Joburg to Scotland

Our plans to hike the Nyragongo Volcano in the DRC were preceded by a few nights at the Discover Rwanda hostel in Gisenyi, Rwanda. It was here while hunting for lunch that we stumbled upon the strangely misplaced Calafia Cafe. Describing itself as “California Style” the cafe boasts a menu filled with terms seldom seen in Rwanda like “Kale”, “Beetroot”, “Goat’s Cheese”, “Pesto”, “Garlic Mayo” and “Cucumber Gin”. After placing your order you can watch as the kitchen staff walk outside to pick your leafy greens from the garden. A great spot if you’re lusting for a good sandwich or a salad.

It was in Gisenyi that I took my first Bicycle Boda Boda*. The whole experience was somewhat analogous to a king on a palanquin as I sat leisurely on the back of the bike watching the driver peddle his single-speed transmission up the road. An interesting experience appropriate for trips consisting mostly of downhills when you are not in any rush at all.

The next day kicked off with a more traditional Moto trip to the DRC border where we were to liaise with Rogers, our resident border control expert. He directed us through to Congolese immigration where we were put through a brief “interview” consisting of very few words, some awkward stares and a surprise laser gun attack. This device was in fact an infrared thermometer. Nothing to worry about if you knew what was happening but the Congo border staff aren’t particularly good communicators and tend to spring the device on you without warning as if they are playing laser-tag.

After surviving border control, we were escorted to our transport vehicle which was to take us into the park. The road slowly deteriorated as we moved further and further from the city till we were driving on nothing more than a pile of rocks. Considering the poor road quality, Shea and I were surprised to discover it was in fact a toll road when two men with AK-47s stopped the car to demand payment of $40. This seemed a bit unfair but my mom taught me not to argue with anyone armed with a semi-automatic assault rifle so we refrained from making a fuss. The poor road quality was no deterrent to the locals who cruised down the hill past us on their home-made wooden bicycles, known as Chukudus. These devices are the carthorses of the Congo, used to transport everything from sugar cane to charcoal to people. The most impressive sighting of the trip; six people squashed onto a single bike.

Driving through the Congo is a bit like being in a scene from a 1940’s version of the movie Rambo. UN soldiers and bases are everywhere, choppers fly overhead regularly, the buildings all look neglected, there doesn’t appear to be any electricity anywhere and there are almost no vehicles on the road. We passed the South African UN military base at one point. I waved. They didn’t wave back.

We met up with two friends at the base of the volcano, Joe and Miraj, who we had first come into contact with at the pool party in Kigali. The four of us were guided up the mountain by two extremely friendly, AK-47 wielding, gentlemen named Esparo and Paul. The hike proved to be a great workout with a climb of 1,500m in only 8km. In order to get to the peak you track the path taken by the lava flow from the previous eruption in 2002. It’s hard to imagine that the lush bush through which we were trekking was at one point burnt to a crisp. The eruption itself resulted in the destruction of 30% of the city of Goma, over 15km away, with the lava travelling at speeds of up to 60km/h [1].

We reached the top of the volcano in the middle of a down-pour and huddled into the cabins to thaw. An hour or two later the weather cleared and we were able to see the bubbling lava, a truly epic sight. Naturally we had to take a selfie.

Dinner was a delicious basil pesto spaghetti with chorizo lovingly prepared by head chef Shea. When it came time to dig in we realized we had diligently packed everything needed to cook the meal but none of the cutlery required to actually eat it. I’m not sure if you’ve ever attempted to eat spaghetti with a spoon but it is definitely sub-optimal.

The next day we awoke inside a cloud with less than 5m visibility and no chance of an early morning lava viewing. We sent up a quick thank you to the volcano gods for the clear weather the evening before and headed back down. The loose gravel along the path made the trip back significantly more treacherous than the previous day’s hike up. At one point Joe landed his stride on a particularly loose spot and managed at least four full tumble turns down the side of the mountain before sliding to a halt. This prompted Shea’s adoption of a rather creative walking technique to avoid a similar fate. This patented hiking style known as “Crouching Tiger, Sliding Rock” consists of a series of bunny-hop-like rotational strides followed in quick succession by a bos-kak** style squat for stability. In his defense, in spite of losing a significant amount of self-dignity, Shea did not lose grip once. I on the other hand came well short and nearly fractured my coccyx.

On arrival at the bottom of the volcano we were informed that our payment for the volcano hike was not yet reflecting in the tour company’s account. Our guide informed us that we would be taken on a detour to Goma to enjoy some local food instead of heading directly to the border as planned. We enjoyed a rather delicious hostage buffet before negotiating an arrangement to pay for the tour in cash and then collect a refund from their accountant across the border in Rwanda. After scratching together enough dollars to secure our freedom we were allowed to pass safely back across the border where we both took a huge sigh of relief, hugged, high-fived, fist-pumped and made loud “woo” noises before jumping on a Moto back to Gisenyi to put the DRC flag sticker on the car.

*The terms “Moto” and “Boda Boda” are used in Rwanda and Uganda, respectively, to refer to motorcycle taxis.
**An Afrikaans term directly translating to “bush poop”.

After cruising the empty rural stretches of western Tanzania, crossing the border into Rwanda provided a stark contrast. People were everywhere! Pedestrians and bicycles were filling every conceivable gap on the side of the road. Known as the Land of 1000 Hills, Ross and I are considering a re-branding campaign to make it the “Land of Excessive Pedestrians and Bicycles in the Roadway.” The 156km between the Rusumo Border Crossing and Kigali had a speed limit of 40kph, and determined to not get another traffic fine that week, I made Ross drive most of the 3.5 hours. It was a joy and relief to climb out of the car in Kigali at Discover Rwanda to a stocked bar of cold beers waiting.

Managed by Aegis Trust, an NGO and charity which manages the Rwanda Genocide Memorial and Museum, all proceeds from the hostel go back into supporting those impacted by the 1994 genocide. We visited the memorial museum the day after our arrival and found it informative yet distressing. Hutu and Tutsi labels are not used anymore with all citizens referring to themselves as Rwandan only. The museum explains that this distinction was not ethnic, tribal or language based but instituted by the original European colonizers deeming anyone with less than 10 cows as Hutu while wealthy cow rich natives became Tutsi thus codifying economic classes into “distinct” ethnic groups. It is confusing, shocking and heartbreaking that hatred, murder and “ethnic” cleansing was only 100 years in the making.

After the museum we desperately needed a positive energy boost. Fortunately through a Dubai connection, we networked our way into a Thursday night gathering at the Inema Arts Center. Packed with mostly expats drawn to a happy hour of buy one get one free beer, we met a plethora of interesting people ranging from business school interns at various NGO projects to entrepreneurs who have relocated to Rwanda from Finland, United States and South Africa (to name a few) to start and grow businesses. It was a fun and inspiring night to be around creative, smart and interesting people. The party only stopped due to load shedding but sufficient levels of beer-induced euphoria meant we braved our first non-traditional taxi’s home.

The original plan was to depart Kigali for additional Rwanda exploring on Friday but having met so many interesting people on Thursday night, we couldn’t turn down the chance to attend a Saturday private villa pool party we had been invited too. Ross spent Saturday writing essays for b-school admissions and scholarships while I chatted up four cute veterinary students from Vets Without Borders at the hostel. As a lover* of all animals, it became imperative they these four ladies join us. As pool parties go, it was pretty typical and everyone was having a fun time and it was no surprise when 40+ people determined it was time to head for dinner at the trendiest Kigali supper club. Drinks were flowing, food ordered and dancing had started when the surge of suited up security detail entered the restaurant and the staff suddenly became much more serious putting an end to our dance party. It turned out, we had stumbled our way into the exact same supper club that Rwanda President Paul Kagame was to dine out that evening. Our evening continued somewhat less conspicuously after he arrived but it was still a great night and gave us pause about ever leaving Kigali.

*those who know me, know this to be

With the trio down to two after dropping April at the Mbeya Airport, it seemed prudent to work through our grief on the road. We planned to leave early the next morning driving up the west side of the country along the east coast of Lake Tanganyika. It was a short 1,250 kilometers so the plan was to camp one night at the top of Katavi National Park and another night on the lake in Kigoma.

The plan pretty much worked. The roads were horrendous but Bubbles endured. The hardest part was keeping her within the legal limits when we actually hit tarmac. Despite our best efforts, we suffered two setbacks which we could not talk our way out of.

Following our mom’s advice, we will not say anything else about Tanzania.

After a day or two of recovery I was back on my feet and we were off north to collect April from the airport in Lilongwe. In addition to the usual scattering of roadblocks, we were waved down by a friendly Police officer who we soon realized was attempting to hitch hike.

After collecting April from the airport we headed through to Mayoka Village, a beautiful little spot on the water’s edge. Great for a few days of relaxation and pretty affordable if you’re willing to be a shameless freeloader and take advantage of all the freebies.

We enjoyed more than a couple great meals in Nkhata Bay. Our favorite: a tiny Indian spot named “Takeaway Palace”. The restaurant is run by one guy simultaneously acting as the waiter, head chef and owner. Food preparation time is around two hours but it’s well worth the wait. If the president is in town the restaurant is closed because there are too many orders.

We took a two day respite from Mayoka to visit Zulunkhuni Lodge in Northern Malawi. It’s a three hour boat trip to get to the lodge which is inaccessible by road. The blurb reads as follows: “Imagine paradise. Now imagine staying in the lap of luxury, with your every need catered for…” except if your needs include clean sheets, windows, electricity or meat. A beautiful spot but not the best lodging experience.

We grabbed a delicious “Korean style” lunch at Joy’s Place Backpackers in Mzuzu, on our way out of Nkhata Bay. The next stop was Mushroom Farm; an all vegetarian, eco-friendly, yoga-centric, one-love, hippie retreat up in the hills of northern Malawi. This gem of a spot lies behind some of the worst roads we have driven to date. The front shock on the car was bust by the time we got to the final stretch, making it a particularly slow one hour ascent up the 5km long mountain pass. Equally as remote as Zulunkhuni, Mushroom Farm is night and day in comparison. Clean sheets, incredible food and breathtaking views. A great spot to sit and relax for a few days.

April’s visit was over all too soon as we headed into Tanzania to drop her off for her flight back to Johannesburg. We arrived at Mbeya Airport in good time only to find a distinct lack of planes, buildings or a runway. Instead we were greeted by a long stretch of dirt occupied by a handful of kids playing soccer. After some back and forth with the airline we realized that her flight was actually leaving from a different airport with a completely different name to the one on April’s ticket, located an hour north of Mbeya. We made it, but only just.

Some things just don’t translate well across languages. Store signage in particular has been a source of much amusement. Aside from the usual combination of inappropriate religious references and obsessive use of the word “uncle”, we’ve come across the “FOMO Children’s Hospital” and a personal favorite of mine: “Difficult to Understand Investments”.

After a super few days at Cape Maclear we intended to rise early and hit the road for Mount Mulanje for a few days of mountain hiking. Ross had not been feeling well starting the night before and because he had been paranoid about malaria since we left Gaborone he thought that while waiting for me to pay the breakfast bill it was time for him to self-administer a malaria test. This process includes pricking your finger to draw blood. I turned around from paying the bill to find him passed out in a cold sweat on the couch.

Once I finished laughing, I helped him into a sitting position and proceeded to join in the activity of pricking Ross’s fingers. We ran out of finger space without successfully drawing enough blood for the test but decided to run it anyway with the few drops we had. It came back negative so we hit the road. We meandered southward on lake Malawi passing small towns and villages as often as Ross passed in and out of cold sweats and hot chills. It wasn’t until we were close to Blantyre that I noticed he had come out of his torpor enough to google the closest hospital and update our mapping app to send us that way.

After consulting a doctor, Ross gave more blood and we went to find food while waiting for the results to come in. Blantyre is not an epicure’s paradise so we settled for Hong Kong Chinese Restaurant hoping for the best. My food was terrible but not as bad as Ross’s. It had him in the bathroom puking after only a few bites. Maybe he had Malaria after all? We headed back to the hospital and though he was still negative for malaria, blood test confirmed an elevated white blood count which meant malaria or something worse was headed his way so best to start the malaria treatment antibiotics right away.

Blantyre was a forty-five-minute drive from Mulanje so we pressed on to make camp and prepare for his recovery. Twenty minutes into the drive Ross signaled to stop the car, he was going to be ill. He managed to get the window down so none of the violence erupted inside the car but he was chundering away as I slowed from 80 down to 0. Only when I came to a complete stop with Ross hanging out the window heaving his last did I have a chance to take in our surroundings. It’s important to note that roads in Malawai are not wide and many shops and restaurants are 2-3 meters away from the road. So as Ross appeared to collapse the top half of his body out the window to rid any remaining fluids in his body out the window, I focused on the cacophony of laughter and shouting that was coming from the passenger side of the car. We had stopped right in front of a local pub where 15-20 locals were enjoying Sunday afternoon beers.

They were shouting, laughing and taking pictures of Ross’s vomit violence out the window. Once it was apparent Ross was done, they swarmed the car to tell us Ross probably had Malaria and we should go to the hospital. They became more and more boisterous (on the verge of a drunken but still peaceful mob) as I declined multiple offers to buy them beers as recompense for puking outside their bar – as if none of them had ever done it!! I did exit the car to use one of our large canteens of water to start washing the puke off the street front of their pub. The owner thanked me and we were finally able to get on our way.

At Mt. Mulanje, with Ross in a delirium and me anxious about the rain, I set up the tent and we settled in to hibernate and wait out the malaria. I had a nice three days to read books, drink coffee and experiment with some of the food supplies we had bought on the road. Meanwhile, Ross just slept.

The plan was a 12 hour, 750 km drive from Kiambi Lodge on the lower Zambezi to Crocodile Valley in the South Luangwa National Park. The first 2/3 of the drive on mostly smooth tarmac roads went as planned and it was a pleasure to see the hills and valleys of the beautiful Zambian countryside. Our navigating app had done wonders on the unmarked roads of Chobe and the route to South Luangwa was clearly outlined with towns and villages to pass along the way.

With 250km remaining, we turned off the tarmac of Great East Road at the town of Petauke and followed our map app over mostly dirt roads for another 50km. The small demotion to the level of our comfort from the dirt road and occasional potholes was readily accepted as it meant we were getting closer to the National Park, our campsite, and dinner. But with 200kms to go, suffice to say we were surprised when the mostly smooth dirt road turned into separate tracks with grass and shrubbery in the middle. It is important at this point to mention Ross and I are both familiar with the sunk cost fallacy and both believed our logical minds would help us evade losses during the trip.

Suffice to say the road did not improve as we continued. Double dirt tracks deteriorated into a wide motorcycle track which turned into a smaller bicycle track which eventually turned into a pedestrian walking trail. Surrounded by tall grass, reeds and sugarcane at one point, we could see no road at all and as I drove straight through the bush Ross gave readings from the navigation app every 10 seconds.

Fortunately for us, Bubbles handled the situation like a champion and we pushed through the bush and found an actual road. Ten minutes later, we were rewarded with some juvenile lions playing on the side of the road. It seems we had entered South Luangwa National Park through little used “road” and now had 70km of night time game driving to arrive to our campsite. We soon saw plenty of game as the “road” through the park was mostly passable. Just when we thought the worst was over, Bubbles sprang a leak in the front driver side tire. Tired and ready for bed, I suggested we camp on the road. Unlike me, Ross was not scared of the dark or animals and soon we were out of the car changing the tire.

Tire changed and 25km to go, we carried on and were shortly rewarded with seeing BIG CATS! Two lions lounging by the side of the road. It was fantastic to see them in the wild and from the safety of inside the car. After some pictures we got going and finally arrived to Crocodile Valley Camp. It was a short 17 hour journey and we were glad it was over.

After some great game viewing in South Luangwa the time came to leave Zambia. We found a great lunch spot on the way out, recommended to us by a Petrol attendant. Baobab Cuisine treated us to a distinctly local lunch of chicken, beans and pap with a side of rape. A member of the cabbage family, rapeseed is a vegetable the Zambian’s do particularly well. Commonly abbreviated to “rape” on practically every restaurant menu, the veggie has a habit of provoking terribly inappropriate jokes. Our food was not accompanied by any napkins, only a little bucket of water in the corner of the room for hand-washing, and when I queried about cutlery I got nothing but a confused stare in response.

The change is clearly apparent once you cross over the Malawi border. Cars and motorcycles all but disappear, replaced by bicycles carrying everything from maize meal to the entire annual harvest. It is utterly absurd what people decide they can fit on the back of two wheels. My personal favorites…

1. Twelve canisters of petrol.
2. A mine cart worth of coal.
3. 2m long sticks of sugar cane.
4. A cluster of palm trees.
5. A front door.
6. Enough grass to thatch a house.
7. Human cargo (as in pedal-powered taxis).

After a night hanging out with the locals in Lilongwe we headed through to Monkey Bay. Our first stop was Mufasa’s Eco Lodge where we said goodbye to our new friend, Asahi. He had organised a one month job at the lodge before continuing with his travels. We’ve come to learn that the term “Eco Lodge” in Africa often acts as a disclaimer that loosely translates to: We don’t adhere to proper building standards, we don’t have electricity and you can expect to poop in a hole in the ground. This is all sold under the guise of “caring for the environment”. Mufasa’s was true to this stereotype with architecture that reminded me of the kind of structures I built in beach sand as a six year old.

We were famished when we arrived and asked at the restaurant about quick lunch options. The chef eagerly informed us that if we ordered immediately he could put something together for us in under two hours. After about a minute of awkward silence Shea and I recovered from shock and rephrased the question to “what can you make in under 30 minutes”. Mr Chef had a think and proudly announced “Toast!”.

Base camp for our time in Monkey Bay was a spot called Mgoza Lodge. It turned out to be the perfect compromise between luxury and price with a pool and a great little restaurant specializing in goat burgers and freshly squeezed passion fruit juice. We bumped into some old friends, Paul and Josie, and joined them for dinner at a restaurant owned by “Snoop Dogg”. The food took ages (to be expected when you are using that many herbs in the kitchen) but it turned out to be worth the wait. Dinner was followed by a drum circle around the beach fire, a great way to settle the stomach. The rest of our stay at Mgoza was a combination of boat trips, fish eagle feeding, kayak paddling and swimming punctuated by beer, wine and gin and tonic. The tonic proved particularly difficult to source with Shea placing an order for said beverage at 11am on one day only to receive the beverage in question at 4:30pm due to a chronic tonic water shortage in the area. Contrary to popular belief drinking water is still an issue in Malawi, especially if your drink is gin and tonic.

We headed next to the Lower Zambezi to connect with an old family friend at Kiambi Safaris Lodge. Across the river from the famous Mana Pools, the area is renowned for its untouched natural beauty. The resort turned out to be a great spot to kick back and relax for a few days.

Our adventures at Kiambi included a boat trip up-river to visit a baby hippo which the staff had rescued a few weeks earlier. The little guy was found tumbling down the river in the current, umbilical cord still attached. One of the cutest things you will ever see. Difficult to believe they kill nearly 3,000 people per year [1].

The last two days at Kiambi were spent on a two day canoe trip. At first a bit skeptical about our paddling fitness, Shea and I were relieved to discover that the entire trip was downstream with a boat tow back to the lodge at the end. In spite of Shea’s questionable navigation skills (he steered us directly into a croc at one stage) we completed day one and two unscathed. The night was spent on a sand bank accompanied by a hippo concerto and more stars than you have seen in your life.

We forgot to mention in the last update that before Leaving Livingstone we were faced with a choice, a.) drive up the road to Lusaka for 8-10 hours or b.) find a scenic campground half-way down the road and watch the sun go down over Lake Kariba. Being the adventurous type, we found a spot on the map that could have been nothing short of the best possible wild campsite anywhere in Zambia. And so 2/3 of the way to Lusaka we turned off the main road and headed to our dream camp site.

When we drove past the final village structure and arrived at the beach front, even in the dark we knew it was a great spot. To ensure that it was okay for us to camp there, we drove back up the road to the first house we found to ask the locals regarding camping on the beach. As we entered the driveway we understood it to be an inn and a small crowd seemed to be waiting for us in the driveway. The first person we met was the village Constable. He was incredibly drunk and overjoyed to meet us. He welcomed us to Kariba Peninsula Village Inn and confirmed it was a great place to stay. The proprietor said we could all have rooms and she was clearly disappointed when we only wanted to camp in her driveway. We asked about camping down by the beach and a friend of the proprietors piped up “you don’t want to stay down there, traders are coming in and out all night”. Always curious about any commercial activity we encounter, Ross and I both started asking questions about the trade involved. He curiously shifted to saying the fisherman would be arriving really early in the morning and it would wake us up. We countered saying that we wanted to wake up early and take sunrise photos anyways and then I asked specifically if the traders are coming from Zimbabwe. He reiterated that “the fisherman arrive early” and solemnly said, “you really don’t want to sleep down there”. The camping location seemed settled.

Indeed, as we carried on with making dinner, organizing tents and going about our camping business, loaded trucks started arriving. As the night wore on, trucks continued to come and go about as regular as the Zambezi Ferry Service at Kazungula Border Post. If the business was fishing, business seemed to be good. We woke before sunrise and drove down to the beach. Besides the heavy tire tracks on the road, there was no sign of all the trucks we had heard all night.

With the sun mostly up and the bright day around us, we started loading into the car and begin the drive to Lusaka. We met some men walking down to the beach as we were about to pull away. They were fisherman, preparing to start their day.

*We are not alleging that smuggling was taking place between Zambia and Zimbabwe at this location on this evening. We do not even know what goods would be profitable to move between these two countries in an unregulated and dangerous fashion. It is not our intent to disparage the inhabitants of this village or their friendly constable. We accept no responsibility for the accuracy of our assessment.
** We neither witnessed nor received any solicitations for services.