14th May 2011

Weather: 30ishC/Clear skies (nights down to about 18C)

Over the last few days we have been working our way along the Caprivi Strip. This is a strip of land, (stating the bleeding obvious), that separates Angola from Namibia and Botswana. I believe it's history is steeped in the blood and guts of the poor locals.

The Caprivi is a flat non-descript stretch of scrub about 30klm wide that runs for several hundred klms. Pretty boring, and only made interesting by the fact that at any time you can expect an Elephant to make an appearance. A road not to be driven at night!

After leaving the last town before the Botswana border, about 55klm behind us, we came upon one of the several police road blocks that we had started to encounter over the last few hundred klm. Most of the police at these checkpoints, that appear to serve no apparent purpose, are business like and polite and usually ask to see my drivers license. However, at this last check before the border they also asked for another piece of documentation, a piece we were unable to provide no less. We were made aware of the fact that we had not been issued this paperwork at the point of entry to Namibia earlier, but as our point of entry was a Port and not a road border, the system couldn't cope and we weren't given our Cross Border Permit worth N$220/about A$35. So our first piece of cross border ******** resulting in a trip of 55klm back to the nearest town to see the lady who has the correct form. Wait for the lady, who has just ducked out to do her shopping. Explain how we got this far given that we are obviously dumb *******s. And drive back to the point we were at three hours earlier.

However, we have to be thankful on several fronts. First, that we hadn't driven the further 40klm to the border before being turned around, and second that we weren't made to drive back the 2000 plus klm to Walvis Bay where we came into Africa.

We spent last night in Kasane, the gateway to Chobe National Park.

Chobe National Park, the premier park for wildlife in Botswana, did not disappoint with a large number of herds of elephant and giraffe. We watched two different herds of elephant, playing in the Chobe River. Being just metres away from these animals was amazing. At one point several of one herd passed within a metre of the vehicle. It was amazing. Amazing that I maintained bowl control.

The night was spent camped on the bank of the Chobe River in the National Park, watching a stunning African sunset.

After another night in Kasane, where we shouted ourselves and the local population of malarial mosquitoes a meal at the Chobe River Lodge, we prepared for Zambia. That is, I prepared for Zambia with several medicinal drinks.



Zambia (20 years on)

May 16th 2011

Weather: Same/Same

Well I never thought I would see Zambia again. Last time I was here I vowed I would never be back, but this morning we crossed the border from Botswana. After our Moroccan experience though, it only rates second on the chaos meter. We had a common language this time, but with me being partially deaf, they could have been speaking a Martian dialect.

Gael was nominated to go into the fray to take the initial spray, and to pave the way for my superior negotiating skills. This strategy failed miserably, as I went to water after the second garbled instructions from, I think, someone who turned out to be a street cleaner.

We then needed some local currency to pay a variety of border charges. The local currency in Zambia is the Kwacha, and at the moment the banks will give you 4,700 Kwacha for 1 US$. In Zambia you don't carry a wallet you carry a shopping bag! Whilst the banks will give you 4,700 kwacha there is not a bank at the border, so like it or not you find yourself at the mercy of the black market money men who sweep like vultures on a rotting tourists carcass at the border gate. The best we could get for our US$ was 4,000 kwacha.

Step 29B (or was that C) in the immigration process took place in a blue building that appeared to be a crowded toilet, but the building was actually the police post. As we sorted through a fist full of local currency to pay, I think for the police chief's second wife's dental work, the police lady behind the desk was busy doing maintenance on and the reloading of her AK47 machine gun. Gael found the experience to be different enough to wish that she could have taken a photo. It was quite bazaar. When the police official didn't have the correct change, those in the room were asked to go through their pockets to come up with the necessary amount, which they all appeared happy to do.

From the border we proceeded to Livingston, and a visit to the Foley Land Rover England agent in town. The truck was due for a service and I couldn't be stuffed crawling around in the African dirt. We also got some tired looking suspension bushes replaced while we were there.

Next it was off to find a campsite. African campsites are different to the garden variety Aussie ones that we are used to frequenting. In fact they are different to any we have frequented even in Moroco. Firstly a guard or two is mandatory. Most camp grounds are attached to a lodge but not all lodges offer the camping service. If attached to a lodge you are generally entitled to swan around the pool and bar like the well healed and you also have access to the internet if available for a price. The well healed are easily identifiable as they don't have our crumpled shop soiled appearance. These lodges also offer the option of a cooked meal that although usually basic is a break for the chef and her domestic help. Many sites have perimeter lights that point out into the black void that surrounds the camp ground at night. Many also have razor wire or an electric fence which provides a sense of security on the one hand but on the other hand has you wondering what in the bloody hell happened here to warrant all this. Most have hot water supplied by a wood fueled donkey (boiler), and some are supposed to have it but don't. Some village communities offer camping and these are usually the cheapest, however cold showers are the order of the day in these camps. All African campsites come with barking dogs, except those in National Parks that come with a variety of snorting, bleating, belching, howling animals. Camps near water offer the added attraction of the possibility of being trampled, eaten or gored whilst going to the toilet after dark.