Last time I ended with rejoining Fabian. We were at the cafe and I ate a meat pie which I had mistaken for an apple pie. That was somewhat disappointing since good pies or cakes had been hard to get.
But anyway there is one important story I wanted to tell which I forgot in the last report: Back in Gitarama I was returning from a restaurant with Sandra. Governmental website always state that you’re not supposed to drive in African countries at night time because of people on the street, pot holes, etc.
I never thought about those problems applying to pedestrians but they do. What happened is.. well I fell into a hole. It was so dark I couldn’t see the even darker hole right in front of me and like in a cartoon I ran into it. I seemed to hang in the air for a second while still speaking and then I fell right down. I scratched my knee (it doesn’t seem as if it’s meant to heal properly), arms and hands. Nothing severe but I was hanging there, clinging to the edge of a seeming bottomless hole. It actually was perhaps 1.5m deep but in the dark with my feet not touching the ground, since my torso was lying flat on the ground, it seemed bottomless. Before I realized what had happened or Sandra even moved the people walking down the road next to us had already pulled me out. Everything happened so quick that I realized what had happened only afterwards but it also occured to me that I probably would have have to be in danger of bleeding to death for people in Germany to help me.
… I know it’s not that bad. But it would have taken way longer. Just wanted to mention that with all my complaining last time. Still the people here are probably close to the most friendly in the world. And there’s an even better example to come.

Anyway. After our breakfeast we headed to Jock’s place – Jock is the coach of the Rwanda national cycling team – where we hoped to get our bikes back in shape. Unfortunatley Jock was in South Africa at that time to buy spares but we were able to meet his french mechanic Maxima who spend 6 hours with us that day repairing the bikes.
Maxime was such an amazing help. In case you read that: Thank you!!
We got them cleaned, changed cassettes and chains, repaired my front break (which for a different reason is broken already again but should be easily repaired.. just have to take the time), adjusted the gears, practically everything. The bikes were like new again! And such a pleasure of riding them… The problem with gears and parts wearing out is that it goes slowly you won’t notice the difference until it gets unbearable. But once you repair them the difference is.. huge!
Thanks again. You saved what remained of the original tour and what’s going to come.

Now with the new bikes and everything packed up again we headed to Michael’s and Kadda’s place (German volunteers, Fabian had met the day before) who had invited us to stay there. Rwanda is expensive so we were especially glad to stay with them – and for the nice company even more.
All summed up we had a great time in Ruhengeri with the different volunteers and I’d say it never got boring. We actually had so much to do I didn’t even get around to writing the blog…
And then finally Sunday arrived. Sunday was special because Jock was back from South Africa, we could pay for the spares and then finally get back on the road again.

The road from Ruhengeri to Uganda is not particularly spectacular, except for the amazing view on the Virunga volcanoes. And then well.. we left Rwanda. And here the conclusions:
Allthough I didn’t mention it in particular I talked with many many people about Rwanda, Rwandan society and especially how they act concerning the genocide. I dare say Rwanda is the country I learned the most about and I still have the feeling of only scratching on the surface.
I will start with the general things and superficial observations. First of all Rwanda is a very clean and well run country. It’s thoroughly organized, there’s not too much police or military around (compared to other countries), infrastructure is very well developed and in urban areas education seems to be on high levels. Rwanda has several universities with the best being in Butare and actually offering academic courses, unlike e.g. Zambia with its university of brick laying. Everywhere in Rwanda you will find purple and blue ribbons, memorials, flowers for the victims of the genocide. They seem to do great memorial work. This is also stressed by the amazing genocide memorial in Kigali.
Then concerning education again it’s not as good as it might seem. They do have schools and universities, yes. But the teaching methods are far from producing intellectual or critical thinkers and youth. Children get beaten here, not hit but beaten, for asking questions from the “why-age” on. They get laughed at in school for asking and in University foreign workers are complaining about having a dull class which doesn’t dare asking.
I don’t think this will be much different from other countries here but Rwanda is the only one where I have actually heard of it and even witnessed it.
Then concerning the post genocide memorials: Yes they are doing massive work. But it’s not all good. For example people that have buried their losses in or around their homes are forced to dig them back up and bring them to the memorial sites. The official reason is: “To have all the bones in one place”. People who don’t obey will be punished and nobody cares about the pains they might suffer whilst digging up the remains.
Then the genocide in public is an absolute tabu topic. No Rwandan will ever talk to you about it unless he really trusts you (for what I heard. I didn’t talk to Rwandans about it because I was too afraid to break that tabu to be honest). There are public displays of documents, photos and film from the genocide period during the 100 day memorial time (which is a third of the year!) and people attend it, publicly crying or suffering psychic crashes.. but nobody talks it.
And then, what troubled me most: Rwanda has one main difference from all the other countries I’ve traveled through. It’s got a certain sense of oppression and tension in the air. I heard people saying that there still are those animosities, although the words “Tutsi” and “Hutu” are banned, but people know perfectly well who’s who and it’s said to be possible to start boiling at any given time and event again.
People in Rwanda don’t laugh, they don’t talk loudly or freely. Or perhaps they do but it’s in a very different way. Everything comes at a certain price and the order and cleanliness in Rwanda seems to come from a ruler with a very tight grip on the country (the President won the last elections with 95% and if you ask random people the standard answer you will get is “He is very well loved”).
It is once again a country of outstanding beauty with touches of the toscany in some places but I wouldn’t say I really liked the country. Although people were once again more cautios and still friendly it’s just.. uneasy. I hope everything will be fine in future for Rwanda and that peace will remain stable and I still have just scratched the surface of what’s moving the country but for what I experienced it’s not a country I would like to stay in for a longer time.

And then the worst and most dangerous: Traffic. I came to the conclusion that those who apply to the army and get sorted out because they are too rambo for the operations in Congo get sent directly into the coach companies and on the road. Their mission: To eliminate everything on the road that is smaller than them, or slower, or weaker, or perhaps faster and bigger but not as beautiful. I don’t know but I’m convinced they actively tried to kill us and in some occasion there was no other possibility anymore than to take the jump into the ditch.

The night of that day was probably the worst and my entire circulation seemed to crash. I was shivering from cold, clothed in normal clothes, fleece set and the fleece blanket. I shivered the whole night wearing the above together with the sleeping bag and the inlet.

Fabian was lying next to me only with his sleeping bag and totally fine.

Still I always expected it to improve over night (since it couldn’t get much worse) and it did. The next day started off bad but conditions increased and in the evening I was feeling as healthy as ever.

We left Kabale, left the range of mountains of which we thought it was the last and entered savannah. That place was gorgeous. It reminded me a little of Namibia, we had slight backwind for the first time of what felt like ages and it was flat. Plain sheer pleasure.

We spent the night at some random guesthouse in a random trade center along the road and started cycling early the next day again. That is after a breakfast of Rolex (Chapati baked together with an omelet) and Chai.

The road continued with similar conditions and then at some point the traffic started to increase rapidly, which concerning the bad traffic before was really really bad. We had reached Mbarara.

The town itself is not worth mentioning at all. It is an awful place and I would never recommend cycling there but at the same instance the most amazing and my current favorite story happened there.

As you will all know Africa is poor. Uganda may be one of the better developed countries but compared to our standards it is still poor and we are although not by German standards rich.

Acting like a proper rich person I had forgotten I had placed my wallet on my bike seat when we pushed our bikes 30 meters down the road to an internet café. We crossed the road and once we reached the other side I realized the wallet was gone.

I ran back immediately up and down the road but it was not to be found. I asked everybody who was around, Boda drivers, Shopkeepers, random people walking down the road, street vendors. Most people were repellent, nobody had seen anything. I ran up and down three times before I gave up, I think people were already getting annoyed because I had asked them so often.

Eventually I gave up and called Barbara to cancel the credit card. The credit card was the only important thing in that wallet and the only way to withdraw money in Africa so its loss was a big one.

By that time probably 15 minutes had passed since I had lost the wallet.

Another five minutes later a man who had been standing in the shop on the opposite side approached me and asked me whether I had lost something. I told him about my misery and then he produced my wallet with everything (!) inside. Not a single bill or coin was missing, everything untouched.

I was so surprised and happy with my luck I hugged him, which in return seemed to surprise him a lot. After giving him a reward I immediately called Barbara back again who had, as fast as I could ever have wanted it, already cancelled the credit card.

To make a long story short: The credit card ended up being entirely useless in my wallet but I still think that an example of amazing honesty and reliability in a place like Africa. You always hear the horror stories but I really came down to relying on the help of these amazing people and the cyclists’ Fortuna.

The way I am describing this now is of course totally different from the way I felt then. I was furious after I discovered the credit card couldn’t be saved anymore. I tried to blame everybody for what happened, all the time knowing perfectly well it was only my own carelessness to blame. I tried to blame Fabian, I tried to blame African people in general, I even tried to blame the man who returned the wallet for taking so long.

I kept cycling 500m behind Fabian for the next two hours trying to get into a better mood again. But it is hard to admit there’s nobody to blame but yourself.

In the end I did. I convinced myself that nothing serious had happened, that I should take it as a lesson and that the only consequence is me being tied to Fabian in withdrawing money (Barbara had transferred parts of my money onto Fabians account). I caught back up with him, we had some great food and two Euro-Chocolate-Coins which I regarded as a good omen and then we cycled on through the beautiful beautiful country (all the while trying to survive the traffic).

Later that day a traffic police officer next to the road started running with us for a few meters, said he would join us to Masaka. His bouncing paunch made this a rather funny sight.

We slept in another random place, led there by a hoard of cheering children. Since I was in that amazingly post-frustration mood I enjoyed it a lot to joke around with them until the security guard of that place chased them away and closed the gate.

So as this article comes to an end I would just like to announce our further route: We’ll be heading (on a bus, because of traffic) to Jinja again tomorrow morning. Then we will cycle north to Mbale and cross at one of the northern borders into Kenya thus circumnavigating the northern slopes of Mt. Elgon. We’ll take a detour there to Kitum (or any other) Cave and Saiwa Swamp National Park (which you may only enter by foot).

Then we’ll cycle south, cross the Kakamega virgin Forest Reserve from west to east and make our way along the many back roads through the mountains south of Nakuru to Hell’s Gate National Park (which you can explore by bicycle on your own!). From there it’s… Nairobi. Once again a place where we have to go but don’t really want to go.

But we can visit Dennis’ brother there, pick up a care package and take our flight to West Africa, so it’s alright.

That said: We hope to be back on the road tomorrow and finally go cycling again. Also we hope you enjoyed the articles and photos and have a good time wherever you might be.

Fabian is at the moment working on implementing the Facebook-Like Button into this Website so once it’s up don’t forget to hit it .

We’ve been featured on this blog: http://tourististan.de/?p=1328

There will be an article on us in the Suedkurier in due time and the WDR is planning to do a short report on our tour too.

And one more piece of good news for all those Germans who suffer their ways through the long English texts. In Nairobi we’ll pick up a toughbook waiting for us there and then we’ll write bilingual again!

So long,

Tim

Mit der M.V. Liemba bin ich in Kirgoma angekommen. Tim ist mir nach Ruanda vorrausgefahren und ich will ihn mit oeffentlichen Verkehrsmitteln wider einhohlen. Von Kigoma will ich einen Bus bis kurz vor die ruandische Grenze nehmen. Planlos stehe ich morgens um 5 Uhr am Busbahnhof. Ein Soldat fuert mich freundlich zu einem Bus, der mich ans Ziel bringen soll und ist schon wieder verschwunden. Kurzerhand wird mein Rad bei den Ersatzreifen verstaut. Wir fahren in die aufgehende Sonne, berg auf und ab auf einer ueblen Piste. Der Bus doest so vor sich hin, als ploetzlich das Amaturenbrett in Flammen aufgeht. Klappe auf und mit einem nassen Lappen den Kabelbrand geloescht. Dannach  laeuft der Scheibenwischer ohne unterlas. Bis er irgendwann ganz seinen Geist aufgibt.

Mit einem Pickup komme ich an die Grenze. Problemlose Grenzabfertigung und ein bereitstehender Bus in die Hauptstadt Kigali. Gegen neun Uhr abens kommen wir endlich an. Irgendwo im Stadtzentrum werde ich abgesetzt. Ohne Plan wo ich schlafen kann. Schnell bildet sich die uebliche Traube an Interessierten, die mir erklaeren, dass es keine guenstigen Unterkuenfte gaebe …

Ein junger Mann kommt vorbei und fragt mich in perfektem Englisch, ob ich hilfe braechte. Ich erklaere ihm nochmal, dass ich eine Unterkunft suchen wuerde. Kurz entschlossen sagt er, ich koenne auf seiner Arbeit schlafen. Wir gehen los. Ich frage mich, ob es eine gute Idee ist, Nachts einem voellig Fremden in einer Grossstadt zu folgen… Den Gedanken haben zwei Soldaten auch und halten uns an. Ich erklaere ihnen, dass alles in Ordnung sei. Sie nehmen trotzdem die Daten von Tawaz neben mir auf. Ich entschuldige mich fuer die Probleme, die ich ihm berreite. Er studiert Informatik und arbeitet in einem Internetcafe in einer modernen Shoppingmal. 24 Stunden geoeffnet. Ein paar Kollegen sind noch da und sie beratschlagen, wo ich am besten bleiben koenne. Am besten wuerde es wohl sein, ich lasse mein Rad im Internetcafe und schlafe bei Tawanz.

Und schon rasen wir durch das naechtliche Kigali auf Motoradtaxis. Afrikanische Grossstaedte sind wahrhaftiger der falsche Oer fuer die allererste Fahrt auf einem Motorad ueberhaupt. Mit wackligen Knien steige ich schliesslich in einer ziemlich verlassenen Gegend ab. Mehrere male einem absolut sicheren Zusammenstoss enkommen.

Wir sitzen ein bisschen in der Kueche zusammen. Tawaz ist Weise. Will aber nicht naeher darauf eingehen, ob seine Eltern bei dem Genozit umgebracht wurden. Viel mehr ist er an unserer Tour interessiert.

Am naesten Morgen werde ich von der Deutschen Welle geweckt. Tawaz hat scheinbar den Internetstream gefunden. Mit dem Motoradtaxi geht es wider zum Internetcafe wo wir das Radholen und uns auf den Weg zu den Bussen nach Ruengeri machen. Tawaz organisiert mir einen Minibus, der auch mein Rad unterbringt. Ich lade ihn zum Fruehstueck ein. Geld will er nicht annehmen und so schenke ich ihn, meinen virenverseuchten 4Gb USB-Stick, mit dem Hinweis, dass er ihn Formatieren muss. In Sambia waren alle im Internetcafe scharf auf meine Sticks. Als wir zum Bus gehen sehe ich am Strassenstand haufenweise 32Gb-Sticks.

Tim wollte laut seiner letzten Mail abends ankommen. Ich erreiche ihn auf seiner ruandischen Nummer nicht. Wirklich sorgen mache ich mir nicht. Ist erwachsen und geimpft…

Der Mechaniker des Ruandischen Fahrradnationalteams Maxime laed mich abend ein, ein paar Bier mit amerikanischen NGOlern und dem Deutschen FSJler Michael zu trinken.

Am naesten morgen Klopft Tim wehement gegen meine Tuer und ich wache verkatert auf.

Jocks Werkstadt erweisst sich als kleine Oase inmitten all der China-Raeder die hier rumfahren. Rennraeder haengen an den Wenden, Laufraeder im Ueberfluss. Aufgebockte Mountainbikes und viele viele Ersatzteile: Umwerfer, Bremsen, Kasette und Ketten. Zwei Sets liegen schon fuer uns bereit. Zuerst wird aber der ganze Staub abgespuelt! Dann machen wir uns ans Werk: Neue Kasette und Kette. Tretlager bei meinem Rad wechseln, Raeder zentrieren. Tims vorderrad Bremse bekommt neue Teile. Theoretisch wissen wir bei den meisten Dingen, wie es geht. In der Praxis erweisst sich dann aber das Einstellen von Schaltung usw. als doch etwas komplizierter und wir nehmen Maxims Hilfe gerne an.

View Musanze – Kampala in a larger map

Am 27. Februar bin ich nach Kapstadt geflogen. Eine Woche spaeter sind wir gestartet. Das ist mitlerweile 100 Tage her.

In dem Zeitraum habe ich 4935 Kilometer an 51 Fahrtagen zurueckgelegt.
Tim hat wegen der Trennung etwa 5500 Kilometer 57 Fahrtagen ueberbrueckt.

Das ergibt einen Durchschnitt von 97 Kilometer pro Fahrtag.

Die laengste Etappe war 143 Kilometer nach Rundu in Namibia.
Tims laengste Etappe war 158 Kilometer von Kabonga nach Bujumbura.

Ich habe 17 neue Stempel im Reisepass.

Suedafrika-Kampala auf einer größeren Karte anzeigen

Wir haben 47 Naechte auf Campingplaetzen verbracht, 15 mal wild gecampt, 25 mal auf einer mehr oder weniger weichen Matratze in Hostels und Guesthaeusern gelegen, wurden 8 mal eingeladen und haben eine Nacht im Gebetsraum einer Mosche geschlafen.

Nach 11.000 Kilometern faengt mein Tretlager unruhig zu laufen.

Nach 13.600 Kilometern gibt es endlich ein neues Tretlager.

Nach 13.000  Kilometern gibt es einen neuen Schaltzug.

Nach 4000 Kilometern in Afrika wird ein Satz neuer Bremsbelaege faellig.
(Tim faerht sie nach 5500 Kilometern immernoch)

Nach 4300 Kilometern gibt es eine neue Kette. Die Kasette war etwas 2000 Kilometer aelter.
Tim ist den hinteren Ritzelsatz seit Fahrradkauf (bis da hin etwa 14000 Kilometer) ungewechselt gefahren und hat die Kette nach 6500 Kilometern gewechselt.

Wir haben 31 Platten und fehlgeschlagene Flickversuche, 2 davon sind geplatzt, 10 gebrochene Speichen, 3 gerissene Ketten und 1 Rahmenbruch hinter uns.

Nachdem mein erster Rueckspiegel bei einem Sturz im deutschen Winter zerbrochen ist, hat der zweite Spiegel die erste Kapstadt-Woche nicht ueberlegt. Den dritten Spiegel habe ich von Tim bekommen, der einen super Dienst leistet um herrankommende Trucks und Busse zu sehen. Er haellt bis heute.

Super zufrieden bin ich mit Keen Klicksandalen. Auch wenn ich sie leider eine Nummer zu gross habe.
Tim schlaegt sich mit den staendigen Reparaturen der Schlaufen rum. Die meiste Zeit funktionieren die aber hervorragend und haben bis jetzt nur einen Sturz zu verantworten.

Ich bin mit viel zu viel Klamotten gestartet, die in der ersten Woche alle rausgeflogen sind. Zur Zeit fahre ich mit zwei kurzaermligen und einem langaermligen Multifunktionsshirt, einem Radtricko, einer Mountainbike-Radhose, einer kurzen Hose, einer langen Hose, einer duennen Baumwollhose, einem Fleecepullover und einer Regenjacke.

Mein Schlafsack ist viel zu warm. Ein duenner, kleiner reicht voellig aus.

Der Benzinkocher ist eine riesen Krankheit. Anfangs zweimal mit Tankstellenbenzin befeuert, dannach nur noch mit Reinbenzin. Duese verstopft aber dauernd, hat dann keine Leistung. Wenn er mit Power laeuft, kann man ihn nicht kleinstellen. Ein Kocher ist in Afrika aber auch nicht unbedingt notwendig. Und vielleicht bin ich von der Einfachheit des Trangias verwoehnt.

Eigentlich wollte ich gerade die Bilder und den Artikel von der Liemba ueberfahrt hochladen. Ein Virus auf dem Internet-Cafe-Rechner hat jedoch den USB-Stick befallen. Die Festplatten und unser verbleibender halber Laptop sind aber sicher und ich werde die Bilder bei der naesten gelegenheit hochladen. Deswegen jetzt ersteinmal nur ein paar Bilder aus dem letzten Monat.

Nachdem diese Woche der Vollmond abnahm, sind die Fischer nachts wieder zum Capenta Fischen rausgefahren. Im ersten Morgengrauen kommen sie zurück, begleitet von einem großen Auflauf am Strand.

This article will be slightly different from the previous ones. Firstly because it has near to no cycling involved, secondly because there are (sadly) no pictures and thirdly because it doesn’t concern Fabian for the major part.

The reason is the following: After we published “Karonga – Mpulungu” we boarded, after quite some confusion with departing times, a cargo ship to Bujumbura. It was supposed to leave at 2 p.m. when we arrived there. We were told that it wouldn’t leave before 4 p.m. and we could go into town again.
We killed some two hours around town and returned back late. We hurried to get our exit stamps before the immigration closed and in the second the stamp hit the passport the captain came into the office and told us they wouldn’t be leaving before 10 a.m. the following day.
Now we had already officially left Zambia and technically couldn’t go back to the camping ground, so we convinced the captain to let us sleep on the boat… together with around 40 other passengers.

The night on deck was an experience of it’s own. As cargo boats should be (“it’s a ship not a boat!”) it was fully loaded with, in that case, cement, iron bars and a car. Somewhere in between the passengers tried to find a place to spend the night on deck. A huge light was illuminating the entire deck for the whole night, a generator was running somewhere and everything was full with cement dust.

Fabian by that time was starting to feel worse again and pitched his mosquito net, mats and luggage in the only free shade where no people were walking, which sent me grumbling and lying jammed between iron bars, the luggage and underneath the ropes holding the car. I literally couldn’t move when I was down there. And I was for the first time of the tour really pissed with Fabian because at that point in my opinion it was an evitable major discomfort.
I later felt sorry for my anger when he approached me to check whether he had fever (which he had). He moved drowsily and was obviously really feeling ill. Still, as much as I regretted that, there wasn’t much I could have done for him in the middle of the night on that cargo ship. They wouldn’t even let us leave the harbor at night, so we just had to go back to sleep and wait for the next morning.

The next morning then brought no major improvement to Fabians condition and he decided not to be capable of making the 40 hour journey. He wanted to rest and stay in Mpulungu until he was feeling really better again, also he was afraid he might have caught Malaria and wanted to have that checked too.
So once again we (in that case me and the porters) hurled the bikes across the water and up the next ship, back to land. We left the harbor shortly after sunrise so the immigration was not open yet.
I accompanied Fabian back to the camping ground where I told Charity (the manager) about him feeling so ill. She most kindly offered to stay room camping for the same price as normal camping which we accepted gratefully.
The Americans (I am very sorry but I can only recall Bill’s name) we had met there before offered us a ride to the hospital, where we discovered it was not Malaria.
Although still joking about Amoeba and Typhoid Fever we came to the conclusion that it will probably be symptoms of exhaustion combined with digestive problems.
The last thing we had to do that day was go to the immigration office and organize an re-entry into Zambia.
Although the people there were very helpful and understanding it still took some two hours to solve the problem: They crossed out the “exit” stamp and wrote “canceled” over it. Hrmmm…

Now with us both allowed to stay in Zambia for some more time and Fabians numerous assurances that he would get along fine I decided to continue traveling on my own for the time Fabian would be resting.
Fabian intends to take the Liemba on Friday which left me with 11 days of spare time if we were to meet in Kigoma (Tanzania, where the Liemba leaves).
I wasn’t quite sure what I wanted to do, Tanzania is very big, but I wanted to go to Tanzania and I wanted to do some backpacking. So by noon that day I was on my way out of Mpulungu.

Since I was allowed to stay in Zambia for the remaining time of my Visa I decided to take the 80km detour (return) to the Kalambo Falls. We had heard a lot about them and people said they were more impressive than the Vic Falls – which I wouldn’t quite believe.
The road to the Kalambo Falls was, down hill, very beautiful although it required some driving skill. It offered literally everything: Steep ascends and even steeper descends, rock passages with rocks the size of 6-month babies and everything smaller, deep sand, sealed surface, forest, gravel. And once again also everything combined.
The last descend was actually so steep and precipitous that I was close to getting convulsions in my hands from the constant braking.

Anyway: It took me some three hours to reach the falls and they were worth everything, the endless suffering on the way down and the even greater suffering on the way up again. But enough of the exaggeration, the road was demanding but just fine.
Concerning the Falls I am once again lacking the adjectives and especially superlatives to do them justice. I don’t normally like to do these kinds of comparisons but for all of you who have seen the “Avatar” movie (which according to statistics will probably have been more or less everyone) it looks just like the scenes in the movie.
No flying rocks and fish and octopuses of course but the fall itself, the landscape. The same.

You’re standing on a cliff, a thin river flows next to you, falling over the edge of the cliff and down for some estimated 200 to 300meters. It’s roaring at least as loud as the Vic Falls.
You can’t see the water crashing into the river below because of the mist but then you will see the rapids winding through the steep slopes densely covered with rain forest.
You can see through the river valley for some five kms until it takes a turn and flows into the lake. At the end of the valley the sun will be setting.
It’s just plain amazing. I even took a swim, two meters from the edge, in a slower pool.
Now that was nice but it’s going to become better: five meters from where the water falls there is a rock spine pointing horizontally out of the cliff into the abyss.
It’s wide enough for a mat (but only five cms remaining on either side) and long for a human of my size to lie on the spine the whole body and majority of the legs. The wardens were joking about me sleeping there, I did it. And it was amazing.
You can’t move because either side you could fall down, five meters from your head there’s the water falling across the edge in the light of the full moon. The wind occasionally blows drops of water into you face, the roaring and thundering eliminates all other noises. There was a thunder storm on the horizon.
It was simply.. amazing is not strong enough. Incredibly intense. A primal experience.

And then I broke with diarrhea. It came over me at some point in the night and I had to start running. I packed my stuff together because with me running to the toilet all the time sleeping on the cliff appeared to dangerous to me.
But still it was worth it and if I had slept through the night only my ears would have suffered. You don’t notice your sleeping next to a water fall while sleeping anyway.

The next day after getting up I was already too exhausted from the night to go back to the falls and have a last glimpse at them. I had a tough ascend ahead of me but still I decided to proceed to Tanzania.
I just didn’t want to waste the chance and the freedom I had enjoyed on the way down. Now don’t get me wrong here: I really enjoy cycling with Fabian a lot and I need him to keep up motivation and for his greater knowledge of bikes and company for that matter. But once in a while it is nice to have the absolute freedom of choice about what you do.
Stopping for a butterfly or not, going where you want, eating what you want, taking the detours you want and stopping whenever you want or not stopping when you don’t want to.
So I enjoyed that freedom and decided to proceed although I really suffered my way back up hill, pushing the greater parts. And this time without exaggeration.

I later ran into a South African whom we had met at the camping ground earlier, briefly and we traveled to Sumbawanga together. Sadly it took a rather unpleasant ending but I won’t go into details here.
I cycled (after returning back from the falls) to Mbala to get my exit stamp and after no ride arrived to the hour I proceeded to the Tanzanian border by bike. I was feeling better, still not strong but better by that time and the way was quite nice.
The border itself wasn’t very spectacular, the Zambian side being not much more than a cattle fence and the Tanzanian side a concrete lock with iron gates.
The border official then was pretty much the coolest officer we met on the tour. No uniform, sitting behind a laptop in the otherwise empty office. A young guy who spoke perfect English. We chatted for quite some time alongside dealing with my entry. He was a great help at getting the right Visa and also told me that a collective East Africa Visa (Uganda, Kenya, Tanzania) is planned but not yet available.
The border town, Kaseya, wasn’t spectacular at all. I found a place in a tiny guesthouse and a cheap meal. What was spectacular though is the following:
Firstly I was taught how to play “Boa”, a terribly mathematical East African board game which you can not possibly learn just by watching. They play it so quick and seem to place marbles randomly on the four rows of the game.
It’s fun though once you’ve learned it and getting taught a game without understanding a word of each others language except for Nidyo (Yes) and Hapana (No) is a great experience too.

The other thing is the remarkable kindness and helpfulness of the Tanzanian people. Starting with the border official through all my way through Tanzania I encountered amazingly helpful people.
Everybody is interested and if you seem to need help it will take no five minutes until somebody has stopped, discovered that to his surprise you don’t seem to understand Kisuaheli and then found somebody who speaks English.

But the best thing is that the Tanzanian people seem to be, although extremely friendly if approached, comparably cautious. They don’t yell as you as much as Zambians and Malawians did. I didn’t here a single whistle or hiss in the whole of Tanzania.
But once you approach them they ware very friendly and talkative. As you can see I love this place. Tanzania is my new favorite place so far (with more reasons to come).

The following day brought a ride on a truck to Sumbawanga. The bike was tied to the outside rail of the cargo area, our luggage was squashed somewhere beneath all the luggage of the other people, with oil barrels on top of that and then the people on top of that!
It occurred to me as a miracle that the bike and luggage survived that trip without further problems. That ride was by the way arranged by a man we had met the evening before, “Remmy”, who also went to Sumbawanga.
On that first ride we had the great privilege of boarding first and thus being able to secure seats in the driver’s cabin. Those trucks usually tend to be overloaded with people and luggage and going in the back is not too much fun.

The connection from Sumbawanga to Mpanda was organized by the mentioned border official. By that time I was planning on leaving my bicycle in Kigoma and jetting to Zanzibar for a few days so I was in quite a hurry to reach Kigoma (since the trip to Zanzibar and back takes 5 days).
Sumbawanga is an awful place and Mpanda is worse. I arrived at Mpanda at night which is bad but our bus left Sumbawanga with an 5 hour delay so there was nothing to do about it. All the while my bike was in the cargo area in the bottom of the bus with both wheels dismantled. It gave me the creeps because the ride was real tough (the roads in western Tanzania are least said adventurous), some of the bumps were so bad it gave you real pains in the spinal cord. I could virtually see my cassettes braking below me.
And once again – miraculously – my bike survived. I guess Schauff did a good job at assembling it.

I left Mpanda very early that morning. It was Sunday and so no buses were leaving for Kigoma. I intended to hitch a ride on a Lori (Truck) again and since they had left Kaseya before dawn I was up an hour before dawn again.
It took me some time to find the correct road out of Mpanda but once again I got the pleasure of the Tanzanian helpfulness. This time to the negative side. One problem is that if people don’t quite understand what you’re saying they just answer “yes”. So if you find a person who’s capable of decent English you’re never quite sure whether they understood what you said or not.
In that case another cyclist offered me to show me where the Loris leave. On the question whether he was going to take it too he answered “yes”…

We rode out of town for an hour. Sun was rising and I finally gave up hope to reach the place were the Loris depart and settled with just cycling to Kigoma. That’s some 240km from Mpanda, so doable in two days.

In a village were I stopped to fill up water (I didn’t bring any when setting off) I found a pick up truck which was actually going to Kigoma.
Some bargaining got me a decent price for the ride and so I got a ride sprawled out on the back of that pickup on my long way to Kigoma.
The ride takes 10 hours with a car going fast.

After an hour or so, we had had breakfast in between which consists of incredibly sweet but delicious Chai (tea) and Chapati (“pancakes”) and optional chicken, we passed a Lori. The problem with that Lori was that it had crashed, it just fell of the road down a small slope and all the passengers were roaming the roadside.
That of course was the end of the comfortable part of the ride. Soon after we were eight people and a baby and all their luggage on the back, clinging onto each other not to fall off on the heavy bumps.
I was sitting next to a man, a school teacher, with which I had a nice conversation. He also introduced me to the art of eating sugar cane.

All in all the ride was long, very long, and even more exhausting but enjoyable too. The driver was going at a pretty fast speed so it didn’t get too hot and the landscape was plain amazing.
First the road went up into the mountains, cliffs scattered in the known light mountainous forests, grassy parts and almost rain forest like passages. Then the road would open the view on what I assume was the rift valley and you would go down hill for ages. The forest would turn into bamboo woods, into grass land, into bamboo woods, into farm land.
There was one police road block before Uvinza at which the driver had to pay a bribe to the local police officer.
I hadn’t seen anybody paying bribes before but the matter is handled pretty openly in Tanzania. The first time I encountered it was when the driver from Kaseya to Sumbawanga actually had to bribe two different officers…
Interesting enough nobody tried to press bribes from the white travellers.

We dropped up the new passengers at Kazungula and made our way to Kigoma. Kigoma is a comparatively nice town, that due to it’s lake shore setting. It’s got the idyllic boat in a bay setting with the steep mountains of Congo on the other shore.

And now the second reason why I love Tanzania so much: It’s finally got fruit! There’s an endless supply of fresh papaya and pineapple and guava and oranges and bananas and avocado and water melon and it’s just awesome.
I’ve been feeding fresh fruit ever since I arrived here. It’s cheap to. Great! I love it. We should stay much longer in the equatorial regions.. but Ethiopia offers good food too. Only Sudan and Egypt aren’t famous.. mhmm.. Never mind.

I had some major confusion about my plans here in Kigoma. It’s just too hard to get away from this place and my mother contributed to it by suggesting just to proceed along the route rather than wasting all the money and time on transport and wait somewhere nice on the route.
I ended up with the latter suggestion but it took me through some major chaos involving a already booked (but not payed) bus ride to Dar Es Salaam.
On deciding to proceed along the route the next question arising was about the Burundian Visa. Gladly there is an consulate here in Kigoma, which although is very hard to find since it seems to move frequently.
Right now it is located on the eastern mountain about half way up and no decent road is leading toward it.
The easiest way to get there is to follow the road leaving from the roundabout in front of the gas station up the hill, continue straight when it turns left until you reach the shule (school). Go around the shule and up the dirt road. The only building with a flag is the Burundian consulate…
There is some major confusion in town about where that consulate is and asking around I was advised to go in literally every direction. Finally a man actually accompanied me there (since my lack of understanding Kisuaheli made giving directions hard) in the midday heat. Asante sana!

The people at the consulate were quite helpful and I got my Visa without further problems although I think that a 60USD for a country of Burundi’s size is rather expensive.

So tomorrow around noon, after stocking up with fresh fruit, I will take a Lake Taxi to Kagunga, the last town in Tanzania and from there to Nyanza-Lac in Burundi, to Bujumbura and finally Rwanda.
I’ll be meeting with Fabian in Ruhengeri as the plan is right now, hiking the volcanoes until he arrives.

Now since Fabian has the Camera sadly there is no evidence of my stay in Tanzania. Just believe me and perhaps enjoy the plain text without pictures. The article’s title picture is a photo taken in Malawi. And mainly to avoid the big question mark on the main page. Perhaps Fabian will upload some pictures from file later…

So long,
Tim

p.s. at least I’m trying to learn some Kisuaheli and I would strongly advise every other traveler to Tanzania to do so too. People (at least in these beautiful remoter parts) don’t speak much English.

The last published article included the conclusions on Malawi. I have to admit that was a little too hasty (although we were only to spend 1.5 more days in Malawi) so there is one more incidence I would like to describe which occured right after we set the article online.
Returning back to our chateaux park camping ground we decided to do laundry (we’ve become pretty proficient with hand washing) and asked the next employee for a bowl. As it turned out that particular man had some kind of speech disorder which I only knew from the time I worked at psychiatry, i.e. he couldn’t talk properly. The only sounds he could issue were nickering and diffuse screaming.
Anyway that man first showed us where the place for washing was. And then he made us understand that he would wash our clothes. He also wouldn’t take any money either as tip or direct payment.
I don’t think that he really understood what we were saying to him because he wouldn’t let us help him or anything but we managed to comunicate quite well while gesturing. And well. He did our laundry. Just out of mere friendliness.

Then because Sebastian asked: Fabian talked to an older boy the other day after joking around with a few kids. We had realized that those sentences used for begging were pretty much the only English those kids now (which is sad enough) and that older boy – who spoke a little more english – apologized for the kids and asked Fabian not to give them money. That said: We don’t give anybody money. Just wanted to mention that. So essentially they’re not really begging because they don’t even seem to know what they’re saying but it’s annoying enough the way it is.
For the adults: I don’t think most of them really care. I dare say in the rural areas they aren’t much more educated than their kids and although it gets less when people grow older that kind of begging goes through all age groups. But most of all they don’t care or react to their kids begging. They sometimes even make them notice us in the first place.

So the following day we then left Karonga. We would miss the lake but at least I for my part also love the mountains so the climb was nice for me. Not so much for Fabian though.
The dirt road was described as one of the worst of Malawi in one of the guide books Fabian’s mom send us excerpts of. I wouldn’t sign that for the first 100km to Chitipa.
There were a few really tough climbs, in one instance it was so steep I barely made it up that passage with out getting off the bike and the road got pretty rocky with rough gravel which makes ascending a pain. But still it’s a beautiful area and we as said I like mountains so it was fine.
We reached Chitipa after 92km, totally exhausted and dropped dead in one of the guest houses. I wouldn’t say it was a quiet night, border towns in Africa never appear to be quiet, but that didn’t matter too much in that case anyway.

The next day took us out of Chitipa to the border and finally showed us what that excerpt was about. It’s about ankle deep sand in which your wheels slip away under you. It’s about pot trenches. It’s about no shade in the blazing sun while climbing up hill for several kilometers. In the sand. It’s about running out of water and making water pumps a key stimulus. It’s about dust on your bags, clothes, legs, bike, face, eyes, mouth and worst of all the gears. Your gears keep grinding, almost wailing in agony and you just wait for them to have their final breath.
We survived and so did our bikes. I guess it was adventure and a hell lot of fun too (especially in retroperspect).
The above applies to all the way from Karonga to Mpulungu. The road didn’t change at all. Or it did change.. but it did not improve.

The day from Chitipa to Nakonde (Zambia, at the Tanzanian border) was supposed to be a short leg of a mere 85km. It turned out to be the toughest day and once again 92km. First we arrived at the Malawi immigration office and could leave the country without any further problems. But things weren’t as easy on the Zambian side. The problem was that there simply was no border. Or there was a border but there were no border officials, no immigration office. Only the barrier (locked with handcuffs). Apparently the police man didn’t want to show up for duty that day so we had to enter Zambia illegally (so adviced by the local shop owner).
We could get our entry permission at Nakonde border.

So we had to get to Nakonde (which was on the way anyway, though we hadn’t intended to go through their large scale immigration offices). Later that day we arrived at a little village at which one of the locals showed us a shortcut to Nakonde. That was the point at which our track wasn’t marked on neither our map nor our gps anymore. We started navigating with sun position and the little communication we could with the locals (point ahead and ask “nakonde?” works sometimes). I think during the course of that shortcut we entered and left Malawi atleast another four more times and eventually we ended up back on the main road, still not quite sure if our shortcut had been of any use. But it definetly had increased the adventure factor .
Arriving in Nakonde itself was an adventure too. By that time it had grown dark and Fabian was totally exhausted. I had made up my mind on reaching Nakonde that day and pushed him a lot and well we made it.
The (still extremly bad) road took us through a slum, it was dark, loud music everywhere. People are drunk on Friday nights (although I’m not quite sure about how much that actually has to do with the day in the week…). But we were back in Zambia so everybody was friendly and helpful.
They even pointed several hotels and guesthouses out to us in one of which we spent the night.

Getting the official entry permission made less problems than expected, actually none at all and at 9 am we were good to go. Once again on our beloved dirt road…
The following day nothing extraordinary happened, at least not as far as I can recall now. Only that I once again realized how friendly those Zambian people – especially on the countryside – are. 92km again that day. I don’t know why.. but every day till then we stopped exactly at 92kms. And the following day, the last day on the sand road, it ended at exactly 92km.

I’d say that fourth day was the most exciting of all. The evening of that day for that matter, the day itself wasn’t spectacular in any way. – oh one remark I forgot: The water we drank out of the pumps was occasionally murky and tasted strangely metallic, sometimes too sour.
When we had left the sand road it was 12km on sealed surface to the junction where the right goes to Mbala and the left to Mpulungu. We ate Nshima at a restaurant there and when we wanted to leave that drunk guy approached Fabian. I was paying at that time in another room so Fabian was alone with him.
Apparently he flashed an army ID and wanted to check passports. Why I don’t know. He said “just to check”. I guess that’s alright but he was drunk and not wearing uniform. But Fabian had already gotten his passport out and gave it to him so I couldn’t refuse anymore.
It’s not that I want to mess with the army. It’s just that for matters of corruption I don’t want to give my passport to drunk army officers that aren’t on duty. Anyway, we got our passports back without problems and left immediately afterwards.
That was our first encounter with the army that day and we stopped thinking about it pretty shortly afterwards.

We were more focussed on the 35km of down hill in front of us. But because the sun was setting we decided not to ride down to Mpulungu that day but spend another night camping wild (and thus saving the money and the descend).
Right after putting up the tent Fabian started to feel ill, complaining about diarrhea and nausea. We didn’t bother too much about hiding our tent that night. We camped some 200m from the main road next to one of the paths leading to villages with a view on the lake.
It took 30 minutes after switching off the lights until we were discovered. We decided not to react and the man asking “Hodi?” and eventually he went away.
Some time later (I lost track of time then) he returned with a friend. I don’t know which one was the one who discovered us in the first place but the one who talked to us in english was carrying one of those huge stone age axes…
He inquired who we were and what we were doing (“what’s your mission?”). The normal questions which we responded to in a friendly way and then he wished us a good night and they both went away.

Matter solved.

Again some time later a car came down that same road. It startled me a little (people don’t usually have cars here, especially not on the farms) but I didn’t think about it, rolled over and tried to sleep. That is for another few seconds until the car stopped, shifted into reverse gear and turned, facing us. Then it started rolling directly towards the tent, headlights turned up.
I hurredly opened up the tent and started waving at the car. Seriously getting run over in my tent in Africa is the last way I want to die…
By that time the car had already stopped and two men got out. Pointing AK rifles directly at me (Fabian was lying on the other “safe” side of the tent). They turned out to be airforce men and we camping on military area. And they were not amused.
It’s a damn scary thing if those guns are pointed at you. They are scary if locked and dangling from the shoulder. They are even more scary if locked and in their hands. And they scare the shit out of you if unlocked with fingers at the trigger.
Good thing is we didn’t know they were unlocked by that time.
We first realized they were unlocked after they locked them after checking our passports, all the while the guns dangling from their shoulders, unlocked, their muzzles pointing at everything in front of the soldiers (namely us).
Also the question of “what is your mission?” issued from soldiers when they catch you camping in restricted areas seems to have a totally different meaning.

We still answered it the same way we always answer it: “Travelling and seeing Africa. Learning about it and finding independet information. Raising funds for Doctors without Borders.”
Especially the latter, together with the physical effort of cycling such a long way, caught their sympathy. So after we had convinced them we were no spies they got increasingly friendly. Still we had to leave that area and camp somewhere else but we also explained to them the problem of cycling at night. So they came up with the following solution:
They would just take us and our bicycles on the pick up truck to the end of the restricted area and drop us off at the next best place for wild camping. And that’s exactly what they did. They even helped me (Fabian was still feeling sick) heave the bikes onto the truck.
And then they drove us through the night.. for perhaps one Kilometer or so to the border of that military area and showed us an even better place to camp. We had a nice little chat, offered them cookies (which they sadly refused) and switched cellphone numbers so we could meet for a beer on Friday. That was pretty much it.. our arrest for espionage.

It was scary as hell when it happened but as soon as the situation was under control it was just absurdely funny. I love this adventure!

Once we had set up the tent for the second time that night Fabian’s condition got worse and he started vomiting. By the next morning he wasn’t feeling much better (although he had stopped vomiting) and my condition was deteriotating. But it was only down hill.
We reached Mpulungu without any further complications, found a place to stay and even an internet cafe which, as long as there is sufficient power, offers fast (!) internet. I then got my share of the diarrhea while Fabians condition was improving and by now we’re both feeling well again. Whether it was due to exhaustion, water, food or just the humid heat down here at Lake Tanganyika I don’t know. But it went as quickly as it came.

Right now we’re searching for a passage to Burundi which should leave at the best the day after tomorrow. As most of you will know we intended to take the M.V. Liemba (the german WW2 steamship which has sunk and been dug up again) but as it appears it runs next week (and then only to Kigoma).
So now we’re looking for a cargo ship to take us.
There’s one leaving tomorrow or the day after tomorrow which I guess we’re going to take but the perspective of taking the passage up west coast (DRC) seems like adventure too. We actually never had that idea but today they offered us a passage to northern DRC (one boat hour from Burundi) so we’re thinking about doing that if the chance arises (still prefering the direct passage to Burundi though).
So basically we’re not quite sure when and how we’re going to leave Mpulungu but I guess we will manage the one or the other way and it will be great.

Next article from Burundi or Rwanda.

Cheers,
one very enthusiastic Tim

Mein deutscher Artikel ist gestern im Stromausfall weggerauscht. Hier ist der unkorrigierte übrig gebliebene Teil:

Aus Malawi konnten wir noch ganz offiziell mit Ausreisestempel ausreisen. Auf Sambischer Seite waren aber keine Grenzer anwesent. Sind dann also zwei Tage bis in die naeste Grosstadt um unsere Einreise nachzuhohlen. Das war auch ein sehr weise Entscheidung:
An einer Garkueche essen wir zu abend. Ein sichtlich angetrunkener Beamter verlangt nach meinem Pass. Weigere mich aufgrund seiner Angetrunkenheit, mangelndem Ausweiss und keine Personen um mich rum ihn zu geben. Als Tim und der Standbesitzer dabei sind haendigt er ihn aber ohne Austausch von Dallar wider aus.
Wir fahren ein paar Km weiter. Wie ueblich kleine Lehm/Strohhuetten. Maisanbau fuer den Eigenbedarf. Wir fahren einen kleinen Trampelpfad rein und weit von der Strasse weg und bauen das Zelt hinter einem Huegel auf.
Eine Stunde nach Sonnenuntergang (19 Uhr) hoehren wir ein Auto den unbefahrbaren Weg entlang kommen. Aufblendlicht. Stimmen auf Swaheli und Englisch. Tim macht das Zelt auf und blickt einer Kalaschnikow entgegen. Soldaten. Paesse. “What is your mission?” die Frage wird uns sonst auch auf der Strasse gestellt. Schon da ist die wahre Antwort Philosophisch.
Im Angesicht von entsicherten Ak-47 wird das ganze aber zur existenziellen Grandwanderung das mit ein paar Brocken Englisch klar zu machen. Nachdem wir sie mit Vesitenkarten, Einreisestempeln ueberzeugen koennen, dass wir keine Spione seien, Rasten die Sicherungen wieder ein. Sie erklaeren uns dass wir im Spergebiet der Airforce seien (wie gesagt, wir liegen im Maisfeld neben einem kleinen Dorf. Kein Schild, kein Zaun) bleiben koennen wir nicht. Zelt abbauen und auf den Pickup. Sind wir eigentlich verhaftet? Die Paesse haben wir wider, was schon mal ein gutes Zeichen ist. Wir fahren den Highway entland. Irgendwann biegen die Soldaten in einen groesseren Feldweg ein, fahren ein Stueck, stoppen und sagen ihr koennen wir bleiben. Also bauen wir wieder das Zelt auf. (Wir sind an keinem Checkpoint oder aehnlichem vorbeigekommen, unsere Karte verzeichnet kein Sperrgebiet und das GPS auch nicht).

Wir haben es geschafft! Die erste große Landmarke der Tour, die Victoria Fälle bei Livingstone erreicht. Insgesamt gibt es vier von diesen Zielpunkten: Vicfalls, Lake Tanganyika, Assuan Stausee, Pyramiden.

Ein Viertel der Strecke liegt jetzt hinter uns und wir sind noch guter Dinge. Die vergangenen Tage haben Potential mit die ereignisreichsten gewesen zu sein, aber ich werde versuchen gewissenhaft und vollständig zu berichten.

In Rundu haben wir aus der Erkenntnis heraus, dass die Tour d’Afrique nicht in Maun sondern in Livingstone Rast macht, entschieden auch nicht nach Maun zu fahren (immerhin sind das 700km Umweg und man dürfte durch Chobe Nationalpark nicht mal mit dem Fahrrad durchfahren), sondern durch den Caprividistrict nach Livingstone.

Am Morgen waren wir dann irgendwann unterwegs auf der Sandpiste Richtung Osten. Campingplätze gibt es jetzt nicht mehr wirklich, ein paar Lodges vielleicht.. losgefahren sind wir aber ohne konkrete Pläne über Tagesetappen und Schlafplatz.
Die Straße schlängelt sich parallel zum Kavango durch Felder und Dörfer, auf der anderen Seite erstreckt sich Angola. Kaum hat man den Einzugsbereich der Stadt verlassen lächeln die Menschen wieder. Stellenweise sind wir nicht mehr aus dem zurück winken rausgekommen.

Die Nacht haben wir dann neben einem kleinen Dorf direkt am Fluss verbracht, Nudeln gekocht und dem atemberaubenden Sonnenuntergang der sich in Wasser und Wolken spiegelt zugesehen.

Der nächste Tag hatte seinen Einstand mit einem Platten. Bei der Gelegenheit haben wir auch gleich festgestellt, dass mir am Hinterrad zwei Speichen über den Jordan gegangen sind. Zuerst haben wir uns noch gefreut, dass es nicht die Zahnkranzseite ist. Bis wir festgestellt haben, dass man für die gegenüber liegende auch den kompletten Krank abnehmen muss und dafür haben wir immer noch nicht das Werkzeug und zu dem Zeitpunkt auch nicht das Fachwissen.
Die Folge daraus war, dass wir das Hinterrad versucht haben maximal zu entlasten und die Piste so schnell wie möglich zu verlassen um auf die Asphaltstraße 2km weiter zu wechseln. Fabian hat übrigens einen großen Teil meines Hinterradgewichtes abgenommen und noch auf sein Rad gepackt, wofür ich sehr dankbar bin.
An der Asphaltstraße hat uns dann unsere gewohnte Speichenbruchphobie gepackt, daher sind wir schnell zu dem Schluss gekommen die verbleibenden 100km nach Divundu einen Ride zu nehmen um dort an das Werkzeug für die Reparatur zu kommen.
Was wir zu dem Zeitpunkt noch nicht wussten, ist dass Divundu eigentlich nur aus einer Tankstelle besteht.

Den Ride haben wir dann irgendwann auch bekommen. Auf der Ladefläche eines PickUps der Autoreifen durch die Gegend gefahren hat. Also sitzen wir da, halten uns fest und der Fahrer beschleunigt. Und beschleunigt. Und beschleunigt. Und beschleunigt und beschleunigt und beschleunigtundbeschleunigt und so weiter.
Die Spitzengeschwindigkeit lag wohl bei 160km/h durch den Regen. Das war definitiv eine Urerfahrung der modernen Art. Wir kauern da, versuchen unsere Körperoberfläche möglichst gering zu halten. Es gibt keinen Windschatten und es regnet. Der Regen sticht wie Nadeln bei der Geschwindigkeit und kühlt einen schneller aus als man denkt – selbst bei 35° Lufttemperatur.
Wir haben es genossen!

Und dann war uns auch das Glück wieder richtig hold. Als der Fahrer uns in Divundu abgesetzt hat, meinte er noch 7km weiter wäre ein Container mit vielen Fahrrädern. Die können sicher bei der Reparatur helfen.
Dazu muss man sagen, dass dort Busch ist. Nichts anderes, ein wenig Wald vielleicht aber hauptsächlich Busch. Ein Fahrradgeschäft wäre so ziemlich das unwahrscheinlichste, was es da geben kann. Aber es ist da.

Auf dem Weg da hin durften wir übrigens noch eine Urerfahrung mitmachen: Gewitter. Durchnässt innerhalb weniger Sekunden, der Regen so stark, dass man die Augen zusammen kneifen muss. Wahnsinn.. Ich schätze man muss das erleben, aber dieser Wolkenbruch ist einfach was anderes als man jemals in Deutschland erleben könnte.

Und dann kommen wir aus dem Buschregen gekrochen und er ist da. Der Container mit den Fahrrädern. Mitten im Busch hat BEN-Namibia (Saved again bei BEN!) einen Container mit Second Hand Fahrrädern abgeworfen und zwei Fahrradmechaniker ausgebildet.
Manchmal hat man schon unverschämt Glück.

Wir haben die Chance genutzt zu lernen, wie man den Kranz korrekt abnimmt und einspeicht. I guess what we didn’t learn before, we’ll have to learn the hard way.

Der Radcontainer wurde auch gleich unser Nachtlager, bzw. die Siedlung des Fahrradmechanikers. Der baut dort gerade eine neue größere Hütte – ein ambitioniertes Projekt mit zwei Stockwerken! Das ist die einzige zweistöckige Lehmhütte die wir bis jetzt gesehen haben… und seit dem Veterinärzaun haben wir eine Menge Lehmhütten gesehen.
Ich schätze als Fahrradmechaniker, Solarstrom auf dem Dach und zweistöckigen Neubau ist er der ambitionierteste Mann in der Region.

Außerdem ist er perfekt auf Fernradler eingerichtet, die da scheinbar öfter durchkommen. Internet, Strom und sogar europäische Adapter. Camping auf der Baustelle. Wir waren verdammt beeindruckt.
Um so mehr als dann in der Nacht die Hippos zum weiden gekommen sind und uns Gott sei Dank nicht angefallen haben.

Die nächsten Tage bis zur Grenze waren im Grunde nicht besonders, die Straße führt, wie scheinbar alle in Namibia, unendlich gerade aus. Es verändert sich wenig und man hat Gegenwind. Gecampt wird im Busch, man hört vielleicht Nachts Elefanten, sieht tausende verdammt cooler Vögel und Funky Insekten und das wars. Da lebt niemand und es ist insgesamt sehr meditatives Fahren.
Ein Highlight gab es aber doch: An dem Tag, an dem wir aus dem Game Reserve rausgefahren sind haben wir noch kurz vor der Grenze Tymon und Pumba gesehen! Warzenschwein stand auf der Straße und diese komischen Erdmännchenviecher am Straßenrand. Gesungen haben die allerdings nicht.

Und dann endlich: Die Grenze. Namibia war wunderschön, der Nord Westliche Teil zumindest. Aber nichts im Vergleich zu dem, was uns in Zambia erwartet. Und außerdem: So schön es ist, so monoton ist es auch. Mich jedenfalls hat eine gigantische Vorfreude auf Zambia gepackt, den ersten weißen Flecken auf der kulturellen Karte und noch ein Stück näher an Afrika.

Üblicher Weise ist es ja so, dass die Grenzen keinerlei Veränderung bringen. Weder in den Leuten auf der anderen Seite, noch in der Landschaft. Nicht so in Zambia.
Wie schon zuvor am Veterinärzaun war sofort ein Bruch erkennbar. Angefangen bei Details, wie dem nicht Vorhandensein von Zäunen am Straßenrand, bis hin zum Makro: Straßenstände mit Essen, Prepaidkarten und Süßigkeiten. Palmen, allgemein tropischeres Flair. Und die Menschen. Ich liebe die Zambier.
Als wir in die erste Stadt gefahren sind, sind wie so oft Scharen von Menschen auf uns zugekommen, haben uns nachgepfiffen und wollten uns aufhalten. Aus Namibia und Süd Afrika kommend haben wir uns da eine ziemlich starke Abwehrhaltung angeeignet, da die Leute i.d.R. wenn sie dich ansprechen nur irgendwas verkaufen oder gleich betteln wollen.
In Zambia kommen also diese Menschen auf uns zu und fangen an zu reden und natürlich haben wir gleich die höfliche aber distanzierte Haltung eingenommen, gerade dass wir nicht gleich gesagt haben, dass wir nichts kaufen.
Und dann: Reden, einfach nur Smalltalk. Die haben unsere Räder gesehen und waren neugierig, weiter nichts.
Wir sind da aus allen Wolken gefallen, waren regelrecht euphorisch. Je weiter wir von der Grenze weg gekommen sind, desto fröhlicher wurden die Leute. Wieder überall Lachen und Winken, jeder wollte wissen wo hin, wo her, wie lange und überhaupt wie es uns geht. (Das How are you? Ist hier fester Bestandteil der Begrüßungszeremonie und wird häufig auch an Stelle eines einfach Hello verwendet).

Nun habe ich in Namibia schon über die Freundlichkeit der Leute geschwärmt, aber hier ist das ganze einfach noch mal übertroffen. Und sie sind so begeisterungsfähig und was mir am meisten gefällt: Sie nehmen uns als Reisende, nicht als Krösusse war.

Der Weg durch Zambia hat noch mal ein paar Nächte im Busch gebracht. Wir hatten absolut kein Geld, da wir an der Grenze nicht wechseln wollten und es in Zambia keinen ATM gab und so mussten wir Campingplätze vermeiden, selbst wenn wir gewollt hätten.
Das führte zu insgesamt 8 Tagen im Busch/auf dem Rad bzw. 7 Nächten. Keep that in mind.

Am 14. sind wir dann endlich in Livingstone angekommen und haben unsere Räder direkt zu den VicFalls gefahren. Ohne auch nur Essen zu kaufen! Und dann die große Enttäuschung:
Zwanzig USD Eintritt.
Autsch.
Die Fahrräder dürft ihr nicht mit reinnehmen zum Foto machen.
Autsch Autsch.

Ich habe mich da so geärgert, dass ich drauf und dran war wieder abzufahren. Was uns gerettet hat war Fabians Idee noch zu picknicken.
In der Zwischenzeit ist nämlich der World Heritage Site Manager auf uns aufmerksam geworden und hat uns angesprochen.
Wir haben dann ein bisschen mit ihm geredet, von der Tour erzählt und vor allem von unserem Problem mit den Fotos (von Geld war keine Rede!).
Zulu, so sein Name, war so begeistert, dass er uns prompt mitgenommen hat. Wir haben die Fahrräder in den Nationalpark geschoben, durften Fotos oberhalb der Fälle machen wo normalerweise nur halb-öffentlicher Bereich ist und dann sogar noch am ersten Viewpoint die Fotos machen wo Fahrräder aus irgendeinem Grund ein echtes Problem sind.
Genial!
Und freien Eintritt gabs noch dazu! Ein Hoch auf Zambia und die Zambianer und ihre Großzügigkeit!

Nach dem Erfolg haben wir uns, nunja.. geil gefühlt. Ich schätze ein Ego kann selten näher am Platzen sein. Das Gute ist, dass dann die TdA (Tour d’Afrique) eingefahren ist.
Und diese Leute haben uns wieder wunderbar auf den Boden geholt. Hauptsächlich die Mechaniker eigentlich, aber trotzdem.
Es hilft gelegentlich wenn man sich vor Augen führt wie naiv man doch eigentlich ist, bzw. vorgeht. Da fährt man einfach so nach Afrika, ohne wirklich ernst zunehmende Langstreckenerfahrung zu haben. Man kann die Hälfte der Reparaturen nicht selbstständig durchführen und hofft einfach irgendwie durchzukommen.
In dem Fall haben uns das die Mechaniker vor Augen geführt. Ziemlich unverblümt, was mir zumindest gut geholfen hat. Außerdem haben wir bei der Gelegenheit eine MENGE wichtiger Informationen über Fahrräder, Fahrradreparaturen aber vor allem auch den Weg vor uns bekommen.
As said: What we don’t know by now we’ll have to learn the hard way.
Aber wir sind zum lernen hier.

Später an dem Tag sind wir dann hier am Hostel – Jollyboys – eingecheckt und haben entschieden drei Tage Pause zu machen.
Wir haben es einfach genossen hier rumzuhängen, endlich mal zu regenerieren. Fahrräder ein bisschen gepflegt, einen beginnenden Rahmenbruch schweißen lassen (1,50€) und vor allem: Neu lackiert.
Fabian fährt jetzt mit unserer Website und Cape – Cairo Aufdruck, ich Tigerente! Verdammt cool. Kostenpunkt: 5€, Arbeitszeit: 2,5h pro Rad.
Handbemalt von afrikanischen Werbeschild Malern.

Und dann natürlich das Beste an Hostels: Man lernt wieder neue Leute kennen, andere Reisende. Man tauscht Informationen aus, Websites Email Adressen, Kontakte, Anlaufpunkte und in diesem Fall sogar Geld.
Zwei Australier kamen gerade aus Burundi und hatten nicht mehr die Gelegenheit ihr Geld umzutauschen.
Und wieder hatten wir unbeschreibliches Glück so großzügige Menschen überall zu treffen. Ohne weiteres Aufsehen haben sie uns ihre Geldreste überlassen – ursprünglich wollten wir sie abkaufen – und das bei einem Gegenwert von etwa 120USD!
Damit aber nicht genug, haben wir später von zwei Motorradfahrern eine Malawi und Uganda Karte bekommen, sowie Informationen über gute Anlaufpunkte.
Ich glaube bis Äthiopien haben wir höchsten 500km zwischen Leuten wo wir ankommen können, darunter sogar der Trainer der ruandischen Fahrrad Nationalmannschaft!

Ich bin mir nicht ganz sicher, wie wir so viel Glück verdient haben, aber eins kann ich sagen: Wir sind den Leuten die uns unterstützen und weiterhelfen verdammt dankbar.
Die Bewunderung und der Respekt den wir erfahren, sowohl von anderen Reisenden als auch von den Locals, halten uns am Laufen wenn die Zeiten hart werden und ohne die gigantischen Hilfen würde das ganze ganz ganz anders aussehen.

Zuletzt noch eine weitere gute Nachricht: Wir haben bereits 2440 Euro an Spenden gesammelt!
Vielen vielen Dank allen Spendern! Das ist verdammt gut!

Next stop: Lusaka

So long,
Tim & Fabian

Okay: This might seem cheesy but writing these reports takes for ages and in this place it’s definetly a waste of time to write in two languages.
I will be continuing this Blog in English from the next Article on but today it has to be the Google Translator.
Sorry for that, but it’s just a waste of time to write a 2000 word text for two hours.. twice.
Anyway – I hope it will work out fine and as said: From Lusaka on I will be writing primarily in English.
Cheers,
Tim

We did it! The first major landmark of the Tour reached the Victoria Falls in Livingstone. There are four of these target areas: Vicfalls, Lake Tanganyika, Aswan Dam, pyramids.

A quarter of the trail is now behind us and we are still in good spirits. The past few days have been the most eventful with potential to be, but I’ll try to diligently and fully reported.

In Rundu, we have after the realization that the Tour d’Afrique is not in Maun but in Livingstone does break, decided not to go to Maun (after all, are the 700km detour and you should not even through Chobe National Park by travel by bicycle) but by the Caprivi District to Livingstone.

In the morning we were at some point move on the dirt road heading east. Campsites there are now no longer really a couple of lodges .. maybe We set off but no concrete plans for day trips and sleeping.
The road winds through fields parallel to the Kavango and villages, on the other side there’s Angola. No sooner have you left the catchment area of ​​the city people smile again. In places, we are no longer the wave back came out.

We spent the night next to a small village on the river, cooked noodles and the breathtaking sunset of the reflected watched in water and clouds.

The next day, had his debut with a plate. On this occasion we have also found the same that I have gone the rear two spokes over Jordan. First, we have still happy that it is not the sprocket side. Until we have determined that you have to remove the opposite also the complete health and we still do not have the tool and at the time nor the expertise.
The consequence was that we tried to relieve the rear wheel up and leave the runway as quickly as possible to the asphalt road 2km to go further. Fabian has taken way much of my rear wheel weight and still packed on his bike, which I am very grateful.
By the highway then we have our usual spokes breaking phobia packed, so we came quickly to conclude the remaining 100km to Divundu to take a ride there to get to the tool for the repair.
What we did not know at the moment is that Divundu consists only of a gas station.

The ride we got at some point too. has gone on the back of a pickup of tires through the area. So we sit there, hold us and the driver accelerated. And accelerated. And accelerated. And faster and faster and beschleunigtundbeschleunigt and so on.
The top speed was probably at 160km / h in the rain. That was definitely an original experience of modern art as we cower, our bodies are trying to minimize surface. There is no wind shadow and it’s raining. The rain stings like needles in the speed and cools a faster than you think – even at 35 ° air temperature.
We enjoyed it!

And then we were also lucky again rictig hold. When the driver has stopped us in Divundu he said still further 7km a container with many bikes would be. They can certainly help with the repair.
This must be said that there is bush. Nothing else, perhaps a little forest but mostly bush. A bike shop would be pretty much the least likely, which may give it there. But it is there.

On the way out because we were still a way to join original experience: Thunderstorms. Soaked in seconds, the rain so much that you have to squint. Madness .. I guess you have to experience it, but this cloud burst is easy but what could you ever live in Germany.

And then we come crawling out of the bush and rain it is there. The container with the bikes. Located in the Busch BEN Namibia (Saved again by BEN!) A container of second hand bicycles designed and dropped two bicycle mechanics.
Sometimes one has already outrageous fortune.

We have taken the opportunity to learn how to correctly decreases, and the wreath einspeicht. I guess what we did not learn before, we’ll have to learn the hard way.

The Radcontainer was equal to our camp, and the settlement of the bicycle mechanic. The builds are making a new, larger cabin – an ambitious project with two floors! This is the only two-story mud house which we have seen so far … and since the veterinary fence we have seen a lot of mud huts.
I guess as a bicycle mechanic, solar power on the roof and two-story building he is the most ambitious man in the region.

He is perfectly equipped to distance cyclists who come through there seems to more often. Internet, electricity and even European adapter. Camping on site. We were impressed damned.
More so than then graze at night the hippos come to us, and thanks be to God have not been incurred.

The next few days to the border were in fact not especially, the road leads, as seemingly everyone in Namibia, an infinite straight. It changes little and you have a headwind. Is camped in the bush, you may hear at night elephants, thousands damn cool birds and insects and that’s funky looks. Since no one lives and overall it is very meditative driving.
It was a highlight though: The day on which we went out from the game reserve, we have seen just before the border Tymon and Pumba! Warthog was on the street and that funny Erdmännchenviecher the road. Sung have not, however.

And finally: the border. Namibia was beautiful, the North Western part at least. But nothing compared to what awaits us in Zambia. And besides, monotonous It is so beautiful, so it is. Me at least, has packed a huge anticipation for Zambia, the first white spots on the cultural map, and even closer to Africa.

The usual way it is so that the boundaries not bring change. Neither the people on the other hand, even in the landscape. Not so in Zambia.
As before, the veterinary fence immediately break was apparent. Starting with details such as the absence of fences along the roadside, to the macro: street stalls with food, prepaid cards and candy. Palm trees, tropical feel in general. And the people. I love the Zambians.
As we drove into the first city, like often fed crowds of people come to us have nachgepfiffen us and stop us wanted. Coming from Namibia and South Africa because we have a pretty strong defense posture acquired, as people usually speak to you only if they sell anything or beg do the same.
In Zambia, so these people come up to us and begin to speak and of course we have the same polite but distant attitude taken, just that we have not told right away that we buy anything.
And then, talking, just talk. Who have seen our bikes and were curious, nothing more.
We are there fell from the clouds, were downright euphoric. The further we got away from the border, the happier the people were. Re all laughing and waving to know where everyone wanted to go where her how long and how ever we are doing. (The How are you? Here is an integral part of the welcome ceremony and is often used instead of a simple Hello).

Now I’ve already raved in Namibia over the friendliness of the people, but here’s all just surpassed again. And they are so enthusiastic, and what I like most: They take us as passengers, not as Krösusse was.

The road through Zambia has again brought a couple of nights in the bush. We had absolutely no money because we did not want to go to the border and there was no ATM in Zambia and so we had to avoid campsites, even if we wanted to.
This led to a total of 8 days in the bush / on the bike or 7 nights. Keep that in mind

On 14 Are we finally arrived in Livingstone and our wheels went straight to the Vicfalls. Without even to buy food! And then the big disappointment:
Twenty USD entrance.
Ouch.
The bikes you must not make a purely take the photo.
Ouch Ouch.

I was there so much, that I was on the verge to go again. What saved us was Fabian’s idea to have a picnic.
In the meantime, namely, the World Heritage Site managers become aware of us and raised us.
We then have a little talk with him, told from the tour and especially about our problem with the photos (there was no mention of money!).
Zulu, his name was so excited that he has taken us promptly. We pushed the bikes into the National Park were allowed to take pictures above the falls where usually only semi-public area and then even make the first viewpoint, the photos where bicycles are a real problem for some reason.
Genial!
And free admission Thats has to! Here’s to Zambia and the Zambians and their generosity!

After the success we have, Well .. felt horny. I understand that ego can often be closer to the burst. The good thing is that then the TDA (Tour d’Afrique) retracted.
And these people we have brought back wonderful on the ground. Mainly the mechanics actually, but still.
It helps sometimes if you make yourself fully aware how naive it actually is, or is happening. As you go just like that to Africa, without really serious long-range experienced. One half of the repairs can not be carried out independently and simply hopes to get through somehow.
In that case, the mechanics have led us in mind. Quite frankly, what has helped me at least good. We also got the opportunity a lot of important information about bikes, bicycle repairs, but above all the way to go.
As said: What we do not know by now we’ll have to learn the hard way.
But we are here to learn.

Later that day we here at the hostel – checked in and decided to make three-day break – Jolly Boys.
We enjoyed just hanging out here to finally regenerate times. Bikes a little care, can a beginning frame weld fracture (1.50 €) and above all, new paint.
Fabian is now running with our site and Cape – Cairo print, I Tigerente! Damn cool. Cost: € 5, hours: 2.5 hours per wheel
Hand painted by African advertising sign painters.

And then of course the best thing about hostels: You learn again to make new friends, fellow travelers. They exchange information, Web sites e-mail addresses, contacts, contact points and in this case, even money.
Two Australians came straight from Burundi and no longer had the opportunity to exchange their money.
And again, we had to take extraordinary good fortune generous people anywhere. Without further attention, they have left their money remains – we originally wanted to buy them – and with a value of about 120USD!
But that’s not enough, we later received two motorcyclists a map of Malawi and Uganda, as well as information on good starting points.
I think we have most to Ethiopia 500 km between people arrive where we can, including even the coach of the Rwandan National bicycle!

I’m not quite sure how we deserve as much luck, but one thing I can say for sure: We are very grateful of the people who support us.
The admiration and respect that we learn both from other travelers and the locals keep us going when times are hard and without the huge assistance would all look very different.

Finally, a further good news: We have already collected donations 2440 € !
Many many thanks to all donors! This is damn good!

Next stop: Lusaka

So long,
Tim & Fabian