A little overdue this entry. Partly because i was on a none stop riding mission through Angola and partly because I've been taking it easy here in Namibia in the knowledge that the hard part of the trip is over. I did however write some stuff over the last couple of weeks which i will get get down here.

Democratic Republic of Congo/DRC/Zaire/Belgium Congo

The sight of a UN peace keeping force is reassuring, but not really a good sign. Dotted around Kinshassa blue berretted soldiers packed into the back of big white trucks and convoys of brand new UN Land Cruisers patrolled the streets. I saw no signs of any trouble and my 4 days in this country were fairly uneventfull.

I had said farewell to Tom and Laura that morning. Repairs to their Nissan were taking longer than planned and with the weekend coming up could have gone into the following week. On the basis that I could be in Namibia in a weeks time i decided to go it alone. A decision i regretted more than once over the following week.

Travelling with other like minded people is certainly more relaxing and more fun. Chatting about the days events over a beer and meal in the evening is definitely a nice way to end the day. Ive never cared for much for eating alone in the evening. And its been great having tom around to assist in making impromptu repairs to the bike by the roadside. However, when its just me and the bike, riding into a new country or a dropping into a new landscape the feeling is so much more liberating. I also interact with a lot more with the local people when alone. In short i guess it smooths out the peaks and the troughs

The journey from Brazzaville (Congo) to Kinshasa (DRC) is a short ferry ride across the Congo River and for me was a jolt back into chaotic stressful side of African travel. The immigration official was angry and unhelpful, the ticketing system for the ferry was totally confusing and as i was struggling to get the bike down some steep steps on to the boat some guy was screaming at me that i had only paid for the bike and not myself, despite having a wad of six different tickets in my hand.

Getting off on the other side was no better. Rather than heading to some customs and immigration buildings (or even an outside desk) to sort out the formalities, a policeman demanded my passport before i was off the boat and casually flicked through it standing on the slatted floor of the jetty as people shoved past. I was petrified of him dropping it into the river below. At the same time another chap demanded the Carnet for the bike and someone else my yellow fever certificate. Utter chaos.

The drive across DRC was uneventful and that evening i was at Matadi on the Angolan border. Packing and loading the following morning i started to feel nervous about the days ahead. I had learnt only a few phrases of Portuguese (my efforts to find a dictionary or phrasebook had failed) and i didn't have a guide book (only 4 pages photocopied from an old lonely planet for the whole of Africa). I wished i had waited for Tom and Laura.

I needn't have worried, well not that day anyway. I got the border to learn that i needed to get my Angolan visa at the consulate in town and not at the border as i was planning to do. It was Saturday and they would be closed till Monday.

Angola

On the Monday I walked away with my 5 day transit visa after 2 hours at the Angolan consulate answering relevant questions such as:

“Does your mother have any brothers and sisters?”
“yes”
“Which countries do they live in?” etc

5 days to cover the 1,600km. A tough call but possible. I had read reports of people driving from dawn till dusk and making it so i wanted to give it my best shot.

The roads in northern Angola were as bad as Congo, though fortunately not as wet. It was evident that few cars came up this far- grass grew in between the tyre tracks and i only saw one other vehicle on that first day. The fist night i spent at the Catholic Mission in Tomboco. Gustav, the Mexican priest invited me to sleep at his house and i dinned with him and 5 Angolan nuns- all a bit surreal given my lack of Portuguese and their lack of English, but amusing all the same after having tucked into Gustav’s scotch before dinner.

The second night i camped in the car park of the sailing club in Luanda, the capital. I arrived after being on the road for 11 hours and as soon as i stopped felt overcome with tiredness and just sat next to the bike trying to summon up the energy to put up my tent. It was a beautiful spot though, on the other side of the bay to the main city with views across the water to the high rise offices of the CBD.

It was when i took a shower that the shivers started. Followed by a thumping headache and a slight fever. I hoped it was just fatigue and nothing worse. In the morning, after poor nights sleep, i was drenched in sweat too. Classic malaria symptoms. This is not the country i wanted to get Malaria in and i thought about just setting off and trying to get to Namibia before i felt too bad, but everything i’d read about malaria indicated that early treatment is key to a quick recovery so i dragged myself off to the clinic for a blood test. I was relieved that when it came back negative, so i left town and continued south.

Lack of available fuel, two punctures, grinding rear wheel bearings and a sinking fuel tank hampered progress but on the 6th day i crossed into Namibia. Into civilisation.

I had three days in Etosha national park with Wilfred, Thomas, Claudia and little Leon (pic at the top) whilst my bike had some work done on it at the garage in town. They had arived in Namibia a week before me also having driven from Europe so it was good to exchange some stories.

In half an hour Wilfred in his Land Cruiser and me on the bike will head to the remote north west of Namibia for a few days. I then need to get to get Windhoek to buy some warm clothes (yes it gets really cold here at nights) and straighten the flat spots out of my front wheel.