Botswana

25th August 2004

The bonnet has been finished! It is fitted whilst we pop into town for breakfast and to buy a ratchet strap for the roof. Back at the house, we decide the weight of the spare on the bonnet will simply crack it again so unbolt the spares box on the roof and stick the wheel under it, all strapped down tightly with the ratchet strap. We thank Brian very much for his family’s kind hospitality (although apparently he wasn’t aware we were staying!) and head off towards the border with Botswana. Three kms from the border, we get stopped at a police checkpoint and asked for insurance; we have non and after a ‘chat’, get away with only paying 6USD instead of the 50+USD fine! - not bad. At the immigration office we read a notice saying insurance is not obligatory and is at the foreign driver’s discretion. Leaving Zambia was straightforward. To get to Botswana one must take a pontoon over the Zambezi River. We queue for two hours waiting for the pontoon clutch cable to be fixed and eventually, after answering many questions from inquisitive people about our trip, board the pontoon. On the other side, entering Botswana was easy as long you hide any drums or such like made from animal hide – they are very rightly petrified about foot and mouth entering their country. We drive into the nearby town of Kasane and stop at the Toro campsite – smart but pricey – we carry on. In town we stock up at the local Spar and chat in the car park with some more inquisitive folk, while we eat messy cream doughnuts. We camp at the Thebe River campsite and cook dinner immediately before sitting at the bar to catch the latest in Athens on the telly over the bar.

26th August 2004

Thirty-one years ago today, the world was blessed with a sporty little South African, known to many as Ranger! We shower and sit drinking coffee and munching biscuits for breakfast. I hand him a birthday card, which I sneakily got printed back in Livingston of the vehicle and us. With our rubbish bag, I wander over to a bin next to an overland driver chopping vegs and, as not to put rubbish in his bin without asking, politely ask him if it’s a rubbish bin, he sarcastically replies ‘looks like it’ and keeps chopping – what a chopper! After filling the tanks up, we drive towards Nata along the very good tarmac and reach the town at lunchtime. We grab a six-pack of Castle and buy some T-bone steaks and firewood from the local butchery. The usual hotdog lunch was this time enjoyed in the car park of a Shell garage. We drive on to Maun on the edge of the Kalahari Desert. The scenery is one of dry bush and trees, heaps of Yellow-billed Hornbill, goats, donkey, horses and carts and a lap-winged Plover, which we hit and killed, unfortunately. We enter the Makgadikgadi Pans Game Reserve and decide to head down a track, away from the Reserve Office. We follow the late afternoon sun so know we are running parallel to the main road. We see giraffe and wildebeest, hornbill, an Eastern chanting Goshawk and heaps of elephant dung – all for free – bargain! We hit the main road and drive towards Maun as the deep red sun sinks into the bush and the grass by the roadside turns golden. We reach the town at around 6ish and camp behind the Maun Lodge. After briefly jumping into and out of the outside pool, we light a fire and make a salad to accompany out steaks, cooked on the fire. After the delicious dinner, we chat to a random in the bar and inquire about the music we can hear in the distance. With the random in tow, we walk to the liquor store where music is blasting from a van in the vain attempt to promote a new drink called Fusion. All the locals are dancing around, very well, in front of the store and we are immediately spotted by the DJ – ‘Eh! we have two white men in the crowd tonight, this last song is for you guys, come up here and dance!’ – Ranger laughs out of control as I dance away with the locals, obviously being put to shame! When the last song finishes and the van drives off, the place empties and we are informed the place to go is Trekkers nightclub near the airport. We manage to scab a lift with a truck driver and heave ourselves into the front of his Scandia cab. The club is free and slowly fills up. After some more Castle, dancing and arm wrestling, the music stops early at 3am when we are forced to find a lift back to camp. After some more ‘interesting’ events, we eventually rest our heads on our pillows in the early hours.

27th August 2004

Castle beer needs banning. I drag myself out of the tent and fall into the pool to wake up. Ranger is already up and makes coffee while I make a needy breakfast. In town, Ranger queues for the cash machine and when I eventually find some cokes, he is still queuing. When he gets to the front of the queue, the machine breaks down, so we change some travellers’ cheques inside. After fuelling up, buying some water, pies and a huge Wurst for tonight’s dinner, we set off on the road towards Gabarone. At a police checkpoint we asked whether we have any meat in the fridge – they are very rightly so petrified about bringing foot and mouth into the country. When we admit we had bought a Boerwurs (sausage) in Maun for our dinner tonight, the policeman informs us we cannot take it through the checkpoint. There’s no way he is having this superb piece of meat so we get the frying pan out and cook it at the roadside until he is satisfied. I chuck the pan in the passenger footwell and we drive off with this huge sausage between my legs….. ;-) The sun sets to the west lighting up the golden grass and turning the sky red. We see Kudu jump the fence back into a game farm – so graceful for such a large buck. We enter Ghanzi in the dark and manage to get some cash at a Shell garage before driving the 6kms to the Thakadu campsite. We meet the large, jolly owner who shows us our camping spot under a tree with water, light and power – perfect. We immediately get the sausage back on the stove and have a great feed before visiting the bar for just the one.

28th August 2004

Up early for a decent shower. Ranger pops his head out of the tent and his swollen right eye looks like he’s been smacked by Mike Tyson. After almost falling from the roof, he walks to the loos to inspect this strange occurrence and returns with blood dripping from his forehead after walking into a thorn bush – not a good start to his day! We leave for the Ghanzi Dance Festival being held at a game farm 30kms out of town, which we passed yesterday. We pay the 10 Pula each and park up before walking to the fenced off area, surrounded by benches, where the bushmen and women, young and old, are dancing. We sit down and enjoy the different groups spinning around, blowing whistles, clapping in rhythm and stamping their heels into the sand to the sound of the drums. Their ankles are covered in large seedpods, which shake to the beat as they stamp in the sand. We boil are hotdogs back in the parking area and after lunch, drive back past the town on the road towards ‘Gabs’. The campsite owner told us to drive 200kms or so and turn off the road at the 500km milestone. We do this and follow a faint sandy track into the bush. The bush and tress in the desert are very dry and we see Springbok bounce away as we approach them. We set up camp on a rise, I write diary and update under the awning while Ranger sits on the roof eating biscuits, reading and admiring the view over the desert bush for miles – this is our first proper bush camping for ages and it feels good. I join him on the roof as the red sun sets to the west before lighting a fire and cooking dinner, using up the Boerwurs from yesterday. We sit and chat, staring into the flames, before I leave him and read under the light in the drivers’ seat.

29th August 2004

When nature calls in the middle of night, I take in the quietness of the desert with only barking, of probably African wild dogs, in the distance and birds calling to each other; no man-made structures or lights can be seen, under the illumination of the full moon. We get up at 9ish and have coffee around the re-lit fire. After packing up we follow our tracks back to the road and press on towards Gabarone. We stop when seeing a large group of vultures on the side of the road with a herd of cows on the other side staring at them. They fly into a tree immediately and leave the dead cow, probably road-kill, by the side of the road with his old friends trying to guard him from the preying vultures. The road to Gabs is only months old so we reach the capital in good time and stop to ask for a campsite. After being directed to petrol stations, malls and hotels, we eventually find the Citi camp and meet the Scouser owner, Colin, before parking up and walking the 67 (apparently!) paces to the Bull & Bush pub next door. We sit at the bar and watch the closing ceremony of the Olympics whilst enjoying my first pint of bitter since England! We decide to eat in the restaurant before arguing with some local chump who claims the Olympics is a waste of money. We shoot some pool in the adjacent bar and head back to the camp and the tent.

Distance travelled since London : 24,800 kms

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