Overlanding

There are basically three ways to travel overland around Africa on at least some sort of budget: hire or buy a 4x4 with camping equipment; go by local transport and stay at backpackers; or book yourself on an overland truck. An overland truck is basically a lorry with a custom built rig comprising of luggage, food and equipment lockers, and bus seats (for between 20 and 30 people) on a high deck – it is effectively a very rugged bus.

When we booked our two tours from Australia we had no idea as to the size of the market – a dozen major firms (Kumuka, Nomads, Acacia, Geckos, Africa Travel Co (ATC) etc.) run the Cape Town/Jo'burg to Nairobi route in both directions at least once a week. So, together with the smaller operators, there must be a few hundred overland trucks operating in Southern and East Africa. All the trucks tend to do the same routes, and use the same campsites, which means you'll usually be joined by another two or three trucks on any given night, and at Snake Park in Arusha, we were one of eleven trucks parked in a neat line.
















From the comfort of Perth, we had no concept of how difficult it would be to drive from Jo'burg to Nairobi, and perhaps fell victim to the ridiculous stereotype of Africa as a dark continent, full of machete wielding maniacs who will hack to death any Mzungu they come across. After 10 weeks in which time we successfully drove ourselves around Namibia, South Africa, Lesotho, and Swaziland, Africa's stereotype had been blown away, and we were regretting being so cowardly in the first place. That said, driving round Africa is not like driving down to Cornwall, you do have to have your wits about you, but it's not overly dangerous. We also recognise these four countries are comparably safe and well governed, and it does get more challenging as you go north. In addition, it's good idea to have some field repair skills so you can at least get the car to limp on to a garage if stranded somewhere remote.














The overland tours are advertised as being “expeditions”, which in reality just means that you'll be expected to put up your own tent, and pitch in with the cooking and cleaning. I'm sure that for some people they do feel like a real adventure, but for anyone who has done a fair bit of independent travel, or indeed anyone who is independently minded, you might as well be on any other bus tour where you have no control whatsoever, and feel a great disconnect from your surroundings. Whilst the pre-tour briefing correctly emphasises you get as much out of the tour as you put in, the reality is that the schedule is often so tight that there is little time to branch out on your own.

We only have direct experience of Kumuka (and then only one crew), but we did meet up with various other trucks along the way. Apparently different firms target their advertising differently leading to different crowds on various trucks – all ATC trucks seemed to be full (which for them means up to 30 clients) of a youngish crowd, while Kumuka seemed to pull in a lot of Australians, and one Acacia truck had half a dozen hungover girls throwing up over the sides of the truck on the first day of their tour. On our truck we had an Aussie who waxed lyrical about the Contiki tour he'd done of Europe a few years earlier (Contiki tours, apparently, start with everyone having to state their name and favourite sexual position – they are squarely aimed at the under 21s who fancy non-stop drinking and the chance of some drunken sex, while being driven around Europe/New Zealand/Australia). He was clearly disappointed that this would not be repeated in Africa.

On the flip side some people take the whole “expedition” thing a bit too much to heart – they follow the “rules” laid out in the introduction talk to the letter, and regard anyone who shows the slightest inclination of independent thought or action as a dissident and a danger to the mission. The normal rules of decorum between people, who are essentially strangers, seem to go out the window, as people feel they can shout at someone for putting the butter in the “wrong” place or demand to know if someone has washed their hands. From a sociological point of view this is all very interesting, and behaviour like this has been observed in prison and the Big Brother house.
















To hire a 4x4 in South Africa costs a minimum of 1000 rand (~£85) a day. So by the time you've factored in the fuel (~£50 a day) and one way fee (~£200-£500), a 30 day Jo'burg to Nairobi trip will set you back ~£4500, and that's before you're bought any food, paid camping or entered a national park. By comparison Kumuka charge £1350 plus a local payment of $450 which covers food and camping (the Australian authorities have now banned the local payment, as it disguises the true cost of the trip). As this also included park entry, there is a considerable saving versus hiring your own vehicle (unless you're packing five people into it). Buying your own vehicle could potentially work out cheaper than hiring, but you are left with the risk of not being able to sell it at the end, and the hassle, and potential cost, at borders would be much greater. Of course the cheapest (and perhaps the most adventurous) way to do it would be to take local transport. However, you'd have to leave much more time for this, some places would be very difficult to get to, and you'd still have to pay for safaris in the national parks.
















We in no way wish to disparage the crew or some great and open minded folk that travelled with us over the six weeks, and our experience could have been very different with an alternative crew (for the worse) or travelling companions. However, we would never join an overland truck again. We may, in the future, buy a Land Cruiser in London and drive it all the way around Africa, but that's a different story.

Zambia and Malawi

We said hello and goodbye to Zambia very quickly as the truck sped through in two long days of driving. As we both set up and packed up camp in the dark, we didn't see much, except the rural villages and people on the roadside as whizzed by. It did give us a chance to get to know our knew travelling companions a bit better. We have another couple (Nina from Germany and Irwin from The Netherlands), two Australians (Kylie and Mark not a couple but they are already bickering like one), and we are still stuck (happily of course) with Ed.

We made a brief stop in the capital, Lusaka, to do food shopping, which was relatively uneventful, until I upset a group of locals by taking photographs of the street and inadvertently capturing their dodgy dealings. No harm done, but was glad to be in the safety of the truck and leaving town.




















After a comparability painless border crossing, we entered Malawi, and made our first proper stop at Kande Beach, an attractive campsite alongside Lake Malawi. You could be tricked into thinking you were at a tropical beach thanks to the white sand and water as far as the eye can see. In fact, it is the 8th largest lake in the world and has more species tropical fish than any other lake in the world. Unfortunately, it is the windy season at the moment so the diving was off. Instead, we spent a relaxing day doing not much at all. After two slightly miserable nights of freezing camping, Rich and I wimped out and upgraded to a basic chalet for two nights – simple, but a real treat compared to camping.

One of the most noticeable changes when you enter Malawi is the children. As soon as we stopped the truck, they would appear from nowhere, and unlike some of the previous countries we have been to, they are very keen to interact with tourists, and particularly fond of having their photo taken. You start to understand why Madonna wanted one.

Our next stop, Chitimba, was another lakeside campsite. Here, Rich took the opportunity to put in a training climb to limber up for his Kilimanjaro assault. This was an eight our slog up and down to Livingstonia, a mission on a mountain above the lake. Whilst there were some pleasant views I was very pleased to have not have joined in when I saw the exhausted climbers return. The only one still looking cheerful was the camp dog, who had faithfully followed them all the way, and even he had a bit of limp.

Instead of the climbing, I took the opportunity to do a village tour. We were taken to school and the health centre, both of which are in desperate need of money and resources. Neither have electricity and both suffer greatly from the high level of aids infection, around 30% in this area. It is pretty heartbreaking to see, but the children are still very friendly and keen to play, choosing to either ask for their photo to be taken or point at you saying Mzungu (white person) with laughter.
















One of the other serious health problems in this area Malaria, which has struck close to home as our driver has just got it. Luckily it hasn't reached his brain yet, and apparently he is okay to drive. Fingers crossed he doesn't pass out while he is driving...

The Smoke that Thunders

The photograph above shows the Victoria Falls bridge between Zimbabwe and Zambia, which spans the Zambezi river deep in the gorge below (the photo is a 180° panoramic); I jumped off this bridge, but more of that later. The Zambezi itself starts life in northern Zambia, cascades over the 108m high falls, and continues on its way to the Indian ocean; at this time of year, the end of the wet season, some 10,000 tons of water plummets over the edge every second.
















Entry into Zimbabwe was relatively straight forward - $55 for a visa, $20 more expensive that for every other nationality except for Canadians (they pay $75 – perhaps they've been even more critical of Mugabe than the British government). We had two nights stay in Vic Falls town, so decided to ditch the tent in favour of a room.
















The next order of business was to settle down to watch the 2nd test. Having spent the early morning watching buffalo successfully defend themselves against repeated lion attacks, it was a big disappointment to see springbok do the same thing.
















Early the next morning Kirsten went off for a horse ride along the Zambezi above the falls, which allows you to get close to the game (wild animals tend to react to a horse and rider the same as to just a horse). This did not prevent Yola's horse getting skittish and throwing her off – a bruised hand and side, and a broken camera.
















Jacques, Luke and myself thought the Vic Falls bungee sounded like a great idea, so off we went with our group of supporters . Luke went first, and as it was his first jump, went for the classic swan dive with the rope attached to the ankles. Next up was me, who went for a reverse elevator; this is a trick set-up, with the cord attached to the middle of your torso. With the rope dangling between your leg, you do a backwards star jump, and watch the bridge rush away from you. This was all very well until the guy explained not to lean forwards because the rope will smack you in the face, nor lean back because the rope will go between your leg – neither of which is pleasant. I really wasn't worried up until that point. Anyway dangling 50m below the bridge, waiting for the winch-man to rescue you, you do get a great view of the falls. Jacques did the run and jump method, with a very nice take off.
















Among the many things Zimbabwe in notorious for is hyper-inflation; every few years the central bank lops off around a dozen zeros from the Zim-dollar, bringing it back (for a day or so) on approximate par with the US$ - the largest note printed from the 3rd generation series was 100 trillion ($100,000,000,000,000), before the government removed all those pesky zeros and issued the (current) fourth generation notes.

None of the 3rd generation notes is worth more than the paper they are printed on, but that doesn't stop the locals trying to get $10 for the larger notes (I paid $1 for a 10 trillion note). The local ATMs do issue 4th generation notes, but you'd be stupid to touch it – nobody else does.

The falls are wet. At this time of year so much water thunders over that the spry can completely obscure the view – a small change in the wind can make the difference between having a fantastic vista, and having an unexpected power shower. Of course, when we visited the Zimbabwean side, we took nothing as sensible as a rain coast – so as we emerged, soaked to the skin, a group of South African tourist (in ponchos) found it so funny, they had their photos taken with us.
















Below the falls, the Zambezi snakes through a deep gorge. During low water, you can raft rapid 1 (a little after the bridge) through to 23, and although the rapids have a lower grade when the water is high, because you can't walk around an impassable grade 6, in high water you must start at rapid 11. Before you start, you must walk down the steep track to the river – easy enough, except we were in flip-flops.

The huge volume of water in the tight gorge creates large whirlpools and standing waves; going though the rapids can feel more like surfing than rafting. The whirlpools can take you down and hold you for 15 seconds – not long enough to run low on air, but certainly long enough to be quite unnerving. Another danger, is the crocodiles; they wouldn't swim up into the fast moving waters of the gorge, but juveniles washed over the falls can survive – we spotted three on our way down river. Fortunately no one went overboard, but we did get hit by some monstrous waves. Of course, if you raft in a gorge, you have to do the tedious 20 minute slog back out again; fortunately someone else had the task of carrying the raft out.

Chobe

Doris is driven by Jacques, a veteran of African overlanding at 28; while his girlfriend, Celia, is the “tour leader”. Our six fellow travellers are Ed, a 64 year old Australian (although he's still claiming to be 46); kiwi mother and son team, Ann and Luke; American friends, Emerald and Megan; and finally another Aussie, Yola. Yola and Emerald are currently studying in Johannesburg and Cape Town respectively.

To cover distant we often set off very early (5am), which means taking down the tent in the pitch black, and rolling up the damp canvas with numb hands. We are split into four teams, three of which rotated cooking, cleaning and washing-up, while the forth (myself and Luke) lifted the heavy stuff in and out of the truck. It's a little bit like being in the army, with the twist that you are paying them.














From Maun we rattled north-east towards the Chobe river and national park. After an overnight transit stop on route, we stopped for breakfast on the side of the road, where one couldn't help noticing that diesel was spraying out from the engine compartment; as it turned out one of the filters has cracked, and as the system is under high pressure, the result was a ornamental fountain of diesel. Fortunately, Jacques had a spare filter, and repairs were made quickly.














We arrived in plenty of time for our sunset cruise on the Chobe river, which forms the northern border with improbably shaped Namibia. The river had plenty of crocodiles and hippos, neither of which was inclined to put on much of a show beyond wallowing on the mud banks. The elephants were more active, with a juvenile in musk proudly showing off his fifth leg, before squaring off for a bit of play fighting.

Very early the next morning we had a game drive. Now despite knowing how cold these things are, I still didn't wear enough clothes – my thermals weren't cutting it, and everyone else brought along their sleeping bags. After half-an-hour of only seeing antelopes, I was regretting leaving the tent (I'm so over antelopes). Then our guide got a call on the radio, and we rushed off.


















What we found was a dozen other safari vehicles, jockeying for position around a pride of lions. The lions, two females with cubs and two males, were tracking a large herd of buffalos. Among the herd was a limping calf, who seemed to have breakfast stamped on his head. One of the females began a run, however, soon she was in retreat with several large bulls chasing her. These charges and counter-charges went on for over an hour, with the herd of safari vehicles fighting for the best position (the herd of buffalos seemed less interested in moving).














With an apparent stalemate reached the lionesses settled down in the grass with their cubs, who were content to play in a ever so cute way. Meanwhile a male (who took no part in the hunt) wandered into a group of impala, who seemed completely at easy with his presence – they can easy out run lions (but not leopards), so have no fear standing close to them.














Despise the bitter cold, it was our best lion viewing yet – just a shame Limpy the buffalo didn't end up as breakfast.

Okavango Delta

Day one of our overland trip to Nairobi we woke up at some ungodly hour before first light, something which I fear is going to be a bit of theme for the next month. After some quick, sleepy introductions to our travelling companions we loaded our gear into Dorris (the truck, who apparently gets very upset if you call her a bus) and headed off out of Jo'burg. We soon learnt that early morning travel in Dorris is not much fun, as instead of windows, she has plastic sheets which do little to keep out the cold. Fortunately, I had my sleeping bag to hand so huddled up and snoozed until we stopped for shopping in Polokowane, where we had nearly got lost a couple of days earlier on our drive down from Krugger.

Now, apparently this trip is not a holiday, so we all take turns in cooking, washing and cleaning up. As I was on cooking duty (along with Ed, an Australian guy who was doing very well at pretending he was under the tour company's age limit of 45), it was my job to run around the supermarket buying supplies for the next day or so. After this we had a roadside sandwich lunch before continuing on to the border with Botswana.
















After a relatively quick and simple border crossing at Martin's Drift (there were some short negotiations over the paper work for the truck, which is often the most time consuming part of the crossings), we arrived in Botswana and our first campsite. Unfortunately, as the journey had been quite long, we had the fun of putting up the tents and setting up camp in the dark.
















We woke early again the next morning, and packed up camp with bleary eyes and freezing hands. Although, to be clear, when I say sleep, what I actually meant lying shivering in the tent, as it was way too cold to actually get to sleep. (Rich slept well in his “Ice Breaker” sleeping bag). Wrapped up in sleeping bags and all the clothes we had, we embarked on another full day of driving. After a pit stop to buy supplies in Maun, we set up camp and Delta Rain campsite, which is a crossing point for overland trucks doing different routes – there were around four there when we arrived. This time I went to bed equipped with thermals as I wanted to be vaguely awake for the next day when we were to venture into the famous Okavango Delta.

The Okavango Delta is one of the largest true wilderness areas left in southern Africa. It is formed by the Okavango River, which starts in central Angola, before fanning out over a vast area which is home to a huge variety of animals. Eventually the waters evaporate and are soaked up by the thirsty sands of the Kalahari. We started our journey in traditional style, in a Mokoro (dug out canoe). After an hour or so we found a suitable island to set up camp. Now, this was a true bush camp, with no facilities, a hole dug for the toilet and no fences to protect you from the elephant, hippos and lions that were potentially lurking in the bushes.

We spent two nights in the delta, filling out time with game walks, learning to pole Mokoros, a stunning sunset Mokoro ride and snoozing during the midday heat. Given the vastness of the area and the abundance of water, it is very hard to find animals here. It is, however, quite exciting being out on foot, with no weapons, following the tracks of elephants and lions. We didn't find the latter, but did find giraffe and zebra.

Our evenings were spent around the camp fire, playing games and swapping stories with the local guides. I decided it was time to go to bed when Rich started trying to convince one of the guides, a Seventh Day Adventist and very surprisingly for these parts a vegan, that evolution was really not just a joke. I fell asleep to the sound of raucous laughter as Rich tried to convince him that the Earth was five billion, not five thousand, years old – he wasn't having it.

We arrived back at the base camp dirty and in desperate need of a shower. Clean and feed we left again for the airport in Maun and scenic flight over the delta. This was a 45 minute flight in a 7 seater Cessna and allows you to get a much better sense of how large the area is, and hopefully a good chance of seeing animals. Not long into the flight we saw a herd of elephants which looked spectacular from above. Unfortunately, as the flight is very low, and I spent the first 10 minutes focusing at the fast moving ground below with my camera lens, the nausea soon started to set in. I held on until just before landing, and the became closely acquainted with the sick bag. In fact all seven of us were looking very green when finally reached stable land.