So it all started with a 4 hour train ride to Heathrow followed by a 2 hour flight to Madrid, then a 13 hour flight to Johannesburg. The amusing thing when we arrived at Madrid was the small number of us changing flights to carry on to Jo’burg had been directed to a different exit, which was locked. We found ourselves inside a very clean, glass walled passport check station, with no one manning the desks and none of the doors open, with less than an hour to go before our next flight departed. Eventually the cleaner took pity on us and opened one of the side exits through which we all scrambled and literally ran to our gate. I very much doubt the plane would have left with a whole chunk of their passengers missing but it doesn’t make you feel any better about it at the time.
After a very uncomfortable and long flight we landed in Jo’burg mid morning on the 25th October. The airport was absolutely spotless and the staff seemed friendly enough, it was not at all what I expected after hearing all the stories about this city. Stepping out the airport I opened my hand luggage only to find that I had accidentally smuggled a banana into South Africa. I’m not sure how customs expect to find drugs on people when they fail to spot a banana in a bag which had gone through the scanner, but maybe I didn’t look shifty enough for them to take any notice?
We got on the Gautrain with no struggle whatsoever, only a slight sideways glance at the armed security guards accompanying the odd person. The Gautrain is similar to the tube but over-ground and a hell of a lot cleaner; London could certainly learn a thing or two. It is apparently pretty safe to use most of the time, perhaps not advisable to travel at night but we didn’t have any problems. It doesn’t have many stops though so when we’d gone as far as it would take us we jumped into the taxi that was waiting for us.
We had booked a nice bed & breakfast to stay in which turned out to be in the ‘millionaires area’ of Jo’burg - Sandton. It wasn’t massively expensive but with all the warnings we’d had about the city we decided we’d rather be somewhere safe. As we drove further away from the airport the first thing we noticed was the security; every building had barbed wire, electric fences, remote controlled gates and alarms. Although this is obviously to provide protection it doesn’t help you feeling that this is not a safe place to be. When we arrived at the B&B it was within a residential complex complete with an armed guard and electric barrier. Further into the complex when we found the actual building, this was protected with high walls, barbed wire and electric gates that were also padlocked. All very strange and slightly unnerving. It brings about images of huge groups of people trying to attack the city. The B&B was beautiful. We spent most of the day lazing by the pool and catching up on the sleep we’d missed out from our 24 hours of traveling.
The next day it was back to the airport again for our flight to Kasane, Botswana. The guy at the luggage check in found my pronunciation of Kasane hilarious, leaving us even more confused than we were in the first place. We were baffled by the ‘firearms check-in’ direction signs and then even more so when we came to get on the plane, which was possibly the smallest commercial plane I’ve ever seen. The signs on the back of your chair that instruct you to use the cushion as a floatation device (instead of having life jackets) doesn’t exactly fill you with confidence. Having said that the flight was very comfortable and over within a few hours. When the plane landed we got out onto the runway and literally walked across it to the tiny building situated at the side. Through one door, thoroughly questioned by one stroppy looking lady and out the other side into the open air again to find Jem and Glenn waiting for us. It turns out that their car had blown the head gasket on the way to the airport, so we were going to get a taxi back. Luckily they had broken down close to a town and not in an open stretch of bush so had managed to get help reasonably quickly. They both looked surprising relaxed about the situation.
We all crammed into a taxi that took us through the edge of Chobe National Park to the Ngoma border between Botswana and Namibia. On the drive through Chobe we saw zebras, elephants and giraffes. They tend not to stray near the road so we were lucky to see anything. The elephants had a couple of babies with them which the mothers stood over to protect whilst glaring a warning at us, it was hilarious. It costs too much for the taxis to cross the border so rather than stay in the same one we decided to grab a different one on the other side. The walk between the borders gives you a real view of the African countryside… nothing but bush for miles around. There are no towns between Katima and the border, it literally is just sand, trees and bushes. There are hundreds of villages starting from the edge of the trees lining the roads though, comprising of mud huts with grass roofs. The villagers don’t tend to take kindly to people nosing around so I’m not sure if they’d be any help if you broke down.
Once we had got to the Namibian side of the border there was only one vehicle there; a tatty looking mini-bus with cracked windows and copious amounts of rust. The driver was nowhere to be seen but we eventually found him chilling in the shade with a beer. We all scrambled in and started our journey. The taxis in Africa (called Rikkis) charge on a person rather than distance basis. Unless you are going on a longer journey (a couple of hours or so) it costs $10 per person wherever you want to go ($8 if you‘re a local). To give you an idea of the cost, at the moment the exchange rate is $13 to 1 pound. So for less than a pound you can jump in a taxi which will take you pretty much anywhere you want to go. You don’t have the taxis to yourself, they will pick up anyone by the side of the road that sticks their hand out which makes a hell of a lot more sense than the way we do it. Not only is the driver earning more money by picking up more people, but environmentally it works better too. You do occasionally end up crammed in with lots of people but they tend to want to get rid of the white people first so you’re never in there for long. It makes traveling so much easier, why bother getting a car when you can just walk to the road and stick your arm out?
So before long our mini-bus taking us from the border had stopped to pick more people up. It had a trailer so all the luggage was getting thrown into it while the people were cramming in with us. The first day we were in Namibia it was 41 degrees C. Even with all the windows open and the wind blowing continuously in your face it’s still bloody hot, especially with 14 people crammed in with you. It was certainly the African way to start our adventure. There is no such thing as an MOT and you don’t need insurance so it’s definitely a different attitude to driving. We passed people sat in the back of bukkis (pick-up trucks) hanging on for dear life. This isn’t strictly legal but no one takes any notice. You quite often see 10-15 people squashed into the back of a truck, all waving at you as you drive past.
The drive seemed to go on for hours, only stopping to pick up more people, drop people off and once for the driver to get more beer. At least we were allowed to smoke. Although slightly uncomfortable it was actually an enjoyable drive, definitely an experience. We finally arrived in Katima Mulilo at the Zambezi Fish Farm, my home for the next several weeks.
After a very uncomfortable and long flight we landed in Jo’burg mid morning on the 25th October. The airport was absolutely spotless and the staff seemed friendly enough, it was not at all what I expected after hearing all the stories about this city. Stepping out the airport I opened my hand luggage only to find that I had accidentally smuggled a banana into South Africa. I’m not sure how customs expect to find drugs on people when they fail to spot a banana in a bag which had gone through the scanner, but maybe I didn’t look shifty enough for them to take any notice?
We got on the Gautrain with no struggle whatsoever, only a slight sideways glance at the armed security guards accompanying the odd person. The Gautrain is similar to the tube but over-ground and a hell of a lot cleaner; London could certainly learn a thing or two. It is apparently pretty safe to use most of the time, perhaps not advisable to travel at night but we didn’t have any problems. It doesn’t have many stops though so when we’d gone as far as it would take us we jumped into the taxi that was waiting for us.
We had booked a nice bed & breakfast to stay in which turned out to be in the ‘millionaires area’ of Jo’burg - Sandton. It wasn’t massively expensive but with all the warnings we’d had about the city we decided we’d rather be somewhere safe. As we drove further away from the airport the first thing we noticed was the security; every building had barbed wire, electric fences, remote controlled gates and alarms. Although this is obviously to provide protection it doesn’t help you feeling that this is not a safe place to be. When we arrived at the B&B it was within a residential complex complete with an armed guard and electric barrier. Further into the complex when we found the actual building, this was protected with high walls, barbed wire and electric gates that were also padlocked. All very strange and slightly unnerving. It brings about images of huge groups of people trying to attack the city. The B&B was beautiful. We spent most of the day lazing by the pool and catching up on the sleep we’d missed out from our 24 hours of traveling.
The next day it was back to the airport again for our flight to Kasane, Botswana. The guy at the luggage check in found my pronunciation of Kasane hilarious, leaving us even more confused than we were in the first place. We were baffled by the ‘firearms check-in’ direction signs and then even more so when we came to get on the plane, which was possibly the smallest commercial plane I’ve ever seen. The signs on the back of your chair that instruct you to use the cushion as a floatation device (instead of having life jackets) doesn’t exactly fill you with confidence. Having said that the flight was very comfortable and over within a few hours. When the plane landed we got out onto the runway and literally walked across it to the tiny building situated at the side. Through one door, thoroughly questioned by one stroppy looking lady and out the other side into the open air again to find Jem and Glenn waiting for us. It turns out that their car had blown the head gasket on the way to the airport, so we were going to get a taxi back. Luckily they had broken down close to a town and not in an open stretch of bush so had managed to get help reasonably quickly. They both looked surprising relaxed about the situation.
We all crammed into a taxi that took us through the edge of Chobe National Park to the Ngoma border between Botswana and Namibia. On the drive through Chobe we saw zebras, elephants and giraffes. They tend not to stray near the road so we were lucky to see anything. The elephants had a couple of babies with them which the mothers stood over to protect whilst glaring a warning at us, it was hilarious. It costs too much for the taxis to cross the border so rather than stay in the same one we decided to grab a different one on the other side. The walk between the borders gives you a real view of the African countryside… nothing but bush for miles around. There are no towns between Katima and the border, it literally is just sand, trees and bushes. There are hundreds of villages starting from the edge of the trees lining the roads though, comprising of mud huts with grass roofs. The villagers don’t tend to take kindly to people nosing around so I’m not sure if they’d be any help if you broke down.
Once we had got to the Namibian side of the border there was only one vehicle there; a tatty looking mini-bus with cracked windows and copious amounts of rust. The driver was nowhere to be seen but we eventually found him chilling in the shade with a beer. We all scrambled in and started our journey. The taxis in Africa (called Rikkis) charge on a person rather than distance basis. Unless you are going on a longer journey (a couple of hours or so) it costs $10 per person wherever you want to go ($8 if you‘re a local). To give you an idea of the cost, at the moment the exchange rate is $13 to 1 pound. So for less than a pound you can jump in a taxi which will take you pretty much anywhere you want to go. You don’t have the taxis to yourself, they will pick up anyone by the side of the road that sticks their hand out which makes a hell of a lot more sense than the way we do it. Not only is the driver earning more money by picking up more people, but environmentally it works better too. You do occasionally end up crammed in with lots of people but they tend to want to get rid of the white people first so you’re never in there for long. It makes traveling so much easier, why bother getting a car when you can just walk to the road and stick your arm out?
So before long our mini-bus taking us from the border had stopped to pick more people up. It had a trailer so all the luggage was getting thrown into it while the people were cramming in with us. The first day we were in Namibia it was 41 degrees C. Even with all the windows open and the wind blowing continuously in your face it’s still bloody hot, especially with 14 people crammed in with you. It was certainly the African way to start our adventure. There is no such thing as an MOT and you don’t need insurance so it’s definitely a different attitude to driving. We passed people sat in the back of bukkis (pick-up trucks) hanging on for dear life. This isn’t strictly legal but no one takes any notice. You quite often see 10-15 people squashed into the back of a truck, all waving at you as you drive past.
The drive seemed to go on for hours, only stopping to pick up more people, drop people off and once for the driver to get more beer. At least we were allowed to smoke. Although slightly uncomfortable it was actually an enjoyable drive, definitely an experience. We finally arrived in Katima Mulilo at the Zambezi Fish Farm, my home for the next several weeks.
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