The Okavango Delta

The Okavango basin is a river basin (from Angola) that ends in the desert of Botswana. Given the surrounding dust ball, this area is a magnet for mammals - animal & human. Water never looks so enticing than when its surrounded by desert. For wildlife its a hotspot. Sadly, it saddles several borders (Nambia, Botswana & Zimbabwe) so poaching is a problem. Not in Botswana though. 

Given its a river basin the way to explore is by boat. Having been out in the Kalahari, the overwhelming impression is one of life. For start, the birdlife.. Egrets, commerants, storks, herons, ibis watch you as you speed by. I get a sense of "heart of darkness" as I  leave civilisation & head into the delta. The impression is that there is much more ahead.

Firstly the elephants stand their ground. Not happy that a smelly two stoke boat is interrupting their breakfast. They rip the reeds out of the river, shake them vigorously to remove soil then munch.

The hippos watch. Keeping cool. But are really are up for a fight.

 No such problems with the young lions. They have just eaten & are just not interested.

I am watching this with four Germans from Dusseldorf & a lady from New York. " So Trump or Clinton?"I asked."I'm for Trump, through & through...Bit of a loose cannon isn't he?..He knows how to run a business...Does he? He's been bankrupt twice?." Silence. From the Germans "Anyway this about running a country not a company". Fair point. Q. Michelle Obama " We need an adult in the White House". 

The road to Maun

The road to Maun (the gateway to the Okavango delta) meant crossing the margins of the Kalahari. On advice, I'd been advised not to cross via the roads through the centre. There is little to see & its fearsomely hot. Even on the northern margins, the terrain is extreme. Scrubland & trees become patchier & disappear. The temperature soars. The heat is intense. Its the type of heat that makes any activity exhausting. I have 300 miles to do.

There's less & less traffic & no people. That is until I stop. A family slowly walks over from their bush huts. I share my bananas with them. It must be in the late 30Cs now.

Boney cattle saunter across the road. Old & new carcasses by the side of the road. Burnt out shells of cars & buses. A new warning sign by the side of the road. A red triangle with a galloping elephant. Seemed unlikely in this barren landscape. Heading out of the desert, the trees re-appear. 

The elephant stood by the side of the road & looked disapprovingly at the overheating motorbike & rider. It looked cross. I moved on.

There had been no fuel for 250 miles. I rode into Maun on vapors. The bike's tank takes 14 ltrs. I put in 14 ltrs.

Khama Rhino Sanctuary

Having had the luxury of a bed so far I now had to bite the bullet & move onto my luxurious camping accomodation. Before that was the small matter of the 250 miles to Serowe. I was heading for the Rhino Sanctuary there. Due to ongoing cross border poaching, rhinos mainly from the north (Chobe) were moved to Serowe where they are protected.

The GPS did not pick up the Sanctuary & with no signs I was relying on directions. "Go to the gas station & turn right, then third left & carry on....No, it isnt, its left then third right". I left with a full blown argument underway. After much guesswork, I arrived. "The road to the campsite is very sandy, you may want to leave your bike". Worth a go. I was back in 5 minutes having managed fifty of so very undignified metres of battling to stay upright in deep, powdery sand. 

Having pitched the marquee, it was getting towards dusk. I was on my own & was being watched. I could see barbets, shrikes (crimson), starlings (Mere's), quail & the great named go-away bird (grey) from the tent. In the background were impala passing through in the bush. "Beware of the night animals" I was told as I headed off to watch Matrix 3 in the restaurant.   

Woke to a sound of ruffling outside the tent. A hornbill was rooting around & looked unimpressed. Not surprising as I was stiff as a board. My blow up mat had punctured. Rule one of camping for beginners. Do not pitch your tent where there are lots of thorns.Or ants. Or baby scorpions.

I was booked on a drive around the sanctuary to see some Rhino. I was the only one on the Landcruiser. The thick twisted bushland opened up into wide plains with zebra, wildebeest, springbok, steenbok, impala. Even a giraffe wandered by (also introduced). Vultures glided around in circles above. A Kori bustard ran away into the distance. Everything was bone dry. There had been no rain since March. The sand was feet deep. All activity was around the boreholes maintained by the sanctuary. Birds everywhere but no rhino.

Given the rhino no show, my driver offered to take me out again in the afternoon. Given I had a couple of hours to kill, I reverted to the time honored pairing of beer & bird watching. A new babbler (southern pied) & the bearded scrub robin made appearances. Noticing other people pointing, I turned to see a rhino heading straight towards me. I was told latter this a black rhino from Zimbabwe called Noddy who had been hand reared. He was now free to roam but liked to make an appearance to check out the sanctuary's array of human life. 

On the second drive, sadly the main event, the larger white rhinos failed to make an appearance. Mind you with my powers of observation they could have been doing a Mexican wave & I would have missed them.  

Into Botswana

Looking at the map, there was a 400ish mile gap between me & Botswana. I decided to break teh back of it the first day & have an easy day to the border crossing the next. As the landscape rolled by there was very little change. A long strip of tarmac with gravel roads leading to unpronounceable places somewhere far out of view. It is now mid-30s & there is much less wildlife. Fewer ostriches but a new hazard. Donkeys, goats & cattle grazing by the roadside. Donkeys I've learnt will stand in the road motionless. Goats will cross but as a group. Cattle however will either ignore you or panic running in any direction.

This keeps me occupied as we sip & seep. I sip my drink (from my camelback) & gently sizzle like a roasting hog. The bike sips fuel (its a single) & continues to seep oil (apart from now talking to myself I calculate my fuel range continuously - yes, I know).  Meanwhile the GS boys catch me up. On a week-end ride out. Proceeded to get their lunch & cold beers out of their coolboxes. "Travelling on your own then Dave?". I take another sip out of my warm camelback & head off. 
   

Arrived in Mafikeng late afternoon. Its Saturday night & the liquor stores are busy. This is one of the last nights I have booked a place. Its basic. On the plus side I have brought the bike in with me (what men dream of) & try to sleep through the Mad Max Thunderdome antics outside, the owners yappy dogs & the scurge of the self catering apartment - the fridge. Periodically through the night, the fridge will stir into action & being ancient that means much clanking & grinding. 

Awoke groggily & spoke to the owner. "You are riding a motorbike across Chobe (National Park) alone? David, there are no fences there. There are things that will eat you". On that happy note, I set off for Botswana border. I expected hassle & got none. "Sounds like a great trip.." said the guy waiting in the queue "but why are you doing it alone?" Grrrr.

First thing to greet me in Botswana were vultures. Second were Police road blocks. Luckily the third was a liquor shop where I drank cans of cider with the locals (who strangely wore flat caps). 

The Northern Cape

From the coast I headed north. This involved more dirt roads. Ok but it was gently raining. When I reached the main road I had reached new heights of grubbiness. Good job really as I was heading for the northern cape. Afrikaans country. My disheveled, stubbly, red faced demeanor was perhaps one reason everyone spoke to me in Afrikanns. "No I'm from England". "WHAT?".

I stayed on a farm near Springbok. I was the only one there. The land is now much more rugged & arid. Water is scarce. It feels like I'm getting nearer the desert. The owner showed me a picture of a couple from Belgium who passed through a few weeks ago on a Ural sidecar combination heading for Senegal. Makes my trip sound tame. At night the sky is full of stars. No light pollution here.

Took a walk into the hills. I was clambering cautiously . If ever there was snake country, this was it.

The road from Springbok to Keimoes was 250 miles of near straight highway. The land is now flat with boulders strewn randomly - some massive. In the distance loom angular hills with sharp edges untouched by water erosion. This region has next to no rainfall. There is very little vegetation, wildlife - human life. A convoy of BMW GS riders shoots by. I've seen the same before. Riding fast in a convoy as if terrified of being alone. Its a relief to get to the Orange river. Farming & people re-emerge. I stop at the Augrabies NP to see the waterfall. Given the lack of rain, it was not at its most impressive but still a sight. Alpine swifts acrobatically flew above the water catching flies. Pale winged starlings watched me from above & lizards ran, stopped motionless & then ran again around my feet. 

I am writing this in Keimoes near Upington. I'm not far from Botswana. There are 3 or 4 holiday cottages on top of a hill. Below the vineyards stretch out into distance (raisins I think). The double trailer trucks thunder by. Just been looking at the owners Porsche 914. He brought it over from Florida. "Don't worry about security Dave. Whole place is lazer alarmed. If the alarm goes off, stay inside. I will sort the bastards out". I am sat drinking beer (well lager) with the owners cat & a gaggle of noisy red eyed bulbuls (I know this because I now have a bird book). Outside the bike is cooling down - still leaking oil.

Heading for Strandfontein

I'd decided to stick to the coastline as much as possible. The Atlantic piles into the beaches here - the majority of which are deserted. I passed through a couple of fishing towns - Elands & Lamperts Bays - neither hives of activity. Men of all ages sitting around & they were not on holiday.

My turning for Strandfontien turned out to be unsurfaced. 30 miles of gravel or 60 miles tarmac. I choose the latter - a soft option but my love of tarmac know no bounds particularly as it gets scarcer the further north I go.Proved to be a wise decision too.

I was heading into low fuel territory as I reached the main road. I skipped a fuel stop & then regretted it as the next town - Trawal - was further than I thought. At the garage I filled up the bike & a 5ltr oil can (meaning I'm ok for 300 miles). All set then for Strandfontein.  

Er no. Bike wont start. Check, re-check, try to blame the attendant ("what fuel did you put in?) & then the sad push off the forecourt for random twiddling & fiddling. Panels off. Battery, air filter, switches. Panels on - jump start. No - speak to mechanic. Panels off. Verdict - "I've got no idea".Ring rental company - is the battery properly connected ? (grrr). Ok - we'll bring another bike.

Four hours of chewing biltong with Malawian workers ("How can I get into your country David?), another BMW arrived (a F800 adventurer). It was dark, I was heading off to a local farm somewhere nearby on a bike I'd never ridden  - & on dirt roads. I also had several versions of directions.

Mike had a string on holiday cottages. He'd given up farming almost entirely to focus on the safari buses. "They are all full of young women" he told me over breakfast. I was with Ross & Dave - two older military guys (Ross had lot count of how Malawians he had shot in the border wars).

Rental company. We have your bike. It was a fuse. We can bring back as we have to pick up another bike that is in Nambia. Its a right off. "How's the rider?" We don't know.

Much as I liked the bigger bike it was good to get back on my little thumper (plus the big big was making dubious engine noises). I finally arrived in Strandfontiem a day late & having reverted to dirt roads.    

Men love sheds

The West Coast National Park is 10K or so south of Langebaan. It is the coast untouched by urban or industrial development. Riding in I swerved to avoid a tortoise & was outrun by an ostrich. This is birding territory so where better to be than in a hide. Basically a shed with windows. Men love sheds because a) they do very little in them b) very little needs doing & c) women hate them (sheds that is). A hide is just a big shed. I have taken girls into hides. They particularly hate them. They are uncomfortable, drafty & boring. For a man (or a birder), they are bliss. Silence, obscurity & birds. In this case, an opportunity to peer at long legged, super models. Flamingos.

As is true to real life, when presented with the pinnacle of bird glamour, you realise you're sat next to something far more real. In this case, a couple of swallows sat above me in the hide indifferent to all the flamingo tomfoolery. I wonder if I can convert one of my sheds into a hide...?  

Day 1 - Cape Town to Langebaan

Being a seasoned & relatively gnarly motorbike traveller I like to think I know & thing or two about preparation & planning. Day one is important - it sets the tone for the trip to come so  you need to get things right. Don't for example set off with a bike bubbling burning oil everywhere. Always check, double check you've got your key documents with you. And don't pack unnecessary stuff.

After a short trip up to Table Mtn (pic taken from road to Signal Hill). I headed north. Yes the bike was leaking a bit of oil but the good news was the bird life was on the up with first sights of fish eagles & flamingos. Thought I must get pic for this blog. Stopped. No camera, hold on no passport, hold on no laptop. And the bike & me were now plastered with oil & gently smoking.

About turn & by chance a local Zimbabwean guy was on hand to siphon off excess oil. He also added coolant & secured the chain tensioners which were hanging off (a new bike?). Next stop was to retrieve my stuff which was still in the safe where I left it. Quick pint with a guy who told me the best place to get your teeth done (the whole lot that is) is the Philippines. 

Leaving Cape Town for the 2nd time, I followed the coast north. After the busyness of the city, the land very quickly becomes arid & sparse. The Atlantic coastline is only populated in patches. Endless stretches of scrub land are pockmarked with dark power stations, steel works & refineries. Langebaan sits along side a beautiful lagoon (albeit in the distance tankers are anchored up ready to load/unload). Its a holiday resort & seemed to be mainly catering for older (?) couples who like to drink alot. I had the dorado.

I finally gave myself one last Day 1 kick up the backside when I opened my waterpoof bag to find my "spare" water (stored in a bladder) was no more. The bag is definitely waterproof - from the inside anyway.

Scarborough on a Sertao

After breakfast, I set out once again onto the streets of Cape Town this time in search of  a Sertao. A BMW Sertao to be specific. Lourens showed me the bike. Almost as good as new - few miles on clock, new tyres, new chain. "You know its not going to look like this when I bring it back?" "No problems, David". He seemed very relaxed comforted no doubt by the size of the deposit I had just left open. "What happens if I have a puncture?". "You mend it - here are a couple of tubes". Knowing the answer I asked "How do I get the wheels off with no centre stand?". "You'll find a way David..."

I fitted my satnav & tank bag & headed off following the coast south with a short sojourn to attend to an oil leak caused by me not tightening the oil cap properly (yes, I know).

What followed was 20 or so miles of breathtaking scenery. For the most part the road hugged the coastline with sheer cliff edges plunging into the Atlantic to my right & the towering peaks of the Table Mountain Park to my left. I was heading for Scarborough to catch up with an occasional visitor to Oakamoor. 

Scarborough is a quiet cluster of a few hundred houses overlooking a wild sea & a white sandy beach. 

Graham lives in an open plan house perched high enough to see the weather coming in which helps when deciding whether to kite surf or just surf today. Between surf choices, he runs his business. Somewhere along the way, I have definitely missed a trick.

Cape Town

"No boss. It never rains for long here. Its paradise" said the taxi guy. Sat in the back of his very knackered Toyota hatchback, I could only agree. We stopped on route to borrow a satnav. 

Waking up the next day in my hotel ("you are very late David, you said AM & its 8PM. You are here now & you do not need to worry. We have 3 security doors"), I opened the curtains to be greeted with a gale. High winds& lashing rain. No problems this is Cape Town & it never rains for long.

Heading off I followed the coast to the city on a hunt for a) the castle b) ale (had to persevere with lager the previous night) c) a plug adapter (oversight - my European adapter was a tad northern hemisphere) & d)bird life (feathered). Through the persistent drizzle, I clocked black oystercatchers, cormorants & variations on starlings, robins & gulls. 

Drizzle became rain. Rain became gales.  Taking shelter for the nth time I concluded that the most visible Cape Towners fall into two broad categories. One group are 95% white - confident, loud, outwardly wealthy,  clecky & closed - reminded me of the London public school brigade. The other is 100% black - jolly, chaotic, inquisitive & getting by. A generalisation but the contrast between the have & have nots is stark here. Two different worlds. Showls of dodgy jap saloons are circled by an occasional incongruous Bentley.

The Castle proofed elusive hidden (to me anyway in the gales) behind faceless office blocks (Price Waterhouse, Old Mutual etc etc.), the plug adaptor was found in a back street mobile shop ( I was fleeced) but tracking down ale was trickier. After some dedication, I found a bar advertising craft beer. 

I was surrounded by the white fraternity playing hoops (like darts). "Yes Josh, lets have another round of shots. You're crazy". Sadly craft ale is a white man's drink.

"Penis Extensions? Erectile malfunction? Financial problems" Ring...."  A sticker I saw a few times on the way back. It only had one number to ring.  

Closing the curtains the rain was still lashing down.

Deer Gear TV in downtown Cape Town

Its grey & murky in downtown Cape Town & I'm watching Deer Gear TV. Whispering men in camouflages & baseball hats... "lets put some deer to bed". The adverts tell me all I need to know about the blubba blade, the latest cross bow technology , the bradley smoker, soil solutions & much more. Before finding Deer Gear, I had a beer in the local bar & was asked for my views about Doctor Dre with zombie white blokes & pimped up black guys (" Ok - but I've moved on from Dre"). Think I got away with it. Bit of a stretch but not my last I'm sure now I'm back in Africa.

Mid-week in Manchester

Even on one of the hottest September days on record, commute to Manchester airport is grim. Think its the endless queues of commuters, their blood boiling as they bumble along at speeds that would embarrass your average snail. Not many happy chappies here. Airport is slightly better. Perhaps people are moving a little quicker here. 

Spoke too soon. My flight is delayed by half an hour or so. I'm heading overnight to Dubai. 

By the way, think I perfected the squaddie returning to base look with my new "one size fits all" combats & the zero style haircut. All topped off with my suspicious looking body bags. Perfect.

One week to go...

Surprising the British summer has not been a complete washout this year so happily I've been ticking off a long list of outdoor activities all of which have one thing in common. They do not involve work. So a mix of cycling sportives, peak district walks, weddings, festivals all interspersed with generous quantities of real ale have resulted in me being one week away from leaving for Cape Town. 

I could describe my preparations as military but I'd be lying. On the hoof is perhaps a better description. My kit list is evolving helped along by a contemplative ale & a skim read of  Chris Scott's "Adventure Motorcycling handbook" (www.adventure-motorcycling.com). 

My one nod towards forward thinking is a visa for Mozambique. This required sending money & passport to the Mozambiquan Embassy in London. After weeks of radio silence, I rang. After a short exchange of "who are you ?.. what do you want?...what passport?" questions & "no it can't be done" I wasn't too optimistic. Another call, an additional random fiver, a chat with Mary & a week later I got my passport back.

To put my mind at rest, I have packed my bags.

Looks a lot but half of all this is motorcycle gear (helmet, jacket, boots etc.). The other half is camping stuff. Squeezed my map, toothbrush, passport & day 2 shreddies  into my tankbag. Sorted. Now, where did I pack my tyre levers?