to get into one of the many surrounding parks for the night but they are all aimed at the richer tourists so charged dollars: lots of them. Kimana town was a unique place to stay anyway, it is nestled in the heart of Masai country and even the town’s people walked around robed in traditional attire and all the beaded jewellery that goes with it. It was the type of village that doesn’t accommodate many a tourist and I enjoyed being the only white face people had seen in a while.

From Kimana I headed up towards Nairobi along more unforgiving dusty road for a good 40km before arriving at the most welcome sight imaginable: a brand new tarmac surface that was being built from Emali to Kimana... it’s at times like these that I could not appreciate the Chinese ambitions to tarmac Africa any more. I even bent down and gave the tarmac a kiss... an action that left the local onlookers a little perplexed but could not even begin to describe my joy! It was then straight sailing to Nairobi until I reached to chaotic streets of the capitol city. Chaotic is actually an understatement! It was pure madness that left me feeling more pumped full of adrenalin than any bungy jump or sky dive ever could. I managed to find my way to a Suzuki dealership where I purchased a new oil filter and then got myself to a backpacker lodge and off the bike as quickly and safely as I could. Nairobi seems to contradict the relative poverty of the rural villages with its spiked skyline and obvious wealth of the average citizen. The city did not give me the feeling of a safe environment. I could see how it has as gained its unwanted reputation and scornful nickname: Nairobbery. A night there was enough time to do my shopping, banking and get out. I Have now arrived at the beautiful Lake Naivasha and have been sitting writing this, looking over the calm waters, filled with flocks of water birds. A storm is brewing over the horizon and the distinct smell of earth quenching rain tells me it’s coming this way.

Settling into life on the African Road

2009-08-08T05:43:00.001-07:00

LEG 3: (as per Quad and offroad SA magizine article no. 3) The third month and third leg of the Africa Uncut Motorcycle Expedition journeys from Nkhata Bay in Malawi up to Zanzibar.

“If you reject the food, ignore the customs, fear the religion and avoid the people you might better stay at home” James Michener

When travelling Africa on a bike, or by any other means, it is so important to try and immerse yourself in the local people and their culture to gain the most from the unique experience of crossing this Dark Continent we call home and yet know so little of. Each time I cross a border it amazes me to see the instant changes in religious allegiances, traditional attire, construction techniques and staple diets despite the identical landscapes and minimalistic income levels. One cannot help but wonder how these cultural divides came to be and how severe the differences on either side of borders were before colonisation transformed Africa. One thing is for certain, the cultural and traditional practices one experiences whilst travelling Africa make it a worthwhile journey, let alone the sheer beauty of the majestic landscapes.

After I said goodbye to my travelling companions, Dave and Paul, I decided to take a break from the frantic schedule of the previous five weeks and spend some time exploring Nkhata bay and the surrounds. Constantly being on the move results in one missing the comfort of familiarities. Spending a little time in one place, where there is time to make friends and learn about the working gears of a particular place’s inhabitants can provide a temporary safety blanket. Nkhata Bay is a brilliant little town situated about half way up the western shore of Lake Malawi and is very popular with backpacking travellers. The town centre bustles throughout the day and night, there are a few good restaurants and nice places to stay, all of which are right on the water’s edge and all poses some sort of appeal to the various shapes and sizes that pass through the town. I made camp at a place called Mayoka Village, one of the most popular places and understandably so as it really is a beautifully cosy little spot. I opened the tent each day to be greeted by perfectly blue skies and crystal clear shimmering water a couple meters from the door. I got to know quite a few of the locals and quite a few passersby that also seemed to have anchored themselves there to catch their breath whilst on lengthy trips.

I thought it best to use my time settled in one spot a bit constructively and completed a charity documentary for an orphan care project 50 km south of the town. It is a really pro-active project looking after orphans who have lost their parents mostly due to the devastating effects of HIV and AIDS. I spent a day visiting about eight different orphan care projects to get a feel of what they do and how they could benefit from a promotional documentary and the Mukundi Orphan Care Charity Based Organisation (CBO) stood out heaps above the rest. The project is run by volunteers and serves five surrounding villages. They look after about 65 orphans and the chiefs from the surrounding villages contribute food on a monthly rotation basis. They have a carpentry workshop and tailoring workshop where the kids are taught valuable skills that they can carry forward with them into adult life and the finished woodwork products and dresses etc are sold at markets to bring in money that subsidises the kids school fees, food and clothes. They also feed the children, using mainly vegetables grown in their own gardens and meat from their pig and chickens projects. I could not help but notice, during my day spent filming and getting to know the kids, that they are all so happy and full of hope despite their heartbreaking life stories. What also struck me was the incredible kindness of the 10 adult volunteers, who give of themselves so freely to help the orphans despite being so poor themselves. Their appreciation of my time and effort made the documentary more than worthwhile. They have various overseas contacts that have donated money to them in the past or have considered supporting their fantastic project but have been understandably apprehensive as it is so hard to assess whether the money will end up in the right hands and for the right reasons. Hopefully the documentary will dismiss any doubts regarding the project’s objectives and administration as they are truly doing a remarkable job.

I extended my Malawian visa to avoid feeling too rushed through the northern reaches of the beautiful country and so decided to do a little more exploring with my extra time. I braved the famous Ilala Ferry once more, this time in a northerly direction and chugged through the night up to an extremely remote spot called Ruarwe. The northbound ferry was far less chaotic, which meant I could tolerate a third class ticket quite easily where the food and drink is far cheaper and the experience far more African. Ruarwe is exceptionally beautiful and the little Zulukini Lodge: exquisite. It is set on the water’s edge, adjacent to a beautiful river with a waterfall dropping into the lake. The lodge’s extremely remote setting means that it lies within a largely untouched part of the lakeshore but also means that it is only accessible via the ferry so the biggest problem with visiting Ruarwe is the ferry’s schedule. The ferry runs on a weekly basis up and down the lake so you can either spend one night or eight nights there if you need to head back down south. It would have been nice to just relax in such a beautiful setting, uninterrupted by nuisances such as electricity and shops, for a full week but I felt the need to get back to my bike and back onto the road so I opted just to spend one night in this piece of paradise.
Once back in Nkhata I noticed a few hairline cracks starting to appear in my luggage rack so I took it all apart and got a local welder to strengthen it all up, which took him less than an hour but dismantling and re-assembling the bike setup, whilst giving it a little service at the same time, took me the better part of 2 days. Once it was all completed I felt happy to get back on the saddle on venture into the unknown knowing that things were solidly fixed and all bolts fastened. The road from Nkhata took me northwards up to Mzuzu, Rumphi and eventually Livingstonia. The ride was so beautiful that I did not even mind when I realised that I had been travelling for 60km in the wrong direction at one point as the scenery almost made it a worthwhile detour. It roughly followed the western lakeshore of Lake Malawi, sometimes cutting inland to navigate its way through the mountain passes but invariably came back to the lake. Portions of the road were cut into the sides of the steep slopes with the outer edge dropping down to the lake and whilst carving in and out of the sharp bends on the way down the mountain, trying my best to keep my eyes on the road and off the infinite view, I could only think of how similar it was to a short cruise over Chapman’s Peak Drive in Cape Town. The last 20km up the steepest of mountains proved to be the biggest challenge of the days riding and possibly the entire trip. Livingstonia is an old missionary town that was placed on top of the mountain to get away from the malaria threat of lower lying areas. The road from the lakeshore town of Chipata up to Livingstonia is considered dangerous in the dry and virtually impassable in the wet. The loose gravel track is famous for its 21 hairpin bends, which hikers are warned to count so as not to prematurely assume they have made it to the top. It winds its way up the mountain side in a continuous struggle against gravity and corning the 180 degree bends on a laden bike in first gear is an art that you only get to grips with once you are pretty much at the top.

Livingstonia provides for a fascinating glimpse into Malawi’s colonial past. A stroll through the wide dusty streets past the old hospital, colonial mansions, church and through the museum leaves you feeling as if you have gone back in time. I also took a walk to Manchewe falls, a 50m high water fall that once again afforded magnificent views where one can see all the way to the Mozambican side of the lake. I stayed at Mushroom Farm Backpackers, a beautiful spot on the cliff’s edge with breathtaking views, good food and an atmosphere that forces relaxation. The owner of the backpackers was overseas and so it was being run run by Paul, an Aussie, who was in the throes of planning his own African motorcycle odyssey on a 200cc bike. I have met many other travellers on bikes, all of whom are fairly surprised to see me on my small bike and most of whom ask the same questions such as “does it have enough power?” To which the answer is YES! Most roads in Africa are littered with goats, chickens, potholes and people, which makes it difficult to travel faster than 100km/h no matter the size of engine between your wheels. To date I have not really felt the urge to want to go faster but have appreciated the 180kg less that I am hauling around when compared to the average motorcyclist in Africa on a GS1200. Spares have not been an issue to date as my liitle Suzuki has performed admirably in the mechanical department and even if I were to have trouble, the bike is so similar to every other locally driven bike in Africa (and there are lots) that I could probably get any spare part within minutes of breaking down. I could honestly say, at this stage, that if I were to repeat the trip with bottomless budget I would consider the same bike again; it’s that perfect for Africa!

After a couple nights in Livingstonia I headed back down the 21 hairpin bends, which was possibly more difficult than the accent but still lots of fun. Once back at the lakeshore I made for the Tanzanian border, a 200km ride along good tar that flew by and before I knew it I was saying goodbye to Malawi. The border crossing was as simple as I could have hoped, despite the many warnings I had received about the hassling touts that lurk between the border posts and do their utmost to rip off any unsuspecting tourist wanting to change money at their “special rates”. Once in Tanzania the price of fuel decreased slightly but still remained relatively high when compared to the good old Republic of South Africa. I did the last 100km to Mbeya in rapidly decreasing light and warmth and arrived in the bustling town just after dark. It was strange to put my watch forward an hour despite being further west than the night before. The town centre was tough to navigate in darkness and I ended up paying a taxi driver to lead me a lodge for the night, where I learnt that there were no beds left. Thankfully the manager allowed me, and the other 8 backpacking travellers who rolled in at the same time, to camp on the small patch of hotel lawn and sleeping did not prove a challenge after a long day on the road.

Mbeya did not seem to have much to offer the average tourist but I still made the most of the abundant banks and selection of shops for most of the next morning. Once all my admin was done I escaped the regional capital and headed west on a two day marathon stretch across Tanzania. The first stretch of road took me through some tea and eucalyptus plantations and then thrust me into the harsh African wilderness. In the middle of Tanzania one feels as though you could be driving through the Kruger National Park, just without the wild animals. It is typical arid bushveld with pointed peaks scattered along the horizon. The first 100km of road from Mbeya runs parallel to the famous Tazara railway (or Game Train as the tourists call it) connecting Kapiri Moshi in Zambia to Dar es Salaam. Just before I reached Iringa I stopped at a world heritage site known as Isimila Stone age site, protecting the region where many significant archaeological finds have been excavated. I took some quick pictures and got back on the road, determined not to be left on the bike during the twilight hours. After a short stop to get some food supplies in Iringa I made my way to a beautiful riverside campsite and set up my tent under the setting sun. I had only managed to put about 350km under the belt after my late start which would mean an early start the following day in order to tackle the remaining 500km to Dar.

From Iringa I dropped off the high lying interior of Tanzania, constantly losing altitude for about 50km along a winding road between mountain peaks. The absence of arrester beds for the trucks meant that they crept down the slopes at snail’s pace and crept up on me as I approached with distinct urgency, requiring careful concentration. The temperature increased dramatically from the top to the bottom and landscapes extended further and further the more I descended out of the early morning mist. The road then made it’s way through a valley littered with Baobabs as far as the eye could see along the northern border of the Udzungwa Mountains National Park. They were doing road works in patches all the way from Iringa to Dar with only one lane open in most places but the unenthused “stop/go technicians” did not feel it necessary for motorbikes to wait out the oncoming traffic and consistently ushered me through on arrival trusting that I could safely skirt around the head on trucks and cars. At moments like these I just smile to myself and say TIA (This Is Africa).

I chose this specific route through Tanzania so that I could pass through the Mikumi National Park and was not disappointed when I came across a herd of elephants within a kilometre of entering the park’s borders. I was careful not to dismount the bike, or even switch it off, as I took a couple pictures of the 20 plus herd grazing about 20 meters away with the matriarch constantly facing me and eyeing me out. The rest of the 100 odd k’s through the park was everything I had hoped it would be with another herd of elephant, a couple sizable herds of buffalo and plenty giraffe, zebra and impala lining the tarmac.

After I exited the game reserve I knew it was just going to be a straight slog all the way to Dar and I wasn’t far off. I only dismounted the bike to put fuel in the tank and marvel at the occasional authentic Maasai Warrior herding his cattle through the middle of nowhere. I neared Dar in the late afternoon, just in time for rush hour traffic. The traffic jam started about 40km out of town and only got worse the closer I got. I passed pretty much every car that had passed me throughout the day as I weaved between the gridlocked traffic and along the verges, usually just sitting behind a local on a bike so that he could make judgment on what was acceptable motorcycle politeness. Once in Dar itself things got chaotic with cars and taxis darting everywhere and I soon realised that the only way I was going to make it out alive was to maintain a faster speed than the surrounding traffic and weave my way through with affected courage. I made it to a hotel in down town Dar with only having had two minor bumps from cars and another very near miss where I stupidly stopped at a red robot and was almost mauled by the car behind me... apparently traffic lights are more of a waste of electricity than anything else in rush hour traffic in the centre of town.

The next day I arranged to leave my bike with a friend of my brother and boarded the ferry to Zanzibar. After the treacherous journey across Tanzania I needed a couple days to relax and rebuild my will to survive the African roads. Zanzibar was almost exactly as I had imagined it to be, a contrasting mix of the historic Stonetown on the one side and beautiful white palm lined beaches inhabited by “package holiday” tourists in their top dollar lodges on the other. I spent a couple days in Stonetown. After a day on a tour through the spice plantations I spent most of my time wondering through the labyrinths between the aging ancient architecture. At night all the Mzungus (white people/tourists) congregate around the open air market where there are lots of little stands selling fresh sea food cooked to your taste and flavour. A short trip up to the northern reaches of the island gave me the chance to relax on the beach, treat myself to an incredible scuba dive and start to write this. From here I plan to head back to Dar and continue northwards up the coast into Kenya, the beauty of having so much time in which to travel is that no plan is set in stone so I can just see where the road takes me.

BECOMING A LOCAL IN NKHATA BAY

2009-07-16T08:32:00.000-07:00

“A true traveller goes by foot... and even then he sits down a lot of the time” unknown

I feel as though I have become a little stuck in Nkhata Bay. I have been here almost two weeks now which has not been a bad thing by any means. Nkhata Bay is a brilliant little town situated about half way up the western shore of Lake Malawi and is very popular with backpacking travellers. The town centre bustles throughout the day and night and there are a few internet options, good restaurants and nice places to stay, all of which are right on the water’s edge and all poses some sort of appeal to the various shapes and sizes that pass through here. I have been staying at a place called Mayoka Village, one of the most popular spots and understandably so as it really is a beautifully cosy little spot. I open the tent each day to be greeted by perfectly blue skies and crystal clear shimmering water a couple meters from the door. I have got to know quite a few of the locals and quite a few passersby that also seem to have anchored themselves here to catch their breath whilst on lengthy trips.

I have threatened to leave a few times but there is always something on the go and some or other reason to stay another day or two. On Saturday night Mayoka celebrated their 10th birthday with a “Go Green” party, attended by everyone and enjoyed by all. I thought it best to use my time here a bit constructively and have just completed a charity documentary for an orphan care project 50 km south of town. It is a really pro-active project looking after orphans who have lost their parents mostly due to the devastating effects of HIV and AIDS. I spent a day visiting about eight different orphan care projects to get a feel of what they do and how they could benefit from a promotional documentary and the Mukundi Orphan Care Charity Based Organisation (CBO) stood out heaps above the rest. The project is run by volunteers and serves five surrounding villages. They look after about 65 orphans and the chiefs from the surrounding villages contribute food on a monthly rotation basis. They have a carpentry workshop and tailoring workshop where the kids are taught valuable skills that can carry forward with them and the finished woodwork products and dresses etc are sold at markets to bring in money that subsidises the kids school fees, food and clothes. They also feed the children, using mainly vegetables grown in their own gardens and meat from their pigs and chickens projects. I could not help but notice, during my day spent filming and integrating with the kids, that they are all so happy and full of hope despite their heartbreaking life stories. What also struck me was the incredible kindness of the 10 adult volunteers that give of themselves so freely to help the orphans despite being so poor themselves.

I will return to the care centre tomorrow on route to Livingstonia to give them the 10 DVD copies of the documentary. They told me that they have many previous donors and potential overseas donors that they feel might reach into their pockets should they witness the great work that is been done at the care centre... I hope so!

My Malawian visa expires on Saturday so I have an ultimatum to leave Nkhata now but I have considered extending it as I have been told of a couple really fantastic spots between here and the Tanzanian border. Lucky for me, that’s as tough as the decision making in my life gets for now. Watch this space to see where I end up next cause I don’t know these things.

A LITTLE ISLAND GETAWAY

2009-07-07T05:12:00.000-07:00

“When preparing to travel, lay out all your clothes and all your money. Then take half the clothes and twice the money.” Susan Heller

The above is true, very true!!!!! We have a little rule amongst us that if we haven’t used something for a whole month then it is wasted space and needs to find a new home. As for the money.... too much is never enough and we have realised that Malawi is a tad more expensive than we had been hoping... but the experience is more than worth it!

We left the bikes in Nkhata Bay for a week as we boarded the chaotic Ilala ferry to Chizimulu Island. Chizimulu and Likoma Islands are found on the Mozambiquan side of the Lake but are part of Malawi. Boarding the ferry was very exciting as we found ourselves moving with the flow of locals onto the gangway. Eventually we got stuck and resided to climbing up the side of the ferry and onto the second floor. On the ferry we treated ourselves to first class, this means you get to sit/sleep up on the top deck and enjoy a little more room to move around. The 5 hour trip took us through the early hours of the morning. We clambered off the ferry and onto a row boat half asleep and were rowed to Wakwenda Retreat arriving at about 4 am.

Our 5 days on the island were fantastic. We had a nice group of about 10 people on board and spent our days swimming, snorkelling, reading and chilling out. We made an effort to fill our days with various activities, getting everyone involved in heavily wagered games of volleyball and some even tried their hands at fishing... catching more of sunburn than anything else but that’s not the point. One day we decided to try and find a goat to slaughter and eat. This proved to be an all day activity as we traipsed around the island, on a wild goat chase through the villages in search for a “goat for sale.” We eventually found our victim and lead him back to the backpackers where William, the barman, helped us to kill it, skin it and butcher it into braaiable sized chunks. It was a meat feast, cooked to perfection and enjoyed by all! The losers of the volleyball that day were forced to eat the cooked goat’s penis, a fate that I do not think they had fully considered before taking on the challenge but a true African experience none-the-less.

Wakwenda Retreat is one of the most beautiful places I have visited to date with a bar perched on an outcrop of rocks and little decks scattered between the boulders resembling a more top dollar styled lodge. Our plan had been to stay half the time on Chizimulu Island before heading across to Likoma but this involved a small sail boat crossing and the winds were not cooperating so we happily stayed put in paridise for the remaining 3 days. The ferry trip back to the main land was a repeat of the outbound voyage but in reverse this time. We chugged through the night arriving back at Nkhata bay just after sun rise.

Arriving back in Nkhata meant the parting of ways for the group of travelling companions that had all got to know each other quite well over the previous week and the parting of ways for our little motorcycling trio. Dave and Paul departed yesterday for Zambia en route back to South Africa and I will head North to Livingstonia tomorrow. It has been so great to have company on the road and in between and I was left feeling a tad lonely as they drove off yesterday but time moves on and so does the adventure. New places, people and experiences await. Good luck with the trip back to SA guys, they will be heading through Zambia to Vic falls before crossing the Makgadikgadi Pans in Botswana and traversing a couple game reserves before crossing home borders.

I have spent the last day or two helping a local musician to produce some CD’s and we have even put a little music video together of his most popular song: How big is the Lake? He is a fantastic chap that is in the process of starting up a home based care project for orphans and elderly people within their community just outside Nkhata. Michael Mountain is also a talented musician and could do quite well with the right break. All he needs is a little help so I am happy to help someone who pays the favour forward. His music video has proved quite the hit and he sold out the first six copies this morning in a matter of minutes so hopefully that break will come sooner rather than later for him.

Internet is bound to be sparse as I head north from here but I will catch up with you all when I get to wherever I am going.

MALAWI TIME

2009-06-29T03:07:00.000-07:00

By Paul Stokes and Chris Fisher

“If you reject the food, ignore the customs, fear the religion and avoid the people you might better stay at home” Stanley Michener

We have arrived in Malawi and been welcomed by a million white teeth wielding locals all the way. The Malawians are a notoriously friendly nation; you don’t have to try hard to make friends here, although many of the people that swarm you at every stop end up pulling out all sorts of curios, cards, necklaces and anything else you may be willing to part with a small portion of cash for.

We spent a full day in Blantyre shopping at the South Afrian style shops and tightening bolts on the bikes after the endless corrugations the day before. Blantyre is a relatively clean and safe African city with a real little CBD littered with recognisable banks and forex outlets. Apart from the necessities, there isn’t much else to do there so we headed for the lake as soon as our bums would allow us to get back onto the saddle. The ride up to Cape Maclear, on the southern tip of the lake was beautiful. Rolling hills and huge Baobab trees around every bend made the 3 hours of riding a breeze. I even stopped complaining about how sore my bum was for a little while. We passed some comical signs; “Toys’R’us” was one that we saw carved out of wood, where the Locals were selling intricately carved wooden tractors and trucks. A golden arched “MacDonald’s Chips” was selling a selection of French fries or French fries with salt on the verge of the road.

We thought at the start of our trip that travelling at 80-90 kph would be painfully slow, however, we’ve managed to get to our destinations faster than some of the cars who were travelling in the same direction as us. This is due to our ability to avoid, what feels like 90% of Malawi’s goat population living on the side of the roads, with relative ease. If you aren’t a goat lover before you come to Africa...don’t think that coming here is going to amend your affections towards the destroyers of the African Continent!

The turn off to Cape Maclear followed a heavily corrugated stretch of dirt road, about 16 k’s through the Malawi Parks reserve, the bushveld was stunning! Arriving at Fat Monkeys, we were met with smiles all the way. The owners were very friendly, and made our arrival as hassle free as possible, which ended up being the first place in Malawi where we did not have to pay upfront for accommodation. Setting up the tents, while admiring the most beautiful sunset we have ever seen made us realise that there is nowhere else on earth we would rather be at that moment. The feeling of content that comes over you at the lake must be my “9th wonder of the world” (the 8th wonder is Dave’s TW200 making it all the way to Malawi with no problems at all, basically the most reliable and fuel efficient bike out of the three, however by far the slowest!)

The next day we awoke to a perfect day once again, a common occurrence here in Malawi, along with the calls of the nearby Fish Eagles. We were met by an elderly man named William Shakespeare, who offered to bake us a banana bread loaf for breakfast the next day for 1500 kwacha. In no uncertain terms Shakespeare then proceeded to ask if we would like to add an extra 500 kwacha for his “special ingredient”, at which point we laughed and declined the happy additive. The warm banana bread was delivered to our tents at 8 sharp the next morning and came in handy as a snack for our astonishing full day out on the water with a tour guide named Isaac. Isaac escorted us from island to island on his aptly named boat “The warm heart of Africa” an affectionate nickname for this friendly country. The snorkelling was as good as he had told us it would be with an array of brightly coloured tropical fish clumped between the boulders within the crystal clear waters. It makes it hard to believe that you are swimming in a lake. After an “all you can eat” fish braai for lunch on an island we were treated to a spectacular show by the fish eagles. The beautiful birds of prey answered Isaac’s invitational whistle and swooped down to grab a free fish a mere 10 meters from the boat. It was incredible to witness up close and personal.

Things were starting to become a little settled in Cape Maclear, which is a sure sign that it’s time to move on. We headed northward up the western shore 370km to Kande Beach. The views were breath taking all the way, sometimes crossing river mouths entering the expanse of the lake. As we got closer to Kande Beach the mountains started to rise up to our left, shadowing the early afternoon sun. We were stopped by some important looking policemen en route to Kande. Before departing on our trip we were warned that we would be stopped often by police everywhere but to date they have found little interest in our motorbikes and so we have been ushered straight through the continuous series of road blocks. These guys had other plans and were adamant to see our licences, insurance details and any other important looking documents. I think we could have shown them our Ster Kinekor Movie Club cards and they would not have known the difference. We all had different policemen interrogating us and after we left we worked out that we all showed them different documentation that gained similar satisfaction.
Kande Beach is yet another idyllic beach with glassy waters and a small island about 500meters offshore. We rented a kayak and paddled out to the island for some more snorkelling and rock jumping. Kande beach is a popular stop for overlanders with an expansive bar and hammocks connecting all the trees. It happened to be “Market day” in the town so we took a stroll through the exuberant brightly coloured stalls and even managed to find a fish, vegetable and nSima (pap) meal for a wopping R10.

Leaving Kande we followed the road north for only 50km’s to Nkhata bay. The short stretch of road was a continuous stretch of fast winding bends through a mass of rubber trees on either side of the road. The obvious opportunists/entrepreneurs were ever present, selling balls made of rubber, which they sap from the trees with a simple, although clever little system where they peel back the bark so that the sap oozes out and drops into a cup attached to the side of the tree. We rolled into Nkhata after what will probably be the shortest day on the bikes and checked into our accommodation at the intricate Mayoka Village. Mayoka Village consists of a number of beautifully constructed twin rooms, dorms and camp sites all linked by enchanted pathways. It is set on a steep slope dropping straight into the blue waters of the lake. It is a very festive spot with a brilliantly constructed bar perched over the water, playing host to bands and serving fantastic meals all day long. We are not complaining about our three day wait here for the ferry to the islands.

THE ROAD LESS TRAVELLED

2009-06-22T07:45:00.000-07:00

“Two roads diverged in a wood one day and I, I took the one less travelled by... and that has made all the difference” Robert Frost

Greetings from Malawi! We are all alive and intact (bearly) after two long and gruelling days on the bike... although the experience made it all worthwhile. Dave suggested that I entitle this blog: “The road never travelled” because it truely was a far out experience! Our first long day was relatively straight forward, we left Vilonculos a tad later than our anticipated 6am plan but still managed to put 300km under our belts before lunch. The roads north of Vilonculos were relatively good with only the occasional stretch of potholes and there were few other vehicles on the road. At one stage we travelled 80km without seeing another car heading in either direction. The landscasped transformed from coconut trees spanning as far as the eye could see, to a hilly bushveld and eventually becoming mountainous as we approached the Gorongosa National Park. Our plan had been to try and ride through the Gorongosa, stopping inside to camp for the night but we were turned away at the gate an account of our two wheeled nature. This turned out to be alright as we were shown to a brilliant campsite set within the forests just outside the Park’s fenceless borders. The camp formed part of an “Envirotrade” project which helps local people to create income through sustainable practices of farming, building and tourism. It was a very well run camp and tempting to stay a few extra nights but we were on a mission to get to Malawi and decided to push on at first light the next day.

The ride from Gorongosa to Blantyre was epic to say the least. We circumnavigated the western border of the park along a fairly good dirt road but not good enough to prevent a few topples and a few more close calls! After 3 hours and 80km behind us we realised that it was going to be tough to get through 550 odd k’s on these roads, let alone crossing the Zambezi and border into Malawi en route. We opted to take the slighty longer option up to the Zambezi in an effort to stay on more tar and avoid further time consuming spills. This worked for us albeit with a hellish last 60km stretch on lose washboard gravel to the Dona Anna railway bridge. Crossing the railway bridge on motorcycles was a unique adventure motorcycling experience that I will not forget in a hurry. We were ushered in the direction of the pedestrian gangway by all the townspeople, the walkway was barely wider than the laden motocycles and Paul proceeded first with understandable concern. We made our way across the colossal steel structure 3.4km to the other side, dodging the oncoming people, bikes, goats and chickens in the process arriving safely on the northern bank of the Zambezi and starting a new chapter of Southern Africa.

From the river it was bad dirt roads all the way to the excuse for a border crossing into Marka in the extreme south of Malawi. The border on both Mozambique and Malawi sides consisted of little more than immigration/customs/health office and a rusty boom in the middle of nowhere. We got across in just under an hour, even though the officials seemed a little peeved to have their game of cards interrupted, and started the last 100km stretch of dirt in fading light. We gunned our way through the endless string of villages, hoping to hit tar before dark. This was easier said than done and our frustration grew when short stretches of tar teased us all the way. The smooth blacktop eventually arrived and stayed, just as the gradient increased exponentially and twists and turns through the mountains started. Towards the end we were counting done the kilometre one by one until we entered the bright lights of Blantyre and dismounted the bikes in our broken states and hit our pillows with a rhythmical bang.

MAGICAL MOZAMBIQUE

2009-06-17T06:41:00.000-07:00

“The true traveller is he who goes on foot, and even then, he sits down a lot of the time” Calette

We escaped from Maputo after just one night there, the traffic in the centre of town made for some nerve racking riding. There are loads of little motorbikes weaving between the hundreds of buses, taxis and trucks and the motorists seemed to have a distinct disregard for anything on two wheels. The 3 of us worked hard to stay close together amongst the chaos as we headed north from Maputo on the 200km stretch to Bilene. It was a relief to put the big city lights behind us and coast through the coconut sprinkled landscape. We rode through marshlands over bridges on the main road from town to town, trying our utmost to stick to the speed limits as we had heard nothing but scary stories of the Mozambican police. Riding in a group of 3 made it easier to stop and film en route and above all it was amazing to finally have some people with whom I could share the extraordinary sights, sounds and smells of these foreign places.

We were met in Bilene by a beautiful campsite set on an azure blue lagoon. We got the tents up in seconds and headed for a local restaurant and took a walk through the small village market. We only spent a night in Bliene in an effort to get up to Tofo sooner so the next morning we had the bikes packed up and set off on a sandy track along the lagoon and up to Xai Xai. Two hours in the soft sand with a fair amount of wrong turns, dead ends and aimless loops was tiring so we stopped for a nice rest in Xai Xai before slugging out the remaining 300 km on tar. Danny, Casio and Leroy stuck with us in the car up to Tofo and against our best efforts, we still ended up navigating our way through Inhambane and along the last pot hole strewn 30km in the dark.
The six of us spent the next 3 days in on the beach in Tofo and catching up on some blogging and admin in my African office under blue skies. Tofo is a tourist hub with loads of accommodation options to suit your budget and one can take a moonlit stroll down the everlasting beach to the vibey beach bars. It was away with the basic travel food for a few days and out with the prawns, fish and any other marine delight your taste buds desire.

On Saturday we said goodbye to the guys in the car as they headed back to South Africa and headed 50km south to the picturesque Pandane beach. The soft sand road to Pandane once again tested our soft sand capabilities and provided for a couple entertaining tumbles. Pandane is regarded as the best snorkelling destination in Southern Mozambique and the weather gods were on our side for our two days of bliss in the crystal clear waters. After the last 5 days on the beach we were feeling the urge to keep on moving and made our way north to Morrongulu for an overnight stop at yet another magnificent Mozambican beach before continuing up to Vilonculos. Travelling north from Morrongulu we hit the last stretch of Mozambican road still needing to be refurbished which meant weaving in between thousands of potholes and trying our very best to avoid the occasional “tour stopper” that would be capable of swallowing a motorbike whole. Stopping at some of the tiny villages dotted in between the small towns makes for some of the most African experiences with small kids crowding around the bikes, intrigued by our every move. We rolled into Vilonculos yesterday and are resting and doing bike maintenance today before a mammoth two day stretch to Blantyre in Malawi via the Gorongosa National Park and across the Zambezi River.

See you there...

THE SWAZI KINGDOM

2009-06-17T06:19:00.001-07:00

“The world is a book, and those who do not travel read only a page” St Augustine

Crossing the border into on a Friday afternoon was fairly straightforward notwithstanding a bit of a queue of people working in South Africa and heading home to Swaziland for the weekend. Very little changes once you enter Swaziland from the south, the roads are good and well sign posted, sugar cane fields line the tarmac and you can even use rands as the Lilangeni piggy backs the rand and is always exchanged at 1:1. As you head further north, riding adjacent to the uBombo Mountain range, you start to realise just how beautiful the tiny country is. Swaziland is one of the smallest countries in Africa but contains a piece of every landscape imaginable. While traversing the country you ride across flood plains, through majestic mountain ranges and along wide and winding rivers. South African style petrol stations litter the roads so fuel is the last of your worries and one passes game farm after game farm throughout the country.

I headed up to the western side of Swaziland, passing through Manzini en route and eventually arriving at MlilwaneWildlife Sanctury in the afternoon. Bikes are not allowed within the reserve but they make special allowances for those travelling by motorcycle so that you can get to one of their many accommodation options. I was heading to Sondzela Backpackers, a well run and affordable option that was full up with Mountain biking enthusiasts who had made the trek from South Africa for the famous Imvelo Classic Mountain Bike Race. The MTB race winds its way around the nature reserve up some steep hills and along some beautiful singletrack. It is the reason I had first come to Swaziland a few years back and have returned year after year with friends. This year would be slightly different in that I could not bring my mountain bike along (for obvious reasons) but I still had friends making the trip from Jo’burg for the weekend. This included Dave and Paul on their motorbikes, these two would join me from here on till northern Malawi before heading back to South Africa via Zambia and Botswana. We had a festive weekend in and around Malkerns culminating in a fantastic party at the intricately decorated “House on Fire” concert venue on the Saturday night.

We departed from Mlilwane on the Monday morning, heading for Maputo and the rest of Mozambique. It was nice to finally have some company on the road and to make things even better we had 3 other friends travelling with us for the next 5 days in a double cab. This meant that we could afford to buy more food and supplies and live in relative luxury for a few days. The trip to Maputo flew by with few stops other than the moderately efficient border crossing and before we knew it we were snaking our way through the busy streets of the capital city in rush hour traffic.

KICKING BACK IN KZN

2009-06-12T04:57:00.000-07:00

“As I make my way through my first continent, I am finding that things are far easier to do and much harder to contemplate” Ted Simon

Upon entering Kwazulu Natal I took a cruise through Port Edward. The quiet little coastal town in the southern reaches of KZN was a place I called home until my teenage years began and it was like stepping back in time as nothing much has changed. After my short walk through memory lane past my old school, house and beach, I headed along the N2 northwards to Umzumbe near Port Shepstone. Along with the vastly improved roads in KZN came frequent petrol stations, shops and a huge choice for accommodation. I chose to stay in a backpackers set in the forest above Umzumbe beach which was fantastic, it had little board walks leading through the jungle setting to tree houses dotted here and there. Staying in Umzumbe for a couple days gave me a chance to catch up on some film capturing and recharge my batteries. It is a favourite spot for surfers and I ended up sharing a dorm with a group of semi-professional surfers cruising the coast in search of waves.

From Umzumbe I took a short doddle down to Durban, riding mainly on the old main road (R102) and just enjoying the scenery and avoiding the crazed taxi drivers as they bid for the fastest times from town to town. Being in Durban meant admin time and I headed straight for the banks and forex outlets to sort out my money for the countries to come. Visiting the shopping centres felt a little foreign after the past two weeks in the sticks but allowed me to get some much needed supplies. I had a good time staying with a friend, Andrew, in his lap of luxury in Umhlanga, soaking up my last bit of proper civilisation for the next 6 months. Soft linen, TV, restaurants, shops and electricity would all become a thing of the past with every northbound mile.

I left Durban early in the morning on a longer than average stretch up to Hluhluwe, another place I have called home in the past, but far more recently. The trip took me past my old office which reminded me of the months of hard work and saving before my adventure could begin and left me with no regrets about my current life path. The greatest thing about travelling is experiencing new things everyday, its like being a small child and having your eyes opened to the world for the first time. From Mtubatuba I took the national road through the Hluhluwe Mfolozi game reserve. Travelling on a motorcycle limits you as far as entering game reserves goes so I have to take advantage when roads pass straight through the parks. Unfortunately I didn’t see much in the way of big game but it still feels so much better to cruise past a grazing zebra or heard of wildebeest on a bike as opposed to seeing things through the TV shaped boxed confines of a car window, you really feels as though you are in the picture, not peering at nature from afar.

Being in Hluhluwe for a few days gave me the chance to catch up with old friends and experience more of the great outdoors lifestyle. I stayed on a little game farm outside town called Ehlathini (in the bush). I loved being back in Zululand, riding through the Zulu villages experiencing what has to be one of the most beautiful and undiscovered parts of our wonderful country. My ride from Hluhluwe to Sodwana took me past Muze Pans. I sat and watched the sun set over the pan with a pod of rather vocal Hippos wollowing a mere 15 meters away wondering how life could get any better.

After a comfortable night at Sodwana Bay lodge I headed 30km north to Mseleni Hospital where I would produce my first charity production for the Mseleni Children’s Home and Lulisandla Kumntwana (reach out to the child) Charity organisation that cares for orphaned children within their own communities, helping them with food and running workshops to help them cope with their heartbreaking life stories. I joined one of the charity coordinators for a day as he visited the child headed households in the area, giving them food parcels and trying to help the teenage kids with the burden of looking after their younger siblings. It is a harsh reality of the devastating effects of HIV in these rural parts of the country and left me feeling so helpless. I spent a couple days editing my footage and managed to put together a short film for the charity that will hopefully help them in appealing to private donors. During my time at Mseleni I was staying with Rob and Polly, friends of mine who have been living and working at the hospital for the last couple years and are now about to leave to cycle back home to England. They were in the throes of organising with the familiar site of expedition gear everywhere and chatting to them about their forthcoming adventure put the challenge of my journey into perspective. I left Mseleni, Kwazulu Natal and South Africa feeling that almost anything was accomplishable with the help of an engine between my wheels and vowed never to complain about the discomfort of a motorcycle but rather spare a thought for a tenacious couple on peddle bikes!

Swaziland beckons...

THE WILD SIDE OF THE WILD COAST

2009-05-28T05:20:00.000-07:00

“The traveller that resolutely follows a rough and winding path will sooner reach the end of his journey than he that is always changing his direction, and wastes time in looking for smoother ground and shorter passages” Samuel Johnson

The wild coast was all about the riding! And some of the most picturesque roads, trails, paths and views! After a rainy day in Cintsa, I departed on Thursday under blue skies and made it my mission to try and get to Coffee Bay on as little tar road as possible. Armed with a fairly detailed map of the Transkei, featuring vital turn off coordinates, I made my way from village to village through some of the most spectacular gorges, forests and along what has to be some of the country’s most beautiful coastline. It took me the whole day with lots of stopping to appreciate my surroundings and I eventually arrived in Coffee Bay late that afternoon.

Whilst in Coffee Bay, I took a day trip to Hole in the wall over the grassy hills along parts of the hiking trail and even braved the waters with a swim out to the hole (in the wall). Coffee bay is a popular stop for the backpacking tourists and evenings in the Coffee Shack or Bomvu Paridise Backpackers are especially festive with lots of games, Xhosa dancers and locals jamming away on Jembe drums in the background. There are exciting daily activities on offer, including amazing hikes, cultural tours and drum making. The following day I joined a guided hike along the cliff edges dropping sharply into the ocean. We waded through rivers, up and down steep hills, through incredible caves and past the local villages to arrive at a spot known as the Jacuzzi where you jump off the 8 meter high cliffs straight into a bubbling pool in the ocean. The hike was pretty hairy at times with little in the way of safety measures but together with the 12 other foreigners, I made it through unscathed and enjoyed every second of it.

From Coffee bay I headed for Port St Johns, again trying to take gravels roads and tracks as much as possible. The 250km took me most of the day as I weaved through the valleys crossing no less than 30 bridges in the process. It was another spectacular day of riding. The Wild coast must definitely rank as one of SA’s top destinations for off road motorcycling as the network of lesser used tracks is endless and the views: breathtaking. The kids were definitely not used to seeing motorbikes zoom through their villages as they rushed out of their houses and ran towards the road whenever I approached, shouting and waving with massive grins on their faces. The petrol tanks were dry in Coffee Bay and this meant stretching my 460km range to the limit, I got to a point where I was stopping to ask anyone I saw for directions to the nearest petrol station, mostly to no avail but I was relieved when, out of nowhere, a small quarry town appeared and with it, the wonderful sight if a Caltex tower. I eventually came to a tar road and cruised along the last 40km into Port St Johns, relieved that the constant vibrations had come to an end. Riding along some of the corrugated gravels roads makes you feel as though you are riding a jack hammer at times and every time I take my computer out of its pannier case I turn it on with increasing anxiety. So far the pelican case pannier system has worked incredibly well and dust has managed to find its way into pretty much every nook and cranny on the bike but my pelican cases are performing perfectly.

My stay in Port St Johns was brief but nice, it is a much smaller town than I had anticipated and the Mzimvuba river gorge that snakes its way down to the town is no less beautiful than all the others in the Transkei but far more accessible. I left early after just one night in PSJ to try and make up some time on my rather sketchy schedule and headed for the KZN south coast. This involved navigating my way through the towns of Lusikisiki and Bizana, both of which make you feel as if you have just landed in deepest Africa. There are people and cars and donkeys and goats and sheep and chickens EVERYWHERE!!!! It was good practice for cities to come where traffic laws are more of a guideline than enforcement. I loved every second of the Wild Coast urge anyone with a bike and half an inkling of an urge to go and explore it for yourself.

AFRICA UNCUT BEGINS

2009-05-25T08:59:00.001-07:00

“A man should know something of his own country, too, before he goes abroad” Laurence Stern

After a hectic few days of final preparations and some untimely delays I finally managed to depart on my great adventure. The above quote precisely depicts my view on travel; we have so much worth seeing in our own country that I thought it fitting to visit some of the places unknown to me before crossing the borders. My first day involved a straight forward stretch from Jo’burg to Clarens in the Free State. Even though I kept off the highways, the roads were still smooth sailing and the 350km past by fairly easily albeit without much in the way of interesting scenery until I got closer to the Drakensberg mountains. The approach into Clarens was spectacular. I took a dirt track over the mountains through the Golden Gate National Park and the views made it hard to keep my eyes on the road. Upon arrival in Clarens I met a chap called Andre, who runs the backpackers and learned that some of the country’s best white water flows down the nearby Ash River. Andre, who doubles up as a river rafting guide, organised for me to join a rafting trip the following day and I managed to rent a kayak from the rafting company. The rapids lived up to the big talk and are undoubtedly the best I have experienced within South African borders. It was a fantastic day and gave me the perfect opportunity to test out my new waterproof helmet camera... thanks Jigs, it is brilliant!

Just before leaving Clarens the following day I met another couple staying at the backpackers who were travelling around the country making short films and they kindly offered to give me a lesson on using my new film editing software as they use the same program and editing software takes some getting used to. Their hour long tutorial will probably save me days of teaching myself so thank you Roy and Leanne.

A last minute change in plan saw me deciding to traverse Lesotho en route to the coast so from Clarens I cruised up to Fiksburg and into the highland country with my 200cc engine struggling that much more with ever meter gained in altitude. Upon entering Lesotho, what struck me first was the extreme poverty, Lesotho is one of the poorest African countries and this is obvious immediately after crossing the border. Next I was severely struck by the cold as the clouds rolled in and hid the precious winter sun. The piecing cold was made worse by a sudden rain storm but luckily it hit as I arrived in Meseru so I managed to find cover at a petrol station. The last 40k’s to a lodge in Roma were tough with on-off hail making the roads extremely slippery and adding to my ever decreasing body temperature but I was met at the lodge by a warm fire and fantastic views of the snow covered mountains so I revelled in the fact that I didn’t have to venture outdoors in the near future, put my feet up and started to write this.

To be continued...

I have now arrived at Cintsa, a small coastal town at the southern end of the Wild Coast. I decided to move on from Lesotho after just one night there as the cold made for extremely uncomfortable riding and the route I had planned to take was snowed over so I thought it best to head south in search of warmer climates as soon as possible. I spent two days in Hogsback, which was like heading back in time. The ride into Hogsback over the mountains on a dirt track from Queenstown was nothing short of spectacular. I eventually arrived late in the afternoon after leaving Roma at eight that morning. I would have been there sooner but the incredible views forced me to stop and do a lot of filming en route. Luckily the weather took a turn for the better on my day off in Hogsback so I decided to take a hike through the enchanting forests to a couple waterfalls, which was brilliant. The hike took most of the day and I spent the rest digitising some of the footage I had filmed so far.

The ride from Hogsback to Cintsa was relatively easy apart from a little fall, my first and hopefully my last, luckily I came away completely unscathed thanks to my protective gear but it was a good little wake up call and I am glad that my panniers withstood the impact perfectly! Hopefully I will start my trek up the Wild Coast tomorrow if the rain subsides but it has been relentless all day long here and could make the river crossings a bit trickier. It is amazing to have ridden my bike to the sea and the next week or so will hopefully provide for some of the best riding imaginable!

Watch this space.

PS... SORRY FOR SUCH DELAY BUT I HAD NO INTERNET ALL THROUGH THE TRANSKEI, SHOULD PUT UP NEXT BLOG POST OF WILD COAST IN NEXT COUPLE DAYS

A Reckie Trip: Maputuland Motorcycle Madness

2009-04-28T00:40:00.000-07:00

It all started with a call to my mate Dave four days prior to departure: “Are you still keen to go?” I asked, wondering whether the absence of his usual excited pre-trip phone calls on a daily basis was a sign that he was becoming too snowed-in at work to get away for a few days.
“Of course” he replied, almost offended that I had even asked such a question.
“So you’ve managed to organize a trailer then?” I queried.
“Not exactly” he said
“So what you going to do?”
“You’ll see” Dave said with a chuckle.

True to his word, Dave arrived at my house just outside Hluhluwe, in Northern Zululand, a few days later. Amazingly, he had managed to dissemble his new Yamaha TW 200 to a point where he could fit it into the back of his hatchback, albeit after the removal of the his car seats, spare wheel, rear sound system and anything else that was not essential to the functionality of the vehicle. “It’s a sight for sore eyes!” Dave said as he pulled up “But I made it”. Not only had he got his bike into his car, coming from Jo’burg, there was no way he was going on a trip to Ponta D’Oura without his kite surfing gear. Luckily my girlfriend, Julia, would be meeting us in Ponta and she would be traveling by car, otherwise I would not have put it past Dave to think up some inventive way to attach it all to his bike.

Both of us are freshly out of university and do not have the financial cushion most motorcycle enthusiasts have to fall back upon but we were not about to let such trivial inadequacies stand in our way. We were going to have a real adventure, taking the back roads and the back roads of back roads through Maputuland into southern Mozambique and back. Our rule was to always choose the road less travelled, Robert Frost would have been proud but this rule does not always get you to where you want to be heading, as we would soon find out!

We started out with a leisurely cruise up along to edge of Muze Pan, enjoying the thousands of water birds and occasional pod of hippos less than an under nine ‘c’ team netball player’s stone throw away. This part of South Africa still feels so wild, you don’t drive through any fences or pay any park fees and next thing you know you are dodging reedbuck, riding beside a family of warthogs or sitting sipping from your camelback and marvelling at the enormity of a fully-grown hippo up close and personal, although we did try to maintain a safe distance from the hippos once our ignitions were off, mostly because I was riding my not-so-trusty old Yamaha XT500 “Classic Thumper”. It always starts first time when no one else is around… I promise.

From the top of Muze pan we managed to wind our way to Sodwana Bay without touching a single piece of tar (apart from crossing the R22 of course), granted it took us most of the day as we double backed and zigzagged our way across the landscape but that was what we were out to do. We played follow the leader with the guy in front having all decision making privileges as we tried to navigate the vast network of roads that weaved between the Zulu huts and past women in their carefully maintained vegetable gardens and through herds and herds of Inguni cattle, some of which, thought it necessary to chase us for miles on end. The kids would run out of their houses and chase us smiling, waving and shouting “SWEEEEEEEEEETS!” At one point we came across a beautiful river enclosed by a dense green belt of tropical forest, the road seemed to go straight through the middle but after walking through the chest deep crystal clear water we realized we would have to find a more bike friendly alternative. We eventually found a shallower section a little way downstream and two to a bike, we got across the river and through a hundred meters of muddy, log strewn footpath to a clearing on the far bank and two hours later we were back on our bikes and cruising through the open plains. We eventually arrived in Sodwana Bay just as it was getting dark and were met by some well-deserved ice-cold beers.

After a good night with some friends who were staying in Sodwana we awoke a little later than the six o’clock start, we had assured everyone we were good for, and started to pack the bikes but our day was off to a less than perfect start with a flat tyre each. It was only mid morning but the heat was already unbearable and by the time we had both tubes changed we were dripping with sweat. We had planned to make a quick stop at the Mbazwana Spar to get some supplies but this turned into another marathon event. We hadn’t bargained for the fact that it was the end of the month and the tiny Spar in Mbazwana probably serves a rural area bigger than many small countries. Queuing at the tills was more of a guideline than a rule and we soon learned that in this world if you were not fast, then you were last so we wrestled through the crowds, paid for our provisions and eventually headed out of town and back on to the soft sand, which we were now getting a little more used to. Neither of us had done much riding on soft sand up until this trip but we were learning fast just to hold your line and maintain a steady low rev count.

We rode along the shores of Lake Sibayi, stopping many times to marvel at the surroundings. Lake Sibayi is the largest ground water lake in the Southern Hemisphere, not fed by any major tributary. The crystal blue waters cover an area close to seventy square kilometers. The lake is home to many a hippo but they proved too elusive for us on this day. We eventually came to the gate forming the border of the Isimangaliso Park, formerly known as Greater St Lucia Wetland Park, our plan was to get to Mabibi Campsite for the night but instead we were greeted by a giant “No Motorcyles” sign on the gate. Retrospectively, I should have known better, I had been camping at Mabibi, possibly my favourite campsite and beach in the country, many times in the past two years I had been living in Zululand, but we had always made the journey by 4x4 and I had never noticed the sign forbidding motorcycles. Our begging and pleading with the rangers at the gate was in vain, as there was no way they were going to let us through and quite rightly so. I always loved passing through this gate on my way up the sandy track to Mabibi as the rangers here take such pride in their jobs and never fail to greet you with a stern salute followed by a Colgate smile.

Time was getting on and our delayed start and meandering pace throughout the day meant that we were running out of daylight hours so we decided to head back to Sodwana Bay for the night and just bomb it up to Mozambique the next day. We stuck to our back road rule and tried to cut a straight line back to Soddies along lesser used roads, footpaths and cattle tracks but ended up getting a little disorientated. It was getting dark and at one point, after I thought we had been heading in the same southerly direction for the last half hour, we end up exactly where we started- we had done a giant loop. Just as the last drops of daylight were dissolving we worked out where we were and found the road we were looking for. This meant crossing a small stream known to Locals as “Oom Tollie se Gat” and I soon found out why. After a less than adequate inspection of the stream I mounted my bike and rode into the knee deep water accelerating as I made my way across the thirty meter wide stream and not expecting a change in depth when all of a sudden my bike dropped into the “Gat” part of the stream. Dave took a far wiser and more calculated approach and navigated through the stream sticking to the shallower parts and reaching the other side safely so that he could help me out of my mess and onto dry land. We tried every trick we knew to rid the engine of the water and get my puppy started but to no avail. We resigned to pushing the stubborn machine four kilometers back to Sodwana in the dark of night accompanied briefly by a machete wielding local who had obviously enjoyed a good session in the shebeen and was now convinced he was placed on this good earth to help us out of our current state of dismal affairs but he was getting in the way more than anything else so we eventually convinced him that he would be having a better time sleeping it off.

The next day we eventually got my bike firing again after draining the fuel, changing the oil and putting in a new spark plug. We headed straight for the Mozambique border along the more forgiving blacktop. After the necessary formalities at the border we were back on the sand tracks and headed straight for Ponta D’Oura, where we found some beds in a backpackers right on the beach and headed straight for the bar in search for some ice cold 2M beers, which by now, had started to resemble something of the holy grail to our thirsty lips. It was now Friday evening and Julia joined us in Ponta after her week’s work was done at a hospital near Sodwana Bay where she works as a physiotherapist. She had come up in her trusty Land Rover packed with luxuries that limited space on a motorcycle would not permit so we spent the next couple days enjoying the beach and waves with all our toys and eating like kings.

We gave ourselves one full day for our journey home and thought we would make the most of it by getting to the border as it opened but it was the end of a long weekend and many other people making their way back to the big cities had had similar objectives. We joined the queue of cars waiting to cross back into the Republic about a kilometer from the border post but thankfully, once the border opened, the Mozambican officials just seemed to usher everyone though with little more than a glimpse at our passports as if to say “You are crowding my country- PLEASE LEAVE”

Once back in South Africa we made our way onto the back roads that we had bypassed on our way up in our rush to reach the beaches and beer and boy am I glad that we did. From Kosi Bay we headed in a South Easterly direction towards the sea. We zigzagged through the hilly plains dotted with clumps of palm trees and took each fork in the road according to our gut feeling trying to head in a general homeward direction but the roads seemed to double back on themselves which allowed us to enjoy the adventure that much longer. I am not entirely sure if we were allowed to be riding where we were but we never saw a sign forbidding it and we were never told otherwise so we continued in ignorance, loving every second of it. After not too many navigational mishaps we popped out at a main dirt track which looked like it had been laid for the logging trucks servicing the surrounding plantations, we followed the road towards civilization and joined the tar road not too far from Sodwana Bay. From there, we headed back to my house all along the tar to end what had been an unforgettable experience on a strapped budget and limited motorcycling experience, although our experience in soft sand had more than doubled in the last few days and this had just wet our appetite for bigger and better adventures!