Ich habe gerade noch einen unveroeffentlichten Bilderordner gefunden. Eindruecke aus Uganda und Kenia.  Schon wieder lange her und eine ganz andere Welt … enjoy!

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

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.

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

Update we are going direct through the Caprivi to Livingston and not to Maun/Botswana!

Der letzte Bericht endete damit, wie wir in Khorixas vorm Supermarkt abgesetzt wurden. Wir haben dort dann einen Ruhetag eingelegt, die Lodge dort war sehr angenehm und vor allem bezahlbar – d.h. Camping war bezahlbar.
Allerdings ist es auch ein sehr sehr eigenartiges Gefuehl vom dreckigen ueberfuellten Dorfplatz durch das Tor hinter die 2m hohe Mauer zu gehen und.. man ist in einer anderen Welt. Gepflegter Rasen, kein Dreck weit und breit, schoene Huetten, Swimming Pool. So krass dieser Bruch sein mag, zugegeben: Wir geniessen es, noch die Moeglichkeit zu haben den Abstand zu gewinnen, Ruhe zu haben. Lange wird uns das nicht mehr vergoennt sein – ist es uns in dem Sinne schon jetzt wo ich schreibe nicht mehr. Aber dazu dann spaeter.

In Khorixas habe ich uebrigens noch ein neues Hobby gefunden: Genervte (deutsche) Touristen davon zu ueberzeugen, was es fuer ein Privileg ist hier reisen zu duerfen und dass sie sich gefaelligst der lokalen Infrastruktur und Mentalitaet unterzuordnen haben, wenn sie in exotische Laender reisen und nicht mit europaeischen Standards zu rechnen brauchen. Das hoert sich jetzt komisch an, aber wenn du als Radelfahrer den niedrigst moeglichen Lebensstandard (als Tourist) pflegst und trotzdem den widrigsten Situationen noch was positives abgewinnen kannst (ohne Optimismus kommt man hier nicht weit) wirkt das erstaunlich ueberzeugend.
Der arme frustrierte Bustourist war am Ende ganz kleinlaut und hat sich bei uns entschuldigt ueber seine vorausgegangene Schimpftirade auf den schlechten Service (keine Dusche, da Strom ausgefallen), mangelndes Wasser, schlechte Strassen, keine Klimaanlagen usw. usw.

Seis drum. Von Khorixas aus sind wir 130km bei Gegenwind bis Outjo gefahren, dort die Nacht verbracht und dann endlich in Otjiwarongo angekommen. Dort haben wir die wunderbaren Frauschers besucht – Ernst seit 40 Jahren in Namibia, Hildegard hier geboren – haben wir ja wie bereits erwaehnt an der namibischen Grenze getroffen.
Dort hatten sie uns eingeladen, sollten wir nach Otji kommen, sie zu besuchen. Das war damals zwar noch nicht geplant, kam jetzt aber doch so und so sind wir zwei Tage lang an warme Mahlzeiten, Betten, Dusche und saubere Waesche gekommen.
Gott haben wir das genossen!
Die Kleider wurden mit Weichspueler gewaschen und.. also die Schmutzstarre ist ja ein schleichender Prozess, aber wenn man sie dann gewaschen wieder anzieht faellt einem ueberhaupt erst auf, wie steif die Kleider vorher vor Staub und Salz waren. Zu steif – haette mich nicht gewundert, wenn sie bald von selbst gestanden waeren.
Aber Waschmaschinen sind ein seltenes Gut und mit dem Handwaschen kommen wir irgendwie nur bedingt vorwaerts.

Irgendwann hat dann alles ein Ende und so mussten wir Samstag 2.4. wieder auf die Strasse. Die Zeit bei den beiden war grossartig, nicht nur wegen der genannten Vorzuege, sondern v.a. auch weil beide ein sehr umfangreiches Wissen ueber das Land haben und uns durchgehend mit Geschichten unterhalten konnten.
So wurden ueberhaupt erst tiefere Einblicke in das Land und v.a. die soziale Struktur und Verhaeltnisse moeglich. Wenn auch etwas desillusionierend, trotzdem sehr interessant und wertvoll. Dazu gibt es irgendwann mal einen eigenen Artikel.
Samstag morgen wollten wir also los, nach Otavi (120km), allerdings gab es vorher noch eine Erledigung abzuhaken. Am Vorabend hat die Besitzerin des lokalen Crafts, Guns and Ammo Shops angerufen und darum gebeten, dass wir doch morgen frueh kommen und uns in ihr Buch der Prominenten eintragen!
So sind wir also offiziell Promis geworden.. mhmm.. im Ammoshop. Ob das gut ist? Uebrigens haben sich da hauptsaechlich namibische Politiker und Prinzen von Britannien eingetragen die aus welchen Gruenden auch immer im Ammoshop waren.

Die Strecke nach Otavi. Unbeeindruckend, nicht erwaehnenswert. Am naechsten Morgen hatte Fabian einen Platten, passender Weise aber beim einfahren in die Tankstelle. War also kein grosser Aufwand ihn zu flicken.

Die Strasse von Otavi nach Grootfontein wiederum ist wunderschoen. Windet sich in einem Tal durch steile Berge, aus denen rote, graue, braune Felsnadeln, -vorspruenge und -klippen hervorspringen. Die Haenge sind bewaldet, das Tal teilweise Busch, teilweise Wald, teilweise Ackerland. Einfach als Bild wunderschoen.
Irgendwann laesst man das Tal hinter sich und steht auf einer Anhoehe die dann eine gigantische Ebene ueberblickt.
Den genauen Namen der Ebene weiss ich nicht, aber wir haben sie “blue plains” getauft, da wie sonst Berge die Ebene zum Horizont hin blau erscheint. Wenn man dann da oben ueber den Huegel faehrt und das endlose blau sieht, denkt man zuerst man sei am Meer.
Bis einem einfaellt, dass es hier kein Meer gibt.
Schon irgendwie beeindruckend.
Allerdings nur von oben, ist man dann unten angekommen schaut es aus wie jede andere Buschlandschaft hier auch und die Strasse fuehrt schnell nach Grootfontein. Unserem letzten Halt vor Afrika.

Wir haben die Nacht hier am Maori-Camp verbracht. Und zum ersten Mal seit wir in Afrika sind wurden wir (endlich!) von schreienden Kinderhorden begruesst. Die sind mit uns und um uns rumgerannt, waehrend wir erschoepft die Sandstrasse hochgefahren sind.
Das Lachen der Kinder hier hat etwas unglaublich befreiendes, erleichterndes und vor allem belebendes.
Irgendwie macht es mich gluecklich, dieses Lachen zu hoeren und zu sehen. Die “Hello! Bye Bye!” Rufe, die einfach voellig unschuldig aus reiner Freude ueber die Verrueckten die da Fahrradfahren sind.
Das Camp ist dann wieder einer dieser Mikrokosmen, die Besitzer aus Deutschland. Wunderbar. Wir hatten eine grossartige Zeit da, ein noch besseres Elandsteak und eine kostenlose Uebernachtung.
Irgendwie ist schwer zu beschreiben, was eigentlich besonders an diesem Ort war. Ich schaetze der Besitzer mit seinen fuenf Hunden ist einfach ein Unikat.

Am naechsten Morgen haben wir dann noch Fotos gemacht, vor dem Kindergarten, dem seine Frau (Paedagogin) hier betreibt. Klasse Sache uebrigens. Die Kinder lernen hier schon in diesem Kindergarten Englisch, was ihnen zumindest die Chance gibt spaeter was halbwegs anstaendiges zu machen. Die Bildungs- bzw. Aufstiegschancen gehen hier gegen Null.

Und dann, nach einem letzten Hinweis darauf, dass an der Veterinaerstation “das echte Afrika” losgeht, waren wir wieder auf der Strasse. 130km vor uns bis zu besagter Station, die Strasse auf 200km gerade durch den Busch, keine einzige Kurve.
Das war, gelinde gesagt, Nerven aufreibend. Das einzig beeindruckende die Zahl der Roadkills auf der Strasse…
Kurz vor Daemmerung haben wir dann die Grenzstation erreicht. Mitsamt Schlagbaum und Camp auf der europaeischen Seite von Namibia. Wir haben entschieden diesen gewaltigen Schritt fuer den naechsten Morgen aufzuheben, damals noch halb ironisch, da sich Grenzen ja meist als willkuerliche Linie in einer aehnlich bleibenden Umgebung herausstellen.

Der naechste Morgen brachte dann die Erleuchtung. Auf der anderen Seite geht tatsaechlich “Afrika” los. Allerdings nicht so, wie es uns weisgemacht wurde.
Es ist dort nicht dreckiger und chaotischer, ganz im Gegenteil. Im Unterschied zu den letzten 200km ist das Gras am Strassenrand gemaeht, eine Allee fuer etwa 5km gepflanzt und der Busch gerodet. Es ist gepflegter als suedlich, wo gigantische Farmen ihren Busch bis an die Strasse wuchern lassen.
Wo es allerdings stimmt ist, dass es hier auf einmal leben gibt. Ueberall laufen Menschen an der Strasse, Lehmhuettenagglomerate schmiegen sich in Maisfelder. Alles in allem wirkt es sehr idyllisch.
Und die Menschen: Es gibt hier keine Weissen mehr (zumindest nicht, dass man sie sehen wuerde), aber die Schwarzen sind genauso freundlich und froehlich wie gewohnt.
Ueberall wird gewunken, gepfiffen und gerufen. Wir sind aus dem zurueckgruessen gar nicht mehr rausgekommen – und man glaubt es nicht, aber es wird auf Dauer echt anstrengend.
Ausserdem waren hier wieder Kinder. Gott ich liebe diese Kinder. Bettelarm, in zerrissener Kleidung springen sie aus dem Busch, rennen mit und rufen ihre drei Worte Englisch. Jedes dieser Kinder zwingt mich zum Laecheln, verdraengt die Gedanken ueber abschaeulichen Gegenwind und Huegel und Erschoepfung (es war an dem Tag wirklich schlimm).
Leider kann die Freude dann auch schnell einen Daempfer bekommen, wenn die Kinder ein Dorf weiter nicht mehr “Hello! Bye!” schreien sondern “Money! Sweets!”. Wieder zwei Kilometer weiter kann es wieder anders rum sein.
Wie auch immer, an dem Tag hat mich nur noch der Wille nach Rundu zu kommen – trotz all der Widrigkeiten – und dieses Kinderlachen getragen. Als wir da waren, nach 143km neuem Streckenrekord (und das bei diesem schlimmen schlimmen Gegenwind!), war ich echt am Ende. Es war schon lange dunkel und wieder ging diese biblische Suche nach dem Nachtlager los.

Drei Abweisungen haben wir bekommen, bis ich zufaellig in einem Guesthouse gelandet bin, das nicht von Touristen sondern von der lokalen Bevoelkerung verwendet wird.
Der Ort ist super! Abends wird da gekocht, Fussball geschaut, Bomben Stimmung und super liebe Leute. Nicht dieses steife, Touri-Lodge getue. Alle wohnen da in so einer Art umgebauten Vereinsheim am lokalen Fussballplatz und irgendwie ists einfach cool. Noch dazu natuerlich billig
Wir haben hier entschieden, dass wir diese Art “Local-Lodges” oefter suchen muessen.

Gut, damit waere es geschafft. Wir sind nach vier Gewaltmarschtagen in Rundu angekommen, die Strasse war langweilig, aber die Begegnungen um so besser. Jetzt gehts weiter nach Divundu, von da dann nach Maun und wie wir dann nach Sambia kommen steht in den Sternen, da mir Fabian gerade gesagt hat, dass mit dem Fahrrad durch Chobe strengstens verboten ist.
Mal sehen, ein Plan folgt sicher. Uebrigens haben wir festgestellt, dass die Einreise nach Malawi kostenlos ist (und die Ausreise natuerlich auch), d.h. wir werden ws. ueber Malawi nach Tansania fahren, was zwar evtl. mehr Huegel bedeutet, dafuer aber einen Stempel mehr, keine Grenznaehe zum Ostkongo und v.a. eine Fahrt durch das hoechstgelobteste Fahrradland von Afrika (so kommts mir zumindest immer vor).

Bis zum naechsten Mal, ich schaetze mal Maun wenn wir Lommy wieder treffen (wollen).
Cheers,
Fabian und Tim

We left Otjiwarongo on April 2nd everything else than early. It took us ages to say goodbye to the Frauschers and before we left town we had to sign the “Book of prominent People” at the local Crafts, Guns and Ammo Shop. For some reason the other autographes were mainly done by Namibian politicians and british princes but.. oh well. At least we’re officially prominent and v.i.p. now.
The road leading out of Otjiwarongo is everything else than noteworthy, as was the night we spent at some camping ground just outside of Otavi. Fabian had a flat tire the next morning but luckily that was at the gas station so we had an easy time refilling it.

The route from Otavi to Grootfontein on the other side was remarkable. It led in winding curves through a broad valley surrounded by hills on either side. Forests crawling up the steep hills and stone pillars and cliffs in red, gray and brown reaching out of the forest. The bottom of the valley was changing between bush, forest and farmlands. It was just alltogether beautiful.
And once you leave those mountains behind you the road leads up a hill which leaves you above a huge plain covered with bush and farmlands. But most interesting on the first glimpse you would think it’s the ocean!
For some reason the entire plains appeared blue in the same way mountains would appear blue on the horizon leaving the impression of a huge watermass reaching up to the horizon.
Soon later you would realize that an ocean were your road is supposed to be would be rather bad and THEN you would actually find it to be bush. At least if you’re short sighted

The road would then go straight through that plain to the other side, Grootfontein. We spent a night there at Maori-Restcamp. Once again one of those fascinating microcosms(what’s the plural of micrososmos?). It’s owned by a german emigrant and his wife and both of them are best described: unique. I won’t even try to describe them more because I couldn’t do them justice. Just, if you ever happen to get to Namibia, go visit them at Maori Camp and tell them we visited them. You’ll love them.
She also runs a Kindergarden right next to the camping ground were Kids learn English from kindergardenage, thus at least giving them a chance to higher education. That’s also were the amazing Foto was taken.

The next day we set off for the “real” Africa. There is a vetenary fence 130km north of Grootfontein after which Africa is supposed to start. We didn’t believe it and in the evening with an ironic attitude we decided to stay on the European side for one more night before taking the “great step” to Africa.
It turned out to be the first real border I ever crossed.
Now borders generally tend to be arbitrarily drawn lines with the same landscapes on either side. Not so here. But also not as expected.
We were told that everything would get more chaotic, dirty, lively too.

Only the latter was correct. Firstly it was the neatest 5km since probably 200km. The grass next to the road was cut, there was an alley planted. No trash anywhere.
Then clay and strawhuts everywhere. Huddled together amidst cornfields. Everything seemed idyllic. People kept waving and whistling at us, children screaming, laughing and running after and with us.
Those children’s smiles are amazing. They really touch me.
If it gets tough (and that day was tough) it’s the innocent happy laughter of those poor children which motivates me to go on. I’m feeding on their excitement and greetings. And it makes me happy too.
It’s just great to see how happy those kids can be, especially compared to our western kids. And ask me, I would say they laugh differently. Their laughter here seems to be way more energetic, genuine than the ones of our children.
Well in spite of all this euphoria about the great children, this can all turn when they start yelling “Money! Sweets!” instead off “Hello! Bye!”. Everything can change within a few Kilometers.
But still mainly they are great and people very very friendly.

We arrived late that evening in Rundu. The road itself was .. pure horror. 143km long, straight like a line (a total of three bends at angles no bigger then 10 degrees) with extreme frontwind. So far our longest and most intense leg.
And once again we had to start our search for a place to stay at night. For some reason I always feel reminded of how Joseph and Maria searched for a place to stay at night.. mhmm.
We eventually wound up, by accident, in a Lodge for “locals”. That is frequented by black people, not tourists (or white locals which would stay at the tourist places). You know what?
We love it! That place is amazing. It’s like the tiny bungalow next to the local soccerclub, they have a shared kitchen and one bathroom. There’s no goddamn swimming pool and nobody cooks for rich tourists. But everybody gets together in the evenings to watch soccer, chat or eat. It’s amazing and we decided to always look for these places before going to the lodges for camping (which are naturally more expensive with partially unfriendly staff).

So, if our bikes are still there (we left them inside that Guesthouse). We’ll be off to Divundu tomorrow and from there on to Maun. I’ve once again got no clue about what to expect – or rather what to expect.
But one thing I know for shure: Our plans got interrupted once again since we wanted to go through Chobe National Park to Zambia… and today we discovered it was strictly forbidden to go through there on bicycles.
On the other side we now want to extend our tour to Malawi (since Visa are free and it’s said to be amazing AND it takes us away from the east-drk). I guess we’ll just put you up to date when we know what we’re doing..

So long,
Fabian and Tim
View Suedafrika-Namibia in a larger map

Wir sind mit dem Zug von Windhoek nach Swakopmund gefahren. Eine Namibianerin hat uns erstaunt angeschaut: Mit dem Zug? Hier faehrt keiner mit dem Zug!
Tja, so ist es auch. Eine richtige Bummelbahn. Und ein richtiges Erlebnis. Es ist eine Schmahlspurbahn. Eine olle Diesellok, zwei Container-Wagongs, ein Personen-Wagon, ein leerer Wagon und ein weiterer Container-Wagon in dem unsere Raeder waren. Dieser lustige Spielzeugzug fuhr dann ihm wahnwitzig langsamen Tempo durch die Nacht: Fuer 300 Kilometer braucht er 10 Stunden.

Am morgen fahren wir dann die Skaleton Coast nach Norden. Nach unserem Reisefueher hoert es sich eigentlich Spannend an. Es war dann aber eher oed. Einfach ein sehr sehr weiter Strand ohne alles.
Da es weiter im Norden zu massiven Ueberschwemmungen, unterspuelten Pisten und keiner Lebensmittel-Versorgung gegeben ist, sind wir nach einem Rad-Tag von der Kueste ins Landesinnere abgebogen. Die Landschaft ist anfangs sehr Islaendisch (Vulkan-Wuesten-artig mit zugezogenem Himmel, alles grau) wird dann innerhalb von einem Tag zum Afrika-Paradies. Langsam, ganz langsam (in Radgeschwindigkeit gemessen) erkennt man erst ein leichtes gruen im Schatten von Fussballgrossen steinen. Es komen erste Duenen, in deren Windschatten man leichten gruenen Moos erkennen kann. Dann erste Graeser und Springboeke am Horizont.
Die Landschaft schiebt sich weiter zusammen: Huegel, am Horizont taucht der Brandberg auf, ueber ihm tronen die tropischen Nachmittags Gewitter Wolken.
Und dann steht kniehohes Gras, die in der Nachmittagssonne golden leuchten. An den Wasserlaeufen wachsen Savannen-Baeume.
Nachdem wir kostenlos in einer Lodge Campen duerfen, investieren wir das Geld in Wild-Geschnaetzeltes in Kaesesahnesosse an Spagetti.

Die Landschaft entwickelt sich in den naesten Tagen immer weiter. Verwunschene Felsvormationen, Taeler, Blumen, ein wasserfuehrender Fluss.
Am Nachmittag kuendigt sich ein Gewitter an. Wir fahren weiter. Mit dem Wissen, dass es keinen Camping oder Lodge geben wird. Wir sind mitlerweile in Elephantengebiet. Das viele Wasser fuehrt sie aber in Gegenden weit von Menschen enfernt. Eigentlich schade, erlaubt es wohl aber doch wildes Campen (im Caprevi werden wir sie dann wohl zu sehen bekommen)
Der Himmel zieht dich im Laufe des Nachmittags immer weiter zu. Von allen Seiten. Blitze zucken am Horrizont, man sieht Starkregengebiete. Wir verpacken alles Wasserdicht, hohlen Regenjakcken raus. Doch genau ueber uns regnet es nicht. Selbst wenn wir auf regennasser Piste fahren. Dann kurz vor Sonnenuntergang erreicht uns die Gewitterfront von allen Seiten mit Platzregen. Hinter uns faerbt sich der Himmel knall Rot, waehrend wir in eine diefe dunkelheit fahren. Blitze erlaeuchten immer wieder den Himmel. Die Piste steht komplett unter Wasser. An einer Kreuzung soll sich eine Wildlife-Station befinden. Wie weit wird es sein?! Der Busch um uns herrum steht Knoecheltief unter Wasser.
Unter der Regensicheren Veranda der vom WWF unterstuetzten Station bauen wir das Moskito Netz auf.

It’s been a time (or at least it appears to us to have been a while) since the last report and of course there’s a lot to tell you again. So just keep on reading.
As said (and that’s pretty much the only thing about our last plan that survived) we took the train to Swakopmund the evening we posted the last text. The ride was.. well interesting. A Tokio-Action-B-Movie running on onboard tv, the train except for us, one drunk and three sober Namibians empty, 1 passenger compartement, three for cargo (one of them carrying our bikes). The train crept through the desert at 7mph and we arrived at Swakop at 6a.m. We spent two hours waiting for the depot to open and then.. finally! We were on the road again.
The road out of Swakop north takes you up the famous Skelleton Coast National Park. Our Lonely Planet Guide was so enthusiastic about it we were imagening the most fantastic coastal beauty there could ever be. Not.
The Skelleton Coast up to Hentis’ Bay has greatest potential to be the most boring place on earth. Okay, that’s perhaps a little exaggerated (I hear the midwest is said to be real bad) but there’s literally nothing. It’s permanently gray. The sky is gray and grizzly, the ocean is gray, the rough sand is gray, the horizon is gray, the people are gray (or appear to be gray), the houses are gray. That’s about it. It’s vast and open and – you can’t say it often enough – gray.
It does have a certain beauty to it but it quintessence it’s just boring. It was the first time since Germany I started listening to music while cycling.

Anyway once we arrived in Hentis’ Bay we had decided not to proceed on our former plan up the Coast for another 300km. At the tourist information they had also told us that the road up there was totally destroyed by heavy rainfalls and the rivers too flooded for cyclists to cross (we later discovered that we’re better at crossing rivers then 4×4 cars). So we turned to Uis, 50 km onwards into the desert and things kept slowly changing.
First you would get a hint of green in the shade of a dune, then you would see a patch of grass in the shade of a larger dune and eventually without a real border the desert changed into an endless and lush grassland. The grass has those silverish tops that will reflect the light of the setting sun and then the whole land, 20km of rolling hills will gleam in a silverish golden light. It’s just amazing. The country is spotted with small rockformations and bushes, in the distance you will have Springboks grazing. You could just stare there, gazing at the scenery for days probably.
That is if you weren’t a cyclist who has been going on gravel roads for 80km now and is scenting a steak only 10km ahead. That’s what we got then, a steak and free camping in honour of our effort at the great Brandfontein Rest Camp in Uis. The owner was an amazing person. This only ment positively: He looked like a mixture of a pirate and Indiana Jones. The one stereotype look you would imagine if asked to picture a white bush adventurer.

The next day we were on our way up to Twyfelfontein (known for World Heritage Rock Engravings and a petrified forest), some 140km up north west. The road was still gravel and got continually worse (this goes without saying until Khorixas). That day took us through the amazingly lush desert and half desert. We were often told they hadn’t had such amounts of rain in Namibia for years but we (and everybody else) loves it. As said, the desert is green. Covered in grass – it’s hard to imagine this place actually being desert.
The end of the day we encountered our first live rain, that is without any cover (except for rain coats). We were riding up that seemingly endless hill, it grew dark in front of us. It grew dark in the south, in the east, in the west. And with saying dark i mean pitch dark, almost black. Were it grew dark we could see downpours all around us. The gravel road we were travelling on was soaked wet. The bush on both sides was flooded up to your ankles.
The only place it wasn’t raining? Right above us. For some reason we managed to travel in the only corridor it wasn’t raining for some 5kms.
And then our luck stopped.
It was growing dark, we didn’t have a place to sleep yet – only heard about a conservacy office some 5Ks ahead. Now coming to the think about the situation.. no Fabian was not pregnant and there were no angel choires singing. BUT: When we finally arrived the extremly friendly (!) officials allowed us to put up our tent on the porch. A porch with a roof for that matter so it was actually good. And there were donkeys and dogs and zillions of bugs.. but no shepperds. Oh well..
We had a great night there, only interrupted by the donkeys running around in the thunderstorm and around the tent (I’m convinced they actually tried to kill us but didn’t find us in the tent..) and swatting at the bugs.
The following day took us finally to Twyfelfontein. This is particularly interesting because we expected Twyfelfontein to have a shop. We were told so and well it did have a shop. So leaving Uis the day before we had bought supplies for two days although we only needed 1.5 days to Twyfelfontein where we would resupply.

So we wanted to resupply in Twyfelfontein. After crossing the last river we reached the camping ground we wanted to use as basecamp for expeditions to the famous rock engravings, petrified forest and so on. They wouldn’t offer prepared food there. Then we rode 6km on sand (we were exhausted by then) to the Lodge. They wouldn’t let us put up our tent there and wouldn’t sell food. We picked up a ride on the most rundown truck i’ve ever seen to the local workshop and village. They wouldn’t let us put up our tent since it’s conservatory area and you’re only allowed to camp at designated camping grounds.
So another 6km on the sandy road back to the expensive camping ground. We checked in, fatalistic and in bad mood, so fed up we didn’t give a damn about the rock engravings anymore (and we had seen some of them at the lodge anyway). And then.. we made our way to the shop to buy dinner.
That said, we arrived at the shop. I will now list their entire inventory:
Canned Fish
Canned Jam
Canned Fruit
Canned Chakalaka
Four Potatoes
Several bottles of Booze

That’s it. They wouldn’t sell us the potatoes so we bought two cans of Chakalaka, two cans of Fruit and two cans of jam (assuming it was different fruit). Cost: 10 Euros / 100 N$ / 14USD
And it didn’t get us saturated! En bref: We ran out of food. Or rather out of basics. We had two cans of jam remaining, two cans of Chakalaka, a little cheese, some sausage. We would have survived to Khorixas but it messes with morale. We left Twyfelfontein at six o’clock the next morning, waited for enough light to cross the river and never thought about the goddamn rock engravings again.
Seriously. If you’re travelling by bicycle, know it’s some 100km to the next shop (on gravel road) and you’ve got nothing reasonable to eat you don’t start thinking about world heritage. Your entire mind will be focussed on gathering enough energy to get you through the day.
20km outside of Twyfelfontein (the place is amazingly beautiful but it became a synonym for bad roads, high prices and NO FOOD) we found a shop. At the t-junction to the road which runs from Torras Bay to Khorixas there was, totally unexpected, a shop. And best of all: It sold rice and cookies and coke and everything we’ve been looking for (except for bread) and thus lifted our spirits.
We thoroughly needed that to because the road ahead was about to be the worst I’ve experienced on the whole trip so far. Either we had strong front wind, the road was so rough over it’s entire width you could only go on walking speed or it was so sandy you couldn’t go faster anyway. That day was all together really messing with my head.
We did reach the petrified forest and it was amazing but we were mainly focussed on reaching Khorixas, buying food, reaching tarred road. The day continued, everything got even worse (as far as possible) but then, around 4 p.m. our luck finally changed for the best.
We were about to cross that river, standing there unsure whether we should unpack the bikes or just push them through, when that truck stopped. They were moving furniture from somewhere to Otjiwarongo and strapped to the cargo area was a leather couch. And well.. they offered us a ride across the river.
We asked them if they would take us to Khorixas and thus got a 25km lift on a leather couch through the pouring rain in Namibia, bikes at our feet. It was amazing. Not like I would have ever imagined African rides. I did imagine clinging to the cargo platforms in shere terror. But I never expected to sit on a leather couch. And then we arrived – finally – at Khorixas! It was amazing. We decided to stay there for one rest day, had several nice talks with guests and locals. And I for my part an “Erdinger Weissbier”! That did it. The day was saved.

Now I don’t always want to write about negative encounters and I’ve got in mind to publish an article showing all the people that helped us, describing when and where and just saying thank you. But this one I am going to describe now is remarkable for me as a German and in the end turned to be nice too.
Just note that we have at least as many positive conversations and encounters as negative ones and people in general tend to be very friendly around here.
This one for that matter isn’t even about locals. It’s about tourists. German tourists.
The second day at that camping ground/lodge a german bus party arrived. I hadn’t ever wasted a thought on german bus partys being in Namibia and I was struck by shock when I saw that bus arriving, vomiting out the tourists in trekking sandals… wearing socks! No kidding! They were actually wearing socks, light cargo clothing and started taking pictures of the lodge. That was while the sun was still shining and for that matter: That day there was a blackout in Khorixas, so there was no artificial lighting, no water running, no cooking, no internet and so on and so on.
Now as typical for german tourists they would start complaining. Why there is no food prepared for them although the lodge knew they would arrive at 7p.m., why there is no water, no air conditioning, etc. etc. We sat at one of the tables next to the pool (!) writing our travel diaries. For some comic reason we had just been writing about luxury and the way you appreciate it while cycling when those tourists arrived. We had a good laugh at the situation.
An hour later we were sitting at the same table, headlamp on because it was getting dark, eating dinner. Eventually that elderly german bus party couple joined us and started lamenting about the horrors of travelling in Namibia for 30 minutes straight. For some reason I couldn’t stop grinning but eventually it did get annoying. Fabian got up, told him he was fed up with all his complaining and left the table.
I then took the chance to try turn his mind. It’s easy to complain if you spend a lot of money on your holidays. But I guess you can’t justify yourself anymore if somebody, 40 years younger than you, tells you how great life is. How things get tough if you hadn’t had a shower for four days, are stuck without water in the desert and are struggling in the burning heat (that with the water might have been a little exaggerated but it did it’s part). We kept all discussing this for a while, him picking out new complaints and I would always find a) a situation in which it had been worse for us and b) explained how we survived it by shere optimism. Believe it or not, that guy apologized later that evening for all his complaining and seemed to have though a little more about where he was and what privilege it is to be there.
Now what I learned from this was two things: Firstly, I have a new Hobby. Convincing frustrated tourists that they are damn privileged to be there and should look on the bright side of life is great fun. Especially if you’re a cyclist and your argumentation has so far proven to be undisprovable.
Secondly I have become a genuine optimist within three months of cycling here. I used to make fun of my mother for being one of those “hardcore optimists” always trying to find the bright side. Down here you wouldn’t do a 100km without a good portion of optimism and well.. That’s what happened. I would never have admitted it two years ago. But I am a real optimist now. If I start being sad, I stop being sad and be awesome instead! (Barney Stinson)

Okay last thing: After Khorixas we did some 130km by front wind to Outjo, thus setting a new personal record. From there it was 72km to Otjiwarongo where we are now. At the border we met (I think we mentioned that) Ernst and Hildegard Frauscher. They helped us finding our way around and gave us their buisenesscards, if we ever come to Otji or otherwise need help we should call them. Now at that time we never intended to go there but things changed and now we ended up visiting them here. They are great!
We are/were staying at there place near the “center” of the town. We have real beds, a shower with shampoo and fresh towels (in my case that’s the first time in 25 days my hair got in touch with “hair soap”), we got our laundry done, internet and two warm meals a day. If we didn’t have a date in Maun on April 16 I would never leave here again!
Now there’s more to be said about Otji and what we saw/experienced here but I’ll write that in another report, another time. Just as a cliff hanger: We got business cards sponsored by the owners of Studio 5, a gay couple that is so unique we could write an entire report only on those two. We learned a lot about local history, society and racism. The latter of the three is a very interesting topic in these parts because it is omnipresent (or appears to me so) and it’s “lived” in a totally different way than in Germany. I intend (sorry for all the promises, but I WILL write them eventually) to write one Post on the observations on that topic as soon as I’ve collected enough… experience with it. I don’t want to write hastily on this so I guess it will have to wait a while. That said, it’s very interesting and to me extremly irritating.

Now, the last words: Our plans for the coming days. We’re going to head north to Rundu at the Kavango river from where we will turn east into Caprivi District. We will cross the border to Botsuana at Mahango National Park, go south again past the Okavango Delta to Maun, where we will meet the Tour d’Afrique and upload another text (at the latest). That’s some 900km, we’ve got 14 days left, starting tomorrow. I guess we can do it.

Cheers,
Tim