My African Odyssey

I was pretty spent from the last couple of days of full-on travel, so I was content to treat today like a recovery day. The only thing I did want to accomplish today was getting my Mozambique visa. I was very keen to get to Mozambique at some stage and while I knew that you could purchase a visa at most boarder posts, I would most likely be crossing the border in the remote far north of the country and had been warned that I would need to get a visa in advance. I walked into town from the hostel and caught a bus to the Mozambique embassy but it turned out to be ‘Women’s Independence Day’ in Mozambique today so the embassy was closed – what are the chances! Nonetheless, the trip out there wasn’t a complete waste of time. I took a detour on the way home and stopped off at Lilongwe’s main market. It was a huge, stinky, chaotic affair full of interesting sights, sounds and smells! After a nice meal of chips and eggs, I made my way slowly back to the hostel.

Fishmonger!

It was a beautiful day, so in the afternoon I just lazed around the pool: swimming, sleeping, reading and chatting with Tom and Janey, the owners. Later that night, some of the other guests and I sat down to dinner with Janey and she regaled us with some of her and Tom’s travel stories. The two of them had sold their home in England, bought a ‘Unimog’ (a massive off-road truck) and decided to drive it around Africa. They had made their way down through West Africa, crossed South Africa and had just begun to work their way back up through East Africa when they decided they had had enough and needed to settle down for a bit. As the story goes, they just happened to be in Lilongwe and met someone looking to sell their hostel… low and behold, they’ve been there ever since. However, how they ended up settling in Lilongwe was not nearly as interesting as their story about how they were deported from Angola twice in one day and ended up spending a month holed up in Kinshasa, Congo waiting for new passports and visas! Or, how they rescued some diesel smugglers who had been stuck in the mud for three weeks and who showed their appreciation in the form of a drum of their precious cargo.

Tom and Janey Rescue Some Diesel Smugglers

Tom and Janey were seriously nice people and certainly had a wealth of cool stories, like the ones above. Funnily enough though, listening to them talk about the dangers they faced passing through certain countries (including some that I planned on visiting in the not too distant future) didn’t scare me like it should have. In fact, it had the complete opposite affect and all I could think about from then on was how exciting things were going to be when I eventually made it to West Africa!

The three of us were keen to get an early start today so we had a quick cold shower – the first of many over the next few months – and headed straight for the bus depot. We had seen the day before that there was a bus leaving for Chipata (a town on the Zambia/Malawi border) at 10am so we made sure we were at the depot and ready to buy our tickets by around 9:30am. We bought the tickets and loaded our stuff on to the bus (which wasn’t nearly as nice as the one that had brought us from Livingstone to Lusaka) and waited. We waited, waited, waited and then we waited some more. All in all it was over 2 hours before we actually got moving! – little did I realise at the time that this is in fact typical of transportation in Africa. Thankfully though, when we finally got going we seemed to be making pretty good time. However, the further we got from Lusaka the more the roads deteriorated and the slower we traveled. In the end, we didn't eventually reach Chipata until 8pm - much later than we had anticipated.

We assumed that it would still be daylight when we arrived in Chipata and that we would just catch a minibus to the border (where we would then find onward transport to Lilongwe). However, the Chipata bus depot ooked particularly sketchy and none of the minibus operators were leaving for the border until their vans were full – god knows how long that would take! Fortunately, we met a nice older local gentleman named Francis who offered to join us in a share taxi to the border. It was more expensive than taking the minibus but Francis haggled with the driver for us so we at least knew we weren’t getting screwed.

On arriving at the border we had to go through immigration and while I passed through without a hitch, Milos did have a little problem. Apparently his passport was never stamped when he came through immigration at Livingstone Airport. He had a receipt for his visa and his boarding passes but for some reason… no stamp. Despite all the evidence pointing to a simple oversight by the immigration officer in Livingstone, the humourless immigration officer at the boarder was determined to make a point. At one stage, he even suggested that Milos might have to go all the way back to Livingstone to get a stamp before he would be allowed to leave the country!! We argued that we should not be punished for the oversight of one of his fellow officers but he just shook his head and tried to convince us that it was our responsibility to ensure that we have the right documentation and stamp. I protested again that it is unreasonable for an individual with no knowledge of the specific immigration practices of a particular country to be expected to verify the practices of that country’s immigration officers. Isn’t it fair to assume that if you hand over your passport and visa to an immigration officer and he hands it back to you and you are told you may pass, that you have legally been allowed into the country?? He still wasn’t having any of it though and it wasn’t until Francis came forward and essentially chastised the immigration officer for being unnecessarily difficult that he eventually agreed to use his “discretion” and allow Milos to leave the country. Needless to say, at that point we were all very grateful to have forgone the minibus and chosen to travel with Francis instead.

Moreover, once we got through Malawian immigration (making sure we were all stamped properly) Francis again ensured that we weren’t ripped off by the drivers waiting on the other side. We decided to take a share taxi instead of a minibus because by now it was quite late and Lilongwe was still another 120kms away. We finally reached Lilongwe around midnight. We had the driver drop us off at Mbuya Camp – a hostel I would definitely recommend to people passing through – and were fortunate to get their last 3 beds! Even though it was late and we were exhausted, we each had a couple of cheeky beers to help us unwind before hitting the sack. They felt well deserved after such a long day in the saddle but probably didn’t help when it came to getting into bed. I was on the top bunk (of course) and had to vault myself onto this rickety old platform while simultaneously trying not to wake my bunk-mate sleeping below or turn the whole thing into firewood! Luckily the bunk bed held together... although I have no idea if I woke the bloke underneath me because I was so tired that I was asleep before my head even touched the pillow.

Today was pretty uneventful. I caught a bus with Elena and Milos (a couple of fellow travelers also heading to Malawi like me) to Lusaka, Zambia. Lusaka is the capital of Zambia but we weren’t really interested in seeing the city, we just need a place to stopover on the way to Lilongwe, Malawi which was our real destination.

We left around lunch time and arrived 7.5hrs later. The bus was reasonably comfortable – I would actually later reflect on how comfortable this ride was in comparison with subsequent trains/buses/minivans I would take – but the roads were absolutely atrocious. At times we crept along, barely doing 20km/h as the bus driver negotiated the potholes. At least the scenery was nice, if slightly repetitive – just hour after hour of dry, flat, savannah like plains. Nonetheless, it felt exciting to be on the move again.

We reached Lusaka just as it was getting dark and we were bombarded by touts and taxi drivers the moment we stepped off the bus. We stepped away from the melee to get our bearings and quickly realised that the hostel wasn’t too far from the bus depot. Nonetheless, with night fast approaching and feeling a little nervous about walking in the dark, we decided to search out the least intimidating looking taxi driver and ask him to drive us to our destination: Hostel Cha Cha Cha. We were greeted at the hostel by a posse of drunk, middle-aged South African women who immediately came over to chat to Milos and I. It was hard to follow what they were saying, not just because of their thick Afrikaans accents but also because they were so drunk they were slurring their words and spitting all over us as they tried to speak – not a pretty sight!

The three of us were in no mood to hang out with the South African cougars, so we decided to just stay in our room playing cards. Moreover, the long bus ride had been pretty exhausting and we knew we had another big day of travel ahead of us tomorrow, so we were happy for the chance to have an early night.

All things going to plan (ie. my bag turning up), today would be my last full day in Livingstone so I woke up determined to make the most of it. I’d seen the falls (up close and from afar), explored the town and visited the airport more times than I care to mention but I couldn’t help but feel like I was missing out on something. There are so many activities to do in Livingstone – white water rafting, taking a flight over the falls, etc – and I hadn’t done any of them. The day before, I had momentarily considered going bungee jumping but in the end decided against it. I would have gone rafting but the river was too swollen and they weren't taking people out. I was keen to do something but what was there to do that didn't involve leaping off a bridge or a cliff??

It was on my way back from breakfast I noticed the poster by reception advertising something called a ‘Lion Walk’. My cousin Andrew had passed through Livingstone a few years earlier and before I left, I asked him about what he did while he was here. He had sampled the usual adventure activities – like the gorge swing, bungee, etc – but he also told me that he had gone to this place in Zimbabwe where you can walk with lions. I suddenly remembered what he had said about the Lion Walk - not only was it one of the most amazing things he had done in Livingstone, but during his entire trip through East Africa. Determined to do something adventurous on my last day in Livingstone and (perhaps illogically) feeling more comfortable about the possibility of getting mauled by a lion than the thought of plunging to my death in a canyon, I decided I would do the Lion Walk.

'Lion Encounters', the organization that cares for the lions and runs the Lion Walk program is located just across the border in Zimbabwe. They take tourists on walks with the lions twice a day, once in the morning and once in the afternoon. I had hoped to do the morning walk and head to the airport in the afternoon to collect my bag, but I was too late. So instead, I booked myself in for the afternoon session and just crossed my fingers that my bag would be on one of the earlier flights and that I would be able to get from the airport to the lion park (across the border) in time.

Unfortunately, when I arrived at the airport around 12:30pm, things were even more crazy than normal! A charted plane full of pompous Italians had arrived at the same time as the regular flights from Jo’burg and the tiny little airport was struggling to handle the sudden influx of passengers and baggage. I made my way to the baggage carousel but it was three deep with Italians and I could barely see through them to find out if my bag had arrived. What is worse, because the carousel was so small and there were so many bags coming out at the one time, the baggage handlers were taking any bags that weren’t picked up on their first lap around the carousel and dumping them in a pile in a corner in order to make room for the incoming bags.

I hadn’t seen my pack and I was starting to panic a little – I was hoping to be on a bus to Lusaka tomorrow morning and really didn’t want to have to postpone my trip because I needed to come back to the airport again! Finally, the Italian’s cleared out and I had a chance to get in and dig around in the pile of discarded bags. Sure enough – right at the bottom, buried under 8 other similar looking bags – was my pack.

I can’t tell you how comforting it was to have my stuff back. I don’t know what I would have done if it had been lost for good. That pack had everything in it I thought I would need for the next 6 months. Not just clothes and a change of underwear, it had things like my camera and ipod charger – where was I going to find a camera charger for an Olympus Stylus 1030SW in the middle of Zambia! How was I going to survive 6 months of long bus rides and snoring dorm-mates without my ipod?? Nonetheless, everything had worked out in the end and I had learnt some valuable travel lessons along the way.

I caught a cab back to the hostel and just had time to dump my bag and throw on a change of clothes before hopping on a bus to the Zim/Zam border. I made it to the border on time and met up with Casper from Lion Encounters who was waiting with a van to take me to the lion park – apparently I was the only person booked in for the afternoon walk. First I was stamped out of Zambia, then I was driven across the bridge that people bungee jump from and into Zimbabwe. I still had to pass through Zimbabwean immigration and I was a little nervous because I didn’t really know what to expect but the immigration officer was really friendly, we even shared a joke and swapped some stories before my passport was stamped and I was allowed to pass.

Welcome to Zimbabwe!

I arrived at the lion park and was introduced to JB, who would be my guide – a charming and extremely knowledgeable bloke with an obvious passion for his lions. After a (very) brief run through of the basic “dos and don’ts”, I was handed a 2 foot piece of cane (yeah right, what good was that going to do!) and we headed off down a track in search of some lions. The first lions I was introduced to were a couple of 12 month old cubs who we found mucking around down by a creek. Although they were only a year old, they were still quite large and intimidating. JB told me to relax and that there was nothing to be worried about. He sat down next to them and beckoned me to join him. I cautiously made my way over to the lions, tentatively reached out a hand and gave them a gentle pat. Just at that moment… absolutely nothing happened! That’s right, these lions could not be less interested in me than if I was standing 50 yards away. Like a domestic house cat, they just lay there and let me pet them. JB took a few happy snaps of me with the cubs but because the weren’t being particularly playful we decided to say goodbye and push further into the lion park in search of some other, slightly older (read: bigger!) cats.

Feline Friends

I spent the next hour or so being introduced to various members of the Lion Encounters family. I got to walk with these beautiful creatures, pet and caress them, see them climb trees and drink from a pond – it was incredible! My initial apprehension quickly disappeared as I soon realised how harmless these lions were. Here were these big, strong animals with the disposition of a pussy cat. Just like a house cat, they enjoyed the attention and affection of my touch while maintaining an air of complete indifference. It was a great experience and I was sad to have to say goodbye, I would recommend visiting these fabulous creatures over bungee jumping or gorge swinging any day of the week!

Making Friends

Just hanging out

Quick drink

Follow the leader

I got the bus back from the Zambian border and I was the only ‘Mzungu’ on board – something I would get very accustomed to over the next few months. I was wedged in between a couple of school girls who looked about 17 yrs old and I struck up a bit of a conversation with them. By the time we reached Livingstone everyone on the bus was giggling and laughing at me – something else I would get very accustomed to over the next few months – and when we got off the bus one of the girls asked me for my number. However, I had to explain to her that I couldn’t give her my number because I didn’t have a Zambian phone card and besides that, I was leaving the next day. She seemed a little disappointed but there were no hard feelings and she wished me a safe trip to Lusaka.

I finally got back to Jolly Boys and after putting my feet up for a minute, I found a quiet place to sit and write in my journal. Unfortunately, I was soon joined by a bloke that started copying footage from a video camera on to his laptop. Apparently, this guy was the cameraman for the gorge swing – basically, he would film you doing the bungee/gorge swing/etc and for $20 bucks you could buy his video so you could take it home and brag about you exploits to all your mates. This immediately reminded me of my cousin Andrew (who had told me about the Lion Walk). He had shown me a video before I left of him attempting to do the gorge swing and failing massively. Essentially, he had tried to do a front-flip into the gorge but hadn’t realised that he still had his safety line attached which meant he got a couple of meters past the platform before being brutally yanked back by the cord and slammed into the side of the gorge. They pulled him back onto the platform and after a quick check that he was ok, they disconnected the safety line and he did is flip into the gorge - what a nutter! I mentioned the story to the guy next to me and his eyes lit up. He remembered it well, in fact he had been filming that day and even had a copy of it saved on his computer – under the appropriate title of “Gorge Swing F*ck Up”! What a small world we live in. I travel across an ocean to a continent I’ve never set foot in before and end up sitting next to a guy who had a video of my cousin on his computer… got to love that about traveling.

I was determined to get away from the hostel (and/or airport) today and to see what I had come all this way to see in the first place. So, with a few of my friends from the night before, I took advantage of the free shuttle bus that is organised by the hostel and headed to the falls around 10am.

The Zambezi river, that feeds the falls, forms the border between Zambia and Zimbabwe. Hence, as you approach the famous bridge across the river that gives you one of the best views of the falls, you are forced to weave between a train of trucks waiting to pass through customs and make their way across the border and into Zimbabwe. We hurriedly made our way towards the bridge (trying not to choke on the dust and exhaust fumes of the idling trucks) until we were greeted with one of the most impressive sights I have ever seen - a beautiful panoramic view of the river and the falls. That first sighting is indescribable. It is the shear enormity of the falls, the width of the river and the ferocity of its flow that strikes you first of all. I stood on the bridge with the wind and spray in my face and tried to comprehend how much water was cascading over the falls at any one moment – an impossible task! Even shrouded in the mist which is thrown up by the force of all that falling water (or even perhaps because of it) this natural wonder was truly awe inspiring.

Trucks!

The Zambezi River

The Falls

The bridge across the Zambezi, which doubles as a border post, is also the place to go if you are looking for some adventure. Towering more than 110m above the river, the bridge is where tourists regularly line up to partake in one of the most impressive bungee jumps in the world. I know its not the highest in the world (that is somewhere around Cape Town apparently) but it is certainly up there and as far as the scenery goes, absolutely one of a kind. I watched a few people jump and even entertained the idea of doing it myself but eventually chickened out and settled for acting as a photographer for Laura and Tom who had decided to do a Zip Line/Gorge Swing/Bungee combo.

Bungee!

Once Tom and Laura had finished all their adventure activities, we headed to the entrance of the Zambezi National Park to see the falls up close. First stop was a track that lead down to something called the Boiling Pot which is a giant whirlpool formed at the base of the falls where the river makes a sharp right-hand turn and the fast traveling water creates strong eddy currents that keep the water frothing and bubbling like a pot of boiling water – definitely not somewhere you would want to be caught swimming. It was a decent climb back up to the main road but well worth it.

The Bridge

After taking a moment to compose ourselves following our little detour to the Boiling Pot, we pushed on down the path to the main observation area for the falls. While impressive from afar, the falls were even more spectacular up close. The spray is so thick that it was like being caught in the heaviest downpour I had ever experienced – thank god for my waterproof camera! Within minutes (seconds?) we were absolutely soaked, as if I had stepped into the shower fully dressed. The falls were quite swollen, which meant that our view was a little obstructed by the heavy mist, but the thunderous sound of the water tumbling over the falls gave away what lay beyond our view and was indication enough of the falls’ true size. Soaked to the bone, we traced the path along the edge of the falls and took photos where possible before retreating back to the main road to dry off.

The Bridge2

The Falls2

Taking a Shower

Arriving back at the entrance of the National Park to find the hostel minibus nowhere in sight we quickly realised that we would have to find our own way back into town. Still a little damp from our ‘natural shower’, we piled into one of the local minibuses that shuttle people back and forth between Livingstone and the falls – these ubiquitous vehicles can be found all over Africa in various incarnations on a similar theme: 1) take a relatively spacious vehicle (usually an econ-o-van); 2) fill to the brim (if not overflowing) with all manner or people, animals, produce and luggage; 3) charge the tourists twice as much as the locals (even though this is still only a mere pittance); and 4) employ a 17 year old kid with no license as your driver. We made it back to the hostel in one piece and just kicked our feet up for the rest of the day.

That evening was Tom’s last night before heading back to England so Laura, Michelle (his girlfriend) and I (the token Aussie just along for the ride) took him out for dinner at a little place called Fez Bar. After dinner we hit the bar and I had my first encounter with a Springbok (the drink, not the animal unfortunately) which is a shot of Baileys with fluro green mint schnapps on top – nice but a little too sweet for my taste. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on how you look at it), I was suffering a bit from too much sun. My face and the back of my neck were sunburnt and my head was killing me so I didn’t hit it too hard at first. This really was a blessing in disguise because once we got back to the hostel we were joined by a few fellow travelers and ended up having a pretty big night. We drank and played card games (even a couple of rounds of circle of death) until 2am. Luke & Kerryn – a really nice South African couple who had driven up from Cape Town – introduced us to a game called 30 seconds (which I have completely forgotten now) that we played quite competitively until we were asked to go to bed by some less than pleased people staying in the cabin next to us.

Tom's Farewell

I took the opportunity to catch up on some sleep today. I was in no rush – there was no plane or bus to catch – and I wanted to get my hands on my bag before I did any serious sight seeing. The local minibus driver (who is employed by the hotel to shuttle guests back and forth to the airport) took pity on me and was kind enough to give me a free lift out to the airport around noon.

I was expecting to walk into the terminal, pick up my bag (which would be sitting there just waiting for me), maybe sign some paperwork and walk out. Well, things didn’t exactly go to plan. What really happened is that I spent the next 3 hours waiting for every flight from Jo’burg to get in (not just SAA flights) for no reason whatsoever because my bag still didn’t arrive! I finally managed to speak with someone from SAA who actually had a clue only to be told that my bag hadn’t been lost in the bowls of Jo’burg International Airport like I suspected but that it had actually never left Sydney in the first place!! How something like that can happen, I have no idea… Anyway, the bottom line was that my bag was now somewhere over the Indian Ocean, on its way to Jo’burg and still at least a couple of days away from reaching Livingstone! If I was lucky, my bag would turn up on Friday – the day before I was planning to take a bus to Lusaka. That would be cutting it pretty fine and not giving myself much wiggle room in the event that there were any more issues but the SAA staffers at the airport said they could always forward the bag on to Lusaka if there were any other problems and I absolutely had to leave. That was very kind of them but one thing I knew for sure, there was no way I would be on that bus to Lusaka unless I had my bag with me!

Dejected and frustrated, I took a taxi back into town – the minibus driver had long ago left with the hostel’s new guests. I did a little shopping, picking up a couple of cheap T-shirts and a pair of shorts before heading for the hostel. It was mid-afternoon and the place was empty so I took out the book Alisa had recommended to me (If On A Winter’s Night A Traveler, by Italo Calvino) and found a comfy lounge by the pool to try and take my mind off the frustrating events of the day – this is not how my great adventure was supposed to start!

People eventually started filtering in, flush with excitement after a full day of sight-seeing or adventure activities and a few of the guys from the night before were even kind enough to inquire (and appear sympathetic) about my bag. Some people were keen to head into town and look for a bar but I wasn’t in the mood. I was content with another low key evening, just having a few beers and playing some pool. It wasn’t all bad though, I did meet some really nice new people: Milos and Elena from Spain; and Laura, Tom and Michelle from England.

I woke quite early this morning. Having made it to check-in for my flight out of Sydney with only minutes to spare and after experiencing the disorganisation of Jo’burg International Airport firsthand the night before, I was determined to be on time for my connecting flight this morning. As it turned out, despite going to bed so exhausted that I felt like I could sleep for days, the jetlag had me feeling wide awake and up and about even earlier than necessary.

I sat down to a simple breakfast of toast and cereal with my new German buddies and we were joined by a Presbyterian minister from some Mid-west state in the US. He was heading home after having spent three years as a missionary in Northern Angola. I knew from some of the things I had read before I left that Angola was a pretty hairy place. It had only recently ended almost 40 years of civil war which had decimated its population and this guy was sitting here across the table, calmly regaling us with stories about his experiences in this hostile place. He spoke a little about the greed, corruption and violence that existed but mostly he spoke about how impressive the local people were – strong, tireless and good despite everything they had endured. He made for some pretty interesting breakfast company and I would have loved to stay longer and keep chatting but I had a plane to catch.

I made it to the airport with plenty of time to spare and was able to get through check-in and customs without any fuss. Again, I was assured when I checked-in that my bag was on the plane and would be waiting for me when I got to Livingstone. We flight boarded on time but we were stuck sitting on the tarmac for a couple of hours (for some reason or another) before we actually took off. I was seated next to a lovely South African girl named Nicole who was taking a break from school (where she was doing a Masters in Environmental Studies) to work as an environmental monitor on an Eco Lodge development about 60kms outside of Livingstone. From what I could gather, she would be monitoring the development team’s impact on the environment during the construction of the lodge. Nicole was obviously very passionate about the environment and Elephants in particular. We had a pretty interesting chat and I learnt a lot about the environmental impact of humans in Africa, both the blatantly obvious impact and the more subtle, inadvertent impact.

We finally touched down in Livingstone and were quickly herded off the plane and into the airport's tiny terminal. At customs I was asked if I wanted a single-entry, double-entry or multiple-entry visa. I would normally get a multi-entry visa to give myself maximum flexibility but the multi-entry visa was considerably more expensive than the others. I was sure I would either want to duck across to Zimbabwe for the day or re-enter Zambia after I traveled to Malawi, so I settled for the double entry. Being on a budget, I was conscious of not spending money unnecessarily but I was in no position to complain compared with the British tourists who were just arriving in Zambia only to find out that the price of single-entry visa for them had recently doubled. Apparently this increase was intended as a protest against the high cost (for Zambian nationals) of obtaining a British visa. I can appreciate the Zambian government’s frustration with the cost of obtaining British visas but I don’t think this petty, tit-for-tat policy was particularly well thought out. Last time I checked, Zambian tourism isn’t really a pillar of the British economy. Whereas, there are many Zambian people who rely heavily (either directly or indirectly) on tourists to make their living and any policy of the Zambian government which serves to dissuade people from visiting Zambia is surely undesirable.

Anyway, I passed through customs – leaving a snaking line of disgruntled Brits in my wake – and headed next door to the baggage terminal to collect my pack. Again I waited patiently by the carousel keeping an eye out for my black and blue backpack and again there was nothing. I waited and waited and waited – even trying to convince myself that the reason my bag was taking so long to come out was because my connecting flight got in so early the day before that my bag was the first to be loaded and therefore would be the last to be unloaded – but alas, my worst fears were realised, my bag was nowhere to be seen!

I wandered in circles hopelessly for a few minutes trying to figure out what to do now before eventually finding a SAA staff member who was able to direct me to a lady sitting behind a small desk in the corner of the baggage hall. She instructed me to fill out a “Lost Luggage Form” which, when I handed it back to her, was thrust on top of an impressive stack of similar looking forms – apparently I wasn’t the only person to have lost a bag in the past couple of days... I guess my fears about no one being able to make heads or tails of the Jo’burg airport’s transit luggage room were justified! The lady behind the desk confirmed what the stack of forms had already told me – “this happens all the time” – but thankfully, she explained that nine times out of ten the bag will be on the following day’s flight so if I came back to the airport at the same time tomorrow, in all probability I would find my bag waiting for me. So, upset at not having my bag but optimistic that it would soon show up, I jumped in the little minibus that had been patiently waiting for me and headed to the hostel.

Jolly Boys is a pretty cool place – with a pool, a bar and plenty of comfy lounges to chill out in – it was exactly what I needed right now. As soon as I had checked in, I made a bee-line for the bar. I introduced myself to a couple of Pommy blokes who were enjoying a few beers and almost immediately we struck up a conversation. Clint and Dave were good blokes, both friendly and sympathetic about the whole lost bag situation – they even offered to lend me some fresh clothes till my bag turned up. After a few beers and a nice chat, I ended up joining them on a little excursion into town to pick up some stuff from the market. I picked up some essentials – toothbrush, deodorant, etc – and we all chipped in to buy some ingredients to bring back to the hostel and cook for dinner. Our gourmet meal consisted of vegetable soup (with taco seasoning for added flavour) poured over a bowl of overcooked pasta. Not exactly what I would order if I was in a restaurant back home but it certainly filled a gap. Moreover, it gave me more of a chance to get to know Clint and Dave and some of the other guests staying at the hostel – including Dave and Mave, a Scottish/Irish couple that Dave and Clint had met down in Cape Town several weeks earlier who had just (by complete chance) arrived in Livingstone at the same time as the boys. We had a few more beers after dinner while the guys swapped stories and filled each other in about what they had seen and where they had been during the intervening weeks but all-in-all it was a pretty quiet night.

Sooooooo, I had another fun filled and exciting blog entry all typed up and ready to publish but somehow when I went to preview what I had written, it had completely disappeared!

Yay!! So I guess I will be reliving this day's entry all over again!

Frustratedly yours,

Alex

I must admit, I didn't get much sleep last night - too many thoughts running through my head. I did eventually doze off just as the sun was coming up but couldn't have got more than an hour of decent rest. Still, I was too excited to feel tired as I finished packing and got ready to leave.

We were a little bit late to the airport but luckily there was no delay with my check-in. Feeling a little rushed but with no time to lose, I said my goodbyes to Mum and Pete (who had kindly come along to see me off) before sprinting through to customs. Unfortunately, my hurried goodbye was completely unnecessary as my flight was temporarily delayed. Slightly frustrated - partly at myself for being so late and partly at Qantas for the plane being delayed - I took one of the few remaining seats in the terminal only to find myself sitting next to a young girl named Robbie. Robbie is an 18 year old opera singer who lives about 2 mins from my parents place and who was visiting some family in Jo'burg. She was a really friendly girl and we had an nice chat while we waited to board and I couldn't help but feel like things were getting off to a good start - hadn't even left the airport and already meeting interesting people!

We finally got the call to board and when I reached my seat I found myself sitting between Bec, a 15-yr old exchange student from Ballarat and Tyrone, a surf-film cameraman from Durban. Although at first I wasn't really in the mood to chat, my seat-mates turned out to be a pretty interesting pair. I can certainly think of worse people to be stuck next to on a 14.5 hour flight!

I took the opportunity during the flight to check out some of the movies on offer. First up was Atonement, which (of course) immediately made me think of Alisa! That was followed by Out of Africa, pretty appropriate I thought given my destination. Finally, I watched a bit of Two Hands - I guess I was feeling a little nostalgic knowing that I wouldn't be back on Australian soil for some time. Other than that, the flight was long but uneventful and I passed the time sleeping, listening to music and getting to know some more about my interesting seat-mates. Tyrone in particular was full of stories and one such story really stuck with me. Apparently, if you do too much cocaine the residue that runs down your nasal passage/sinuses when you snort it will start to erode your teeth from the inside out. This had recently happened to Tyrone and led to an awkward experience with a South African dentist. The dentist was completely dumbfounded as to how his teeth could look so good from the outside and yet be so damaged on the inside. According to Tyrone, "despite having no orthodontic training", he somehow managed to convince the dentist that his hollow teeth were the result of some birth defect and he was therefore able to avoid having to admit to his coke habit - it sounded a little far fetched to me but its still an interesting story to hear from a guy you just met... not to mention that he was recounting the whole episode to Bec as well!

We touched down safe and sound in Jo'burg and I was excited to step foot on another continent. Customs was quick and easy and as soon as I was through I made a bee-line for the baggage hall to collect my backpack. I waited and waited and waited but my pack never came off the carousel. After much confusion and considerable struggle, I was finally able to get a straight answer out of a South African Airways staff member - apparently my bags had been checked directly through to Livingstone (my final destination). I asked if there was anyway to get to my bag because I knew there was no flight to Livingstone until the morning - I knew this because if there was, I would have been on it! The SAA staff member merely sighed and escorted me to a giant hall about the size of airplane hangar that was full to the brim with all manner of bags and boxes. I have no idea how anyone could ever possibly make heads or tails of that mess but I was assured by the SAA staff member that my bag was in there somewhere and, while they could not get to it now, it would "definitely" be on the plane to Livingstone tomorrow. As frustrating as this was, I figured I could survive a night without my toothbrush etc - but I swore to myself that next time I fly I would at least pack a change of underwear in my on-board luggage.

Slightly annoyed but happy to finally be in Africa, I made my way out of the baggage hall and into the arrivals terminal. There was the usual sea of anxious family members, guys in bad suits holding up plastic signs - including one that had 'Dickin' on it, but alas was not for me - and taxi driver touts. I, however, had organised in advance to stay at a hostel close to the airport which offered a shuttle service. When I spoke to the hostel manager before I left, he gave me a number to call when I landed so that he could come pick me up. However, of course my mobile didn't work so I had to find a pay phone. But before that I had to find a bank to take out some cash and then ask someone for change to use the phone, etc etc and after all that, wouldn't you know... the number didn't work! What is more, the details of the hostel that I had printed out before I left were in my backpack that was currently buried somewhere in the transit luggage hall of terminal 4!! I knew the only way I was going to get the details was to find an internet cafe but this turned out to be more of an undertaking than I initially expected. I would ask someone and they would send me one way but there would be nothing there. Then I'd ask someone else and they would send me somewhere completely different or even back the way I just came! I quickly realised that the people I asked for directions would rather send me off on a wild goose chase than admit that they don't know where something is or that they can't understand me - something I would encounter over and over again in my travels! Long story short, it was almost an hour before I was finally able to convince someone working at a hire car booth to let me use their computer for 2 mins in order to get the hostel details so I could put in a call and get picked up.

Things were clearly not getting off to as good a start as I initially thought, but I was eventually able to make contact with Rob (the hostel manager) and get picked up. The hostel was nothing special but I was just looking for a place to crash for the night before hopping on a connecting flight to Livingstone, Zambia. There were a couple of nice German guys (Heinrich & Christian) staying at the hostel and although it was late and I was almost dead on my feet we hung out for a little bit. We drank some beers, shot some pool and I asked them about where they had travelled so far - mostly through South Africa and Namibia - but before long, exhausted from my flight and the lack of sleep the previous night, I gave into the fatigue and collapsed on my bunk, still wearing the same clothes I had on when I left Sydney.

Welcome.

Just under three years ago I started a journey that would last more than 4 months, take me through 15 different countries and from one side of Africa to the other. This once in a lifetime trip was merely supposed to bridge the gap between the end of law school and the beginning of real life - one last chance to see the world before giving in to the inevitable daily grind of modern urban life. This trip would turn out to be a significant turning point in my life and as a result I now find myself in a far different place (both physically and metaphorically) than I ever could have imagined before I left.

I kept a journal of my travels, filling it almost daily with notes and anecdotes ranging from the mundane to the metaphysical. As I wrote, I had no intention of ever sharing my obscure scribblings with the world. I merely wanted a record of my travels to help jog my memory in years to come. Nonetheless, as time passed and my nostalgia grew, I began to think more and more about the two well-worn, now dust covered volumes that constitute my old travel journal. I came to the conclusion that I should type them up in order to revisit the lessons of my travels and better preserve their contents for posterity. It has only been three years but a lot has happened in that time. Plus, the books themselves are in pretty rough shape having lived a hard life - constantly dropped in the dirt, regularly used as a coaster and unceremoniously stuffed in and out of my old backpack on a daily basis.

Still, being the procrastinator that I am, there had been little progress towards this goal of transcribing my journal. In fact, until this morning my journal had remained buried amongst other (even more dust covered) books on an awkwardly placed shelf in my apartment - untouched for over a year, unread for almost three. However, as I lay awake last night struggling to get to sleep, I again found myself reminiscing about my African travels and it suddenly dawned on me that in one weeks time it would be the anniversary of the day I started my great African journey. Stuck contemplating this fact for hours (thanks to my insomnia), I devised a plan to tackle the task of rewriting my journal. What better way to motivate myself to get the job done than to type up the journal entries in real time, one a day for four (and a bit) months with each entry being entered exactly 3 years after it was experienced. What is more, why not share this process (and my adventures) with the world - who knows, maybe some of you out there might actually be interested in coming along for the ride!

Keep an eye out for the first entry on 31/3/11.

Alex