Answers to questions we get about car maintenance, which spares to bring, fuel economy, sponsoring, how to get out of North-East Africa, travel budgets and third party insurance.
How do you maintain your car?
First step: before talking about maintenance it is important to know how to use the vehicle beforeyou use it. By knowing the limits of your vehicle and how to adjust it to the right road conditions at the right time (speed, tire pressure, 4×4 settings, reading the track ahead), you will avoid a lot of unnecessary damage. A 4×4 course might be a useful, rewarding investment when you plan to drive to remote places. By walking around the car on a regular basis checking bolts and nuts and checking for sounds while driving, you are more likely to recognize and locate issues in an earlier stage. To keep maintenance easy, prevent corrosion and stop filters from getting rusty and stuck, remove/replace them frequently and rinse your car from top to bottom with fresh water after it has been in contact with salt water.
We service the car by doing an oil change, including filter roughly every 5k. The recommendations on this topic vary a little, but my experience is that you’re good as long as you stay within the ratio of 5-10K. I grease the car on a slightly more regular basis than that I change the oil, just like the air filter. I check and clean the air filter, depending on the road conditions and things like dust, sand, water, salt. You do this by removing the filter and blowing air into it from the inside to the outside with a compressor. As soon as you see that the amount of dust leaving the filter diminishes, you can fit the filter back in its position. Fuel filters we change around 35K. Fuel filters can go much longer though, especially running a dual filter system. In Africa we found they are only being changed when experiencing problems. Problems vary from difficulties with starting to white smoke. Wheel bearings will easily last you up to 100.000 km, so keep this in mind and change those before going on a big trip! Tire rotation is a useful thing to do if you like your tires to last.
You will save costs by doing all of this yourself, but when doing this make sure that every drop of oil spilt or not disposed of in the right way will pollute 100 liters of water! So, please dispose wisely.
Which spares and tools to bring?
When thinking about which spares and tools to bring, remember the urge to over-pack is strong! On a big travel you will always find people who are willing to help. Through trial and error, these are the spares and tools that we would bring on a long trip (specified for our 78 series Land cruiser)
Spares:
Belt kit, replace bearing kit, full radiator hoses and heater kit, oil filter, fuel filters (working with a duel filter system), air filter, 1 liter of engine oil,1 liter of gearbox oil, 1 liter diff oil, fuses, lightbulbs (for all lights). When running tubes: inner tube (and repair set).
Tools:
Full wrench and socket kit (including the size for your wheel nuts), long arm flexible handle or sliding T bar with long extension, bottle jack, hi-lift jack (make sure you have proper jacking points fitted), small kit with screwdrivers and pliers, long tire levers (for split rims), duck tape/electrical tape, small hand size grease gun, cable ties, hose clamps (different sizes)
What is your fuel economy?
All throughout our travels we’ve been keeping a close eye on our fuel consumption. It obviously depends on whether we’ve been 4wding or driving on tarmac, but our average is: between 1L : 7-8 KM // 13L : 100KM
How to get sponsored?
Occasionally we receive questions about how to get sponsors or how to gain or work with sponsors.
The truth is that working with and finding support is pretty tough. I don’t have the key for succes. You’ll need to look at yourself and what it is you’re doing and ask how could this would benefit a potential sponsor. Start with doing research on a potential brand, see how their marketing is done and come up with a plan how working with you could benefit this brand. Knowing people helps! Look around you ,friends are almost more willing to help. Pitch your plan, review your ideas and try to get them and their network to help. Work hard, follow up and don’t give up!
We have been lucky enough to have had support from some amazing brands over the years. This resume helps. You are the commodity. While traveling you are the brand. Work on your social media, get published and keep working on building a strong identity which you’re not afraid to put out there.
For instance: “I started documenting travels in 2010, I’m active on social media and control different social media channels, I am a photographer, worked with some known brands, have been published in national and international press, keep a well maintained up to date website, I work as an ambassador for respected brands while being on a unique overland travel people dream of, but don’t often undertake”.
What I’m saying is that you’ll have to big yourself up and believe in what you’re doing. Your drive should be your love and passion for what you’re doing, if you’re on the right track succes will be the after effect.
How to get out of North Africa when following the East Coast up?
When you follow the East Coast of Africa and go north, you will probably end up in Egypt. And then what…. Nowadays, there are not a lot of options to get out of this vast continent and we have tried to explore all options thoroughly.
Terms explained:
POD = Port Of Destination
POL = Port Of Loading
THC = Terminal Handling Charges
1. Shipping RoRo from Egypt. Which means getting our car on a carrier vessel sailing from Alexandria to Greece or Cyprus. Shipping companies are either Grimaldi or Neptune and usually overlanders use CFS as their agent. They are expensive, but tend to have the most hassle free results as far as we know. Passengers are not allowed to board roro vessel from Alexandria.
Pros: quick, fairly simple
Cons: expensive, unsafe, no control over loading and discharging process. You cannot board on this vessel and will have to fly from Cairo to the destination of choice. When shipping to Cyprus, the ferry to Turkey needs to be added to the costs.
Freight Grimaldi USD 300,- (booked directly with Grimaldi and not through CFS)
THC Egypt USD 90,-
Customs and handeling CFS USD 600,-
Total Price: USD 990,-
2. Crossing the Sinai desert from Egypt to Israel and ship from Israel RoRo to Salerno, Italy with Grimaldi. Passengers are allowed to board roro vessel. (check if your Green Card Insurance covers Israel!)
Pros: quick, simple (to leave Israel) and you can join the car on the vessel.
Cons: expensive and getting a permit to cross the Sinai with a 4×4 is uncertain and a long process.
Freight Grimaldi USD 625,-
THC USD 30 ,-
Customs and handeling USD 350,-
Total Price: USD 1005,-.
( + 2 Passengers on vessel. USD 395,- )
3. Shipping in a container from any port in Egypt to Turkey, Greece, Cyprus or Italy. Price will depend on port of destination and choice of container. Option 1: 20ft Container fits one car, Option 2: 40ft container, will fit 2, Option 3: 40ft High cube, will fit most 4×4 with rooftop tent on the roof.
Pros: Cheap, safe and wide choice in destinations
Cons: complicated and time consuming process
Freight 40ft dry HC USD 450,-
POL THC including: customs and handeling USD 350,-
POD THC USD 250,-
POD handling, USD 190,-
POD Custom clearance USD 150,-
(Cost of arriving port will vary.)
Total Price: USD 1390,-
(POD prices are based on shipping to Mersin, Turkey.)
In the end we chose option nr. 3. We met fellow travellers in Tanzania who we kept in touch with and later on we traveled Ethiopia, Sudan and Egypt together. We decided to ship our cars together in a 40 ft High Cube container from Damietta, Egypt to Mersin, Turkey.
We chose Damietta because the harbour is smaller and a little less bureaucratic than the other Egyptian ports and Mersin so we could travel most of Turkey still.
For us it has been a challenge finding the right people in the right positions and we experienced a big language barrier, especially in Turkey. Know that shipping in a container can be an adventure in itself!
! Please, don’t take these prices for granted, they are just meant to be a rough guideline to assist you on your way to Europe. Before shipping make sure you receive all the prices and costs in advance and have these confirmed by mail by your agent. This information and these shipping terms might help you prepare and avoid additional costs !
If you have shipped on this route yourself and you have an addition to the costs we published please send them to us so we can keep information as correct and up to date as possible.
What is your budget?
We often get the question how much it will cost to travel for such a long time. Usually overland travellers will budget around 50 euros a day for two people and a car through Africa.
These costs include: fuel, accommodation, visas, car maintenance, groceries, car insurance, sim cards/internet.
These costs exclude: shipping, buying and equipping a vehicle, health care, travel insurance.
We usually spend between 35 and 40 euros a day for two people. Some countries are obviously more expensive than others and we travelled more on a budget than most overlanders.
Some good information about budgets and traveling through Africa:
http://norbertsadventures.com/preparations/budget/
How about Insurance?
South and East Africa + Europe:
In most countries you need a third party insurance at least. There are two ways to go when traveling through Africa and Europe:
get an insurance that covers you for all the countries in Africa/Europe
Buy insurance at the border.
Option 1 can be arranged by Alessie. (http://alessie.com/index.htm)
Africa/Europe 8 months: € 994,-
Africa/Europe 7 months: € 889,-
Africa 5 months: € 679,-
Europe 2 months: € 364,-
(quoted to us by Alessie July 2015 for a 2001 Toyota Landcruiser)
Option 2 is definitely the cheaper one.
Africa:
Most countries in the Southern part of Africa sell third party insurance at the border.
By the time you get to Zimbabwe or Zambia there is the option to buy a Comesa Yellow Card insurance. It works the same as the Green Card in Europe and it covers you all the way up to Sudan. We got our Yellow Card in Zambia and it works as follows:
You get your third party insurance for Zambia at the border. You then have to go the insurance company that sold you the third party insurance to be able to get the Comesa Insurance.
Your Comesa will start in the next country and works on top of your Zambian insurance, so you will have to extend your Zambian insurance for the period you want your Comesa.
There is a price difference up till 4 countries I believe, after that it is all the same price, so thick as many boxes as you possibly intend of driving through.
And yes, it says that it is valid in Egypt, but no, they will probably not accept it at the border…..
Turkey:
If you are traveling with a non European car like us, you will either have to have a Green Card insurance (including the Asian part of Turkey) or buy a separate third party insurance for Turkey.
Green Card for non European car: cheapest offer we found was with Tourinsure who quoted us 295 euros for 2 months. Turkish third party insurance: 70 euros for one month.
Europe:
When driving from Turkey to Bulgaria you can buy Green Card Insurance at the border: 70 euros for 3 months.
Do you also hate to peel a pineapple? The skin is too hard, can be very sharp and it is a hell of a job to get through it in the first place. When you finally succeed to get the fruit out of its shell, you will have this delicious piece of pineapple.
The comparison is maybe a bit strange, but to us traveling through Sudan is a bit the same. It seems like a hard shell: an inaccessible, very religious country at first glance and it is almost impossible to have no prejudices before entering. But when you do get to the core, it is an amazing experience. The warmth, friendliness and hospitality of the Sudani people knows no boundaries. You can read all about it in this blog.
But before you start to read, lets start with some background information. In 2015 Sudan was put on the OFAC list of the United States, because the US sees Sudan as a dangerous terrorist stronghold. This list blocks and stops all trade, development and support to a country. For us as independent travellers this meant that it was impossible for people in Sudan to visit our website and for us to update and upload it without using a VPN (Virtual Private Network).
During the last few weeks all eyes were on Trump and his new policy that prevents people from certain islamic countries to travel to the US, and one of them is Sudan.
Earlier on we have already blogged about our Sudan adventures to give our readers an impression of what it is like to travel here. For the people in Sudan it is important that travellers tell about the real Sudan. So in this last write-up on Sudan we will tell you some more tales on what makes it so special to travel through this country.
Sudan is dry, it is NOT not beautiful, it is NOT not interesting, but it is very, very dry. On our journey we follow the Nile. The Nile is one of the, maybe even the longest river in the world which starts as the White Nile in Lake Victoria, Uganda and as the Blue Nile in Lake Tana, Ethiopia. In Khartoum, Sudan, these two rivers meet and become the Nile. The river zigzags through this African country like a life line. It brings life to the land.
The rain season in Rwanda and Uganda fills up the Nile and carries it all the way up to irrigate the countries in the north. Not until Sudan and later on Egypt do we begin to understand the value of this river. When you leave the Nile you will find yourself in between sand dunes, endless emptiness, clear starry skies, small nomadic villages and encampments of gold diggers. When you find you way back to the Nile there is life, green fields, markets, dates and hustle and bustle. Water is the lifeline through this country.
During our travels in Sudan we often get the question: Do you think we are terrorists?
A smile on the face of the person who asks this question makes it a bit more casual than it seems. “ No, I don’t think so” is our answer. “ A lot is happening in the world today and it doesn’t make the whole population terrorists. It would be unfair to tar everyone with the same brush. We love Sudan!” The person who asked the question looks relieved and satisfied. “What is the best thing about Sudan?” is his next question. “ the hospitality and friendliness of the people!” is our immediate response.
In our first days in Sudan we are a bit careful and maybe also a little bit suspicious, but we find out pretty soon that Sudan is sincere. When we stop for a short break someone will offer us tea, when we sit down in a cafe, order something and ask for the bill we find out that the gentleman in the corner has already paid for us. When we take a stroll on the market to buy some tomatoes we are not allowed to pay, because “you are our guests.” Finding our way through the city on foot and asking for directions we are directly seated in someones car to take us to the right address. These are just a few examples of what we experienced in Sudan.
Thirsty, dusty and sweaty we arrive in Dongola. A man whose experience in life is written on his
face in deep lines, wearing a traditional white dress, welcomes us. “ Welcome my friends, welcome to Sudan”. He introduces himself as Kamal. Kamal is a farmer in Dongola and proud of what he does. Before he started farming he was a translator and that is why his English is good, but a little rusty. He invites us to the home of his brother in law where we get tea and typical Sudanese food. Kamal has a mission.
“I want to show you the real Sudan. Not the Sudan you know from the television, not what the media tries to tell you. I want to show you how we live, what we eat, what we do from day to day. Not polished or better than it is, I will show you “Sudan without make-up”
For the next two days Kamal and his brother in law take us to their families, we learn about traditional Sudanese houses, their different ways of life, we walk over the market where Kamal teaches us what to look for, we stroll down their farmlands and learn about dates, irrigation, pumps, water channels and the cooperation of the different people. We also have long conversations about believes and the cultural differences between our countries. We tell Kamal about the Netherlands and the way we deal with religion, marriage, alcohol, drugs and upbringing. He blinks his eyes once or twice when we tell him that it is possible for people of the same gender to get married and get or adopt children. Without immediately giving his opinion he listen to our stories in disbelief. Still, he somehow seems to understand and respect it, even though his preference clearly goes out to his own values which he got from his upbringing in Sudan.
We are very surprised when we get back to the house we are staying at on the second night to find that our host invited around 30 guests to celebrate us being there. Everyone gathers around on the ground, in front of the house on rugs especially laid down for all the guests. Large plates are brought from the kitchen to the front of the house to feed everyone. When we are introduced to some of the guests, all men, it turns out that they all come from the army base nearby and all have different ranks and positions within the military. We quickly get into a conversation with someone who speaks very well English and is a doctor, a gynecologist to be precise.
He invites us the next day for a tour around the hospital. We gladly accept the invitation since it is a good opportunity for us to hand out our last AfriPads to women who need it. Even though there are many women waiting for their appointment with the doctor, he drops what he is doing the moment we come in and listens to our information about the AfriPads. He promises to hand out the pads to women who he thinks can really use it. He also tells us about the government campaigns against female genital mutilation, a very important and good cause, because it is still something that is practiced throughout Sudan in the rural areas.
Just before we leave he invites us watch him perform a caesarean he is about to do. We look at each other, but decide to turn down this offer. Really, Sudanese hospitality is endless!
Parting with Kamal is hard for all of us. We would have loved to bring him along all through Sudan, but he says he has a family to take care of. We can see emotion in his eyes when we leave and he says: “ today is a sad day, because you are leaving. “
As rich as we are with this experience, as difficult it feels to part. We leave Dongola and turn right, following the train tracks into the desert.
It is late, too late actually when we finally approach the border. The sun started setting half an hour ago and if we have learned something from travelling Africa it is never to arrive at borders too late. This time this plan didn’t really work out and we decided to wing it. We drive through a busy street with shops, horses and park in between some donkeys. The first people to approach us are always the hasslers, fixers and money changers. We quickly push through and arrive at the customs office. A friendly young man on the Ethiopian side helps us out and clears our cars rather quickly. He wishes us a great travel and tells us to watch our backs in Sudan. This is not the first time someone tells me this. Somehow it happens quite often that people in the border area are not that fond of their next door neighbours.
When we arrive in Sudan we immediately feel welcome. A gentleman in a small dusty office sticks his hand through the window to receive our four passports. He goes through them quickly and stamps the entry visas before handing them back. Dusk has set in when we get out of the office and people point us in the direction of Customs, which looks abandoned and closed by the time we arrive. We’ve heard terrible stories about the Sudanese customs procedure and mentally prepare ourselves to have everything, and I mean everything, taken from our cars for inspection. We park in between pick ups set up to carry heavy military firearms.
When we walk in the place really looks abandoned and we are lucky finding someone in the back who speaks a little English. He immediately knows what we are there for and runs out to get his supervisor. We are put in an office to wait and are offered tea, coffee, softdrinks, water and everything else they know the English name of.
Ten minutes later a group of Customs officers arrive with the guy who received us up front. They quickly go through all the paperwork, take a quick look at the car, but more out of curiosity than actually inspecting it, offer us more tea and when we kindly thank them we are free to go.
We find our way out of town and after ten kilometers we take a strong right, off the tarmac and into the bush. For another 10 minutes we battle through bushes and sand until we find a nice riverbed to set up camp. After our Ethiopian wild camp experiences we find ourselves a bit worried. Before setting up the tents we walk around the cars in silence to see how many people are hidden behind the trees watching us. When after half hour, still no one has showed up, we are confident enough to set up camp. The next morning we are woken up by a large herd of cattle passing the riverbed just a couple of meters from our car, being led by a shepherd with a torch who has probably seen us, but takes no further notice of this odd set up.
Fully awake now, we pack up and get ready for a long drive all the way to Khartoum.
We get stopped at numerous roadblocks along the way where it is hardly possible to see the difference between an official police officer or an undercover police officer. We soon find out that we better respect them just as much and we hand out our passports every time we are being asked for it. It is late in the afternoon when we arrive in Khartoum and covered 500 km easy that day. Somehow Khartoum is an expensive place to stay. We looked for camping options and cheap hotels with parking, but nothing really came up. That leaves us only one option: the German Guesthouse. This place, obviously run by Germans, is a welcoming place for overlanders and offers the option to park (and camp) outside on the streets, while using the facilities of the hotel. For the next couple of days we really find ourselves living on the streets of Khartoum, and surprisingly enough our nights are really good.
During the evenings Sudanese people walk passed our car while we are cooking out on the streets and all they do is greet us, which to us is still mind blowing. After Ethiopia we are used to, even in seemingly deserted places, to have people come up to us, stand 3 meters from the car and stare at us like they are watching TV.
Over the next couple of days we spend way too much money on official documents, exchange our dollars for a very lucrative rate, have a great night at Papa Costa’s and experience Sufi dancing on a Sudanese cemetery.
We are happy to leave Khartoum and are heading northeast towards the Mussawarat and Naqa temples. In between we find a great wild campsite in a dry riverbed. We make some tea and soon find out we set up camp too close to a village and within no time we are surrounded by camels and locals. They finally leave when the sun sets and we manage to pack up before they return in the morning. An early start gets us to the Naqa temples and later the Meroe pyramids.
It feels really special camping next to monuments from around 2000 BC!
That evening we look out over the Meroe pyramids. It is a collection of almost a hundred pyramids and it is one of the most spectacular sites in Sudan. Every pyramid symbolizes a grave, so it can also be seen as a big cemetery. Most of the pyramids are missing their tops because of a 19th Century Italian archeologist who found gold in one of them. Early morning we visit the site and wander among these ancient buildings.
As soon as the temperature rises we get into our cars and head towards Karima. A small shack on the side of the road is our stop for breakfast. When we get out of the car we can smell the overwhelming Diesel fumes and there are big trucks parked everywhere around us. We find some plastic chairs and get a plate of Ful served. Ful is a typical Sudanese meal and consists of mashed overcooked beans with peanut oil served with flatbread. Not too interesting, but nutritious and combined with some fresh vegetables it can be made into a decent meal.
We are still traveling with our friends in their Landrover who are getting quite nervous when we find three fuel stations which are out of Diesel. By that time we covered over 330 km from Khartoum and we still had another 270 to go to the next town. Approximately 30 km before the nearest fuel station we find ourselves on the side of the road getting Diesel from our second tank into the Landrover for it to be able to make it.
We find a great camp spot next to the holy mountain of Jebel Barkal, which we climb in the morning. We decide to trade the desert for the Nile and camp directly next to it for the next night. After a quick swim with some locals we set up camp and we soon start to spot the first scorpions. The yellow Nile scorpions are small, but one of the most poisonous around. The mosquitoes and the scorpions make us get in our tents quite early and we drive to Old Dongola the next day.
A great desert track following the Nile of the west side, navigating through sand dunes and an oasis here and there takes us to Dongola. We are very much looking forward to Dongola. In Moroto, Uganda, we met a diplomat who insisted we stay with his family when visiting the Dongola area. An offer we can hardly refuse and are happy to take!
When we arrive in Sudan we immediately feel welcome. A gentleman in a small dusty office sticks his hand through the window to receive our four passports. He goes through them quickly and stamps the entry visas before handing them back. Dusk has set in when we get out of the office and people point us in the direction of Customs, which looks abandoned and closed by the time we arrive. We’ve heard terrible stories about the Sudanese customs procedure and mentally prepare ourselves to have everything, and I mean everything, taken from our cars for inspection. We park in between pick ups set up to carry heavy military firearms.
When we walk in the place really looks abandoned and we are lucky finding someone in the back who speaks a little English. He immediately knows what we are there for and runs out to get his supervisor. We are put in an office to wait and are offered tea, coffee, softdrinks, water and everything else they know the English name of.
Ten minutes later a group of Customs officers arrive with the guy who received us up front. They quickly go through all the paperwork, take a quick look at the car, but more out of curiosity than actually inspecting it, offer us more tea and when we kindly thank them we are free to go.
We find our way out of town and after ten kilometers we take a strong right, off the tarmac and into the bush. For another 10 minutes we battle through bushes and sand until we find a nice riverbed to set up camp. After our Ethiopian wild camp experiences we find ourselves a bit worried. Before setting up the tents we walk around the cars in silence to see how many people are hidden behind the trees watching us. When after half hour, still no one has showed up, we are confident enough to set up camp. The next morning we are woken up by a large herd of cattle passing the riverbed just a couple of meters from our car, being led by a shepherd with a torch who has probably seen us, but takes no further notice of this odd set up.
Fully awake now, we pack up and get ready for a long drive all the way to Khartoum.
We get stopped at numerous roadblocks along the way where it is hardly possible to see the difference between an official police officer or an undercover police officer. We soon find out that we better respect them just as much and we hand out our passports every time we are being asked for it. It is late in the afternoon when we arrive in Khartoum and covered 500 km easy that day. Somehow Khartoum is an expensive place to stay. We looked for camping options and cheap hotels with parking, but nothing really came up. That leaves us only one option: the German Guesthouse. This place, obviously run by Germans, is a welcoming place for overlanders and offers the option to park (and camp) outside on the streets, while using the facilities of the hotel. For the next couple of days we really find ourselves living on the streets of Khartoum, and surprisingly enough our nights are really good.
During the evenings Sudanese people walk passed our car while we are cooking out on the streets and all they do is greet us, which to us is still mind blowing. After Ethiopia we are used to, even in seemingly deserted places, to have people come up to us, stand 3 meters from the car and stare at us like they are watching TV.
Over the next couple of days we spend way too much money on official documents, exchange our dollars for a very lucrative rate, have a great night at Papa Costa’s and experience Sufi dancing on a Sudanese cemetery.
We are happy to leave Khartoum and are heading northeast towards the Mussawarat and Naqa temples. In between we find a great wild campsite in a dry riverbed. We make some tea and soon find out we set up camp too close to a village and within no time we are surrounded by camels and locals. They finally leave when the sun sets and we manage to pack up before they return in the morning. An early start gets us to the Naqa temples and later the Meroe pyramids.
It feels really special camping next to monuments from around 2000 BC!
That evening we look out over the Meroe pyramids. It is a collection of almost a hundred pyramids and it is one of the most spectacular sites in Sudan. Every pyramid symbolizes a grave, so it can also be seen as a big cemetery. Most of the pyramids are missing their tops because of a 19th Century Italian archeologist who found gold in one of them. Early morning we visit the site and wander among these ancient buildings.
As soon as the temperature rises we get into our cars and head towards Karima. A small shack on the side of the road is our stop for breakfast. When we get out of the car we can smell the overwhelming Diesel fumes and there are big trucks parked everywhere around us. We find some plastic chairs and get a plate of Ful served. Ful is a typical Sudanese meal and consists of mashed overcooked beans with peanut oil served with flatbread. Not too interesting, but nutritious and combined with some fresh vegetables it can be made into a decent meal.
We are still traveling with our friends in their Landrover who are getting quite nervous when we find three fuel stations which are out of Diesel. By that time we covered over 330 km from Khartoum and we still had another 270 to go to the next town. Approximately 30 km before the nearest fuel station we find ourselves on the side of the road getting Diesel from our second tank into the Landrover for it to be able to make it.
We find a great camp spot next to the holy mountain of Jebel Barkal, which we climb in the morning. We decide to trade the desert for the Nile and camp directly next to it for the next night. After a quick swim with some locals we set up camp and we soon start to spot the first scorpions. The yellow Nile scorpions are small, but one of the most poisonous around. The mosquitoes and the scorpions make us get in our tents quite early and we drive to Old Dongola the next day.
A great desert track following the Nile of the west side, navigating through sand dunes and an oasis here and there takes us to Dongola. We are very much looking forward to Dongola. In Moroto, Uganda, we met a diplomat who insisted we stay with his family when visiting the Dongola area. An offer we can hardly refuse and are happy to take!
The gate from the campsite slides open, but they are having a hard time in getting the heavy gate out of the way. The wheels made from steel are rolling with some difficulty on the rusty rail. When we drive out, we immediately drive into town. We squeeze the car through the low hanging branches of a mango tree and can hear the unripe, green mangos hit the roof like hail. A sandy track leads us to the city centre and back on the tarmac. We get in line behind some cars waiting for the fuel station and spend our last Malawian kwachas on diesel because we are leaving Malawi today and head into Tanzania.
It is early morning when we leave the campground and start driving north, towards Lake Malawi. When we reach Liwonde we look for some shade and have a look at our map. In concentration we are studying the map as to which route to take. South, to visit the mountain, North to the small lake just before Liwonde National Park or Lake Malawi. In my head I follow the different coloured lines on the paper before me.
Lake of stars:
A seemingly endless looking dirt road takes us through small villages where the people walk outside to wave at us. We are far away from civilization, but somehow there are people everywhere. Small huts made out of clay with thatched roofs are all around. The road gets a bit rougher the more we drive inland and away from the main road. It’s a full moon. We can see the sun set and the bright full moon makes his appearance. Too bad they are always opposite each other, otherwise it would’ve been a great photographic shot, I think to myself. Nowhere on my travels have the sunrises and sunsets been as impressive as they are in Africa. When the view is open enough we always try to position the tent so we wake up while watching the sun rise. We always try to camp somewhere before the sun sets and when it does we get the camera out to capture it while enjoying a big mug of cold ginger tea. This ginger tea is Rinus’ favourite and the recipe is Rooibos tea, ginger, lemon juice and honey. It’s very refreshing and Rinus believes that the more ginger you put in there, the more healing the tea becomes. He’s almost getting as superstitious and the locals here.
Our morning routine: Ventilation screens open so the tent can air out, put on our clothes, slowly descend our ladder backwards and find a tree. Our stove is in the crate with kitchen supplies, light it, get the percolator, rinse it, fill it with water and scoops of grinded beans. Put the Helinox sunset chairs in the sun, while we quickly make breakfast before the coffee is ready.
We pack up early morning when everything is still wet from the dew. It has been a long time since we had that, with Namibia and Botswana being very dry. We drive towards the main road on a dirt track and give a ride to a local carpenter. When we reach the tar road he thanks us profusely. “ That saves me about an hour walk!” He says smiling. “ Almost everyone in Zimbabwe walks from A to B and we just take that time for granted. I left at 5 o’clock this morning.” We turn onto the highway and drive the last 30km to Bulawayo.
It looks like fog, the dust behind our car when we drive out of Maun, onto the dirt road full of potholes towards the well known national parks Chobe and Moremi. We drive onto a drive way to let our tires down. I walk around the car and by the time I am full circle there are four children of different ages and sizes staring into the back of our car. I tell them something in English, but I’m not getting any response, while they do talk busily amongst themselves. I wonder what they are looking at. The back of the car is not that interesting…some crates, a fridge and two drawers. I walk towards the back door and close it, feeling like I am closing a safe filled with gold. The children walk away disappointed. With a loud hissing noise I deflate the last two tires before we continue the drive.
It is six o’clock when the alarm goes off. From underneath a pile of blankets I can see a hand, quick as lightning, reach for the phone before they both dissapear underneath the blankets again. The last rings are muffled sounds before it stops all together. My foot pokes out from underneath my own blankets and I’m struggling to get it back under. It is about 5 degrees Celsius, still dark and we are about to embark on a Delta trip offered to us by Delta Rain (www.deltarain.com). Very quickly I gather my warmest clothes. I’m in such a hurry that my shirt is in side out the first time, then backwards before I’m finally dressed. Slowly, I’m starting to feel warm again. We have a quick breakfast at the restaurant, which was warm when it left the kitchen, but has already cooled down by the time it reaches our table. Nothing they can do about that during the African winters.
The moon is still hanging in the now blue and red coloured sky. A grey, sandy track leads us out of Grootfontein, heading east. Dust blows up on both sides of the car and is carried away by the wind. Helga is driving. Her narrow fingers hold on tight to the steering wheel. I look at her and see a strong woman. A woman who has been traveling on my side for the past two years. Travel days filled with meeting new people and handling new situations.
A long, narrow sandy track leads us through low bushes. Around us we can see small huts, built from thin branches put together tightly and fixed in the ground. The roof is made of a combination of dried grass and clay. Next to the huts we see women who almost have the same colour as the brown huts and disappear in their surroundings. They put a combination of mud, animal grease and plants on their skin to prevent themselves from getting burned by the scorching sun.
I start to get down the ladder from our bedroom, my feet are on the narrow aluminum steps and when I leave the last one, my feet are in the soft sand. It feels nice and smooth between my toes. The sun is already up and warms up everything around me. The trees in the riverbed hang very low and almost give off a sad look. It has probably been a while since it last rained here, I think to myself. Our mornings consist of the same ritual: breakfast, coffee, packing. We try to do that last thing quickly, since it saves us valuable time if everything is done in an efficient way. Even though we do this every day, we have to pay attention. If we forget to tighten something, if something is loose or lies somewhere where it can break, than it will definitely happen. The road and terrain are unforgiving here. Everything has its own spot, which helps a lot when you need to find something quickly, but it also prevents us from leaving something behind.
The sun rises and the rays of light find their way through the tiny little holes in the mosquito net. I turn around on my stomach and look out over the riverbed where we camped. The footprints from our nightly visit are clearly visible from the tent.
We don’t have to set the alarm, the sun burns us out of the tent anyway. The ladder of the tent sits in the loose sand and the fire still smokes a little bit. Slightly neurotic I scan the ground around our car for fresh tracks. I don’t see any. Satisfied I pull the salami out of the fridge for breakfast.
The sun comes up slowly and the first rays of light manage to get through the thick layer of dust. We’ve been awake for a while and are sitting on narrow wooden benches with our freshly brewed coffee and the map. The sun heats up our surroundings quickly and the heat plus the caffeine helps us to get going.
The early morning glow slowly colours in our surroundings. It is early and we are on our way to the Namibian border. We park in front of the border office, get out of the car and smile at each other when we see the numbered offices: 1 til 6. All different cubicles for different authorities. We prepare for the worse. But surprisingly we find ourself walking from office to office in no time. Before we know it our passports are stamped, the car is checked and we’re driving into Namibia.
It is 5am when the alarm goes off. Helga and I almost bump into each other head first from the noise of the alarm which we are no longer used to. It at least makes sure that we are immediately wide awake. We slowly walk towards the kitchen, press the coffee machine to life and gather the last clothes and things that need to go into the car. An hour later we drive in a convoy from the courtyard towards the Tankwa Karoo desert.
It’s the middle of the night when I lift my head of the pillow. I crawl out of bed on my hands and feet and look through the window of the narrow little room we sleep in. Through the cracks in the single glass window I can smell burned plastic. My eyes slowly adjust to the darkness and the vague outlines outside form recognisable shapes. A Landrover Defender is parked in the courtyard. The car sits heavy on its leafsprings and leans slightly backwards. I try to look through its windows, but I can’t make out very much since the inside is meticously packed top to bottom. Next to the car is a large open trailer. It has been packed to the brim. My hands slide over the wet window-frame and I have to wipe away the moister on the glass to see more. By now, my eyes are fully adjusted to the dark. Our car is parked in the corner of the courtyard, surrounded by walls and a gate. We are also a bit heavier packed, but you can hardly see this through our closed off windows.
Helga slams the car door shut with a loud bang. Sweat trickles down her forehead and her breathing is rushed. I react to the bang, I let the clutch come up and we immediately start moving. We can hear the branches swishing around us when we drive through the fruit trees. When we reach the main road we can finally pick up the pace. A few days earlier we heard that one of the roads leading us out of Montagu will be closed entirely due to roadworks. This road is our only way of getting where we want to go without having to drive many more kilometres.
Langebaan, a sleepy town close to Cape Town. Nothing happens here until the wind picks up. When it does, it seems like everyone drops what they’re doing and head towards the water.
The neighborhoods we drive through show us a wide variety of colours. The brand new highway we drive on splits the suburb in two. We see kids play soccer on the side of the road where a sign tells us we are allowed to drive 120 km/h…sheep, goats and cows all seem to look at the same thing: the patch of grass on the other side of the road. A large sign tells us not to stop on this road, and if you really have to stop call the police for assistance.
March 18, 2016
In the morning we find our way back from Hell, drive through the Swartbergpass to Prince Albert and the Seweweekpoort.
To get an idea of the Seweweekpoort, check out this clip: https://youtu.be/1QXm7Q8gp5c
March 19, 2016
Montagu, a little village in the Eastern Cape, about 180 km from Capetown. The village is surrounded by accessible rock formations which makes it one of the best climbing destinations in South Africa. It is almost evening when we drive down the drive way of a campground full of climbers. We know we’re in the right place when we see a lot of small dome shaped tents of brands like MSR and Black Diamond. Next to a fire we meet enthusiastic climbers and the next morning my incomplete equipment is complete and I’m ready to go climbing.
After this great climbing session we visit a small festival in town with our new friends. The Parlotones are playing, a South African band from Johannesburg who have had a few international hits.
Die Hel is a narrow isolated valley about 20 miles long with a maximum of 600 feet wide located in the Swartberg mountain range.
The Gamkaskloof was discovered in the early 19th century by farmers, but the first permanent settler settled in the valley in the 1830s. It grow to a community of around 160 individuals. The residents lived there in comparative isolation for about 130 years. They used donkeys and walked across the Swartberg mountains to reach the nearest towns.
They farmed grain, vegetables, fruits, tea and tobacco, along with distilling witblits and brewing beer made from wild honey.
The only road in to the valley had not bin build until 1962 which led to the depopulation of the community. The children attended high schools in the nearby villages and most of them did not return to the subsistence life in the valley. The elderly retired to retirement villages outside the valley and the number of residents diminished until all but one person sold their homes to the Western Cape Nature Conservation Board in 1991.
Die Hel: Nobody is sure where the ‘Die Hel’ name came from. One popular story is that a Piet Botha (an animal inspector) visited the valley in the 1940s and used a particularly difficult route known as the ‘die leer’ into the valley. He described the experience as “hell”. Another story is that workers that worked at the farms where not allowed to leave once arrived in the vally. This valley is one of the most historical places in the world, still having many untold stories and surely a few secrets never to be known.
Up until today the drive to Die Hell stays a hell of a ride. A 46km one way route. Getting there is possible, but you need a 4WD and nerves of steel to navigate the snaking dirt road that offers the only access to Die Hel.
A small, winding strip almost looks like a divide. We try our best to stay on the track, but doing your best is not enough, looking into the enormous abyss we figure that a small mistake is all it takes…Rusty carwrecks deep down show us what remains of small mistakes.
At the end of the long and winding road we reach the highest point and before us the valley opens up. We descent and drive past the remains of some old farmhouses. Just before we reach the end of the gorge (kloof) we see a beautiful green lawn with firepits. It gives us the impression that we have reached the oasis in the desert. The owner is a friendly guy who gives us permission to camp.
As soon as it turns dark we really notice that we are all alone, the moon and stars are at their brightest. When we look around us we see a lot of glowing eyes out of the vegetation: baboons, badgers and frogs are hiding all around us.
We build a slackline in between two trees, we run and build a fire for a hot shower. Or rather, we try to do that last thing. Many places in South Africa where there is no permanent source of gas or electricity they use a donkey system. This is barrel made of (stainless) steel which is under pressure from a water pipe. Cold water from the water pipe comes in from underneath and hot water comes out of the top when you have a fire under the barrel.
It is already very dark outside when we wait by our campfire for the water to heat up so we can have our shower under the bright stars. Our wait comes to an end when we hear a pipe burst and we see a mixture of cold and hot water come from the ground while the barrel looses its pressure as does the water pipe itself. Like a little fountain the water leaps us from the ground. Helga runs to the nearest stream to get water to douse the fire under the barrel while I get the shovel to find the waterpipe. Just before Helga comes back with the water I can see the barrel shrinking due to the uneven distribution of heath and no water in the barrel. The plastic waterpipe is soon found and when I close the supply of water towards the donkey the pressure is back up. No shower for us though…
When we inform the owner of the campground what has happened we get a big smile: “Ah well,” he says, “I made the donkey myself and I was still testing it. It doesn’t really matter, I’ll either fix it or build a new one.” Enough time here in Hell.
The wind screams outside our tent and we are on a dreary campsite. The wind seems to push away the dark clouds and morning dew and leaves us with a sunny morning. The rays of sunshine slowly start to heat and dry up everything around us. We can also feel it in our bodies as we heat up with the rest.
The Swartbergpass, (Wikipedia)
The Swartberg Pass runs through the Swartberg mountain range in the Western Cape province of South Africa.
The Swartberg is amongst the best exposed fold mountain chains in the world, and the pass slices through magnificently scenic geological formations. Much of the Swartberg is part of a UNESCO World Heritage Site.
The pass is especially famous due to the spectacular geology that is exposed at its Northern end. The contortions in the rock display astonishing anticlines and synclines, and the vivid coloration of the surrounding Quartzite is remarkable. At the Northern end of the pass seven-hundred-metre-high quartzite cliffs of the upper Table Mountain Group can be seen, and these are often tilted through 90 degrees . Arguably the most famous of all these cliff faces is the spectacular ‘Wall of Fire’.
Loose yellow coloured gravel leads us up via a winding road. It almost looks like a snake. The road is a contrast to the mountain and is strengthened by a low stony wall on the side. The missing crash barrier gives us the opportunity to look down, deep down. Helga moves on her seat to the middle of the car while she leans a little bit to the left so she can just look outside. She’s been quiet for a while and she only lets me know she’s there by sighing every so often. When I look at my own hands I can see that my knuckles are white from holding the steering wheel too tight. I so would’ve preferred to drive this road with my motorbike, I think to myself. If we meet up with another car, there is going to be a serious challenge in passing each other….I follow the road as far as my eyes can see. The big cloud of dust behind us is clearly visible and when I look ahead the sky is clear.
A couple of signs on the road tell us that the pass is closed. We were warned about this by the owner of the campsite. He told us this is a way of stopping in transit traffic going to Prince Albert, since this is the fastest route. He told us to tell the workmen that we have a reservation in the area and that they would let us through.
Helga moves the sign on the middle of the road away and we drive past the first workers. They give us a look of slight disapproval while we pass the first machines. We drive all the way in to the shoulder of the road when a grader passes us with high speed. The two of us just fit on this road…
After a few kilometres we take a turn left and continue to Die Hell.
Wilderness, a small village on the coast. It almost feels like you are in Austria.
We find a good place to camp, high up in the hills, watching over the town. We stay a few days before we start our trip to the Cango Caves.
Cango Caves: (Wikipedia)
The Cango Caves are located in Precambrian limestones at the foothills of the Swartberg range near the town of Oudtshoorn, in the Western Cape Province of South Africa. The principal cave is one of the country’s finest, and best known, caves. Although the extensive system of tunnels and chambers go on for over four kilometres, only about a quarter of this is open to visitors, who may proceed into the cave only in groups supervised by a guide.
The caves were discovered in 1780 by a local farmer named Jacobus Van Zyl. The chamber he first was lowered down into is as long as a football field.
The cave’s first official guide is purported to have walked 29 hours to find the end of the caves in 1898. When there, he is said to have calculated that he was 25 km from the entrance, and 275 m underground; his route apparently followed an underground river. So far, they are finding more and more caves to support this story.
Our aluminium ladder leads me down the rooftop tent. The ground is moist and two deep brown eyes follow me around. These eyes belong to a pitch black farmdog who belongs to the farm where we decided to camp. Even though it is only 7 am his tongue hangs far out of his mouth. I look for my running shorts, tighten my laces and start on a route that leads me through a giant rock formation to a spring. The dog turns out to know the way. For an hour he leads me over the best track, rocks and sometimes water.
Around midday we decide to start on the Baviaanskloof.
Baviaanskloof (Wikipedia)
The Baviaanskloof Wilderness Area lies approximately 120 km. West of Port Elizabeth in the Eastern Cape Province, South Africa and comprises of approximately 270 000 ha. of unspoiled, rugged mountainous terrain. Starting in the East at Komdomo, the road leads through the rugged beauty of the “Grootrivier” Gorge on its winding path through this pristine conservancy, all the way towards Willowmore in the West. A total distance of about 203 km. The area offers a wide range of eco-recreational opportunities as well as a unique wilderness experience!
Road Conditions: The road (R332) through the Baviaanskloof is a narrow, steep, gravel surfaced, winding road, through breathtaking mountainous terrain. The distance between Komdomo at the Eastern entrance, to Willowmore in the West, is approximately 203 km. The traveling time however, is 6 to 8 hours. Presently the stretch of road between Cambria and Geelhoutbos can only be accessed with a 4×4.
Our tire pressure, which we adjusted to the terrain, helps us on the uneven path that we follow, but it doesn’t do us any good against the low hanging branches scraping against the side of the car and windows. We’re both sitting straight up in our seats and try to follow the movements of the car. Like a compass used on ships we adjust to the angle of inclination. We are startled when a branch scrapes over our roof rack and makes a very loud noise. We push the car through a reedy passage and follow the stream of a shallow overgrown river to the other side where we hit the gravel again. Groups of baboons run away for this giant white car invading their habitat.
This road leads us up to a narrow pass andwhen we are halfway up we encounter a group of Landrover Defenders. We try to put our car as far off the road as we can to let them pass. We get strained, but friendly smiles before they drive out of sight.
I hadn’t realised how technical this drive would be, otherwise we would have left well before midday. I can feel the sweat trickle down my forehead while I try to steer the car over the best track.
Suddenly a rock hits the inside of the wheel. Immediately we can hear a high pitched whistling noise. We stop the car on a slope and I get underneath the car to assess the damage. A rock turns out to have hit the protective shield for the brake disc. The shield is now pushed against the brake disc which makes the noise. By using a large screwdriver I manage to create some space between the two.
We set up camp in the dark right after we get out of the Baviaanskloof at a place where they farm limes and tobacco next to having a camping site.
March 7-11, 2016
Hundreds of drops at the same time beat against our front window. The window wipers are busy keeping it clear. The road in front of us is barely visible. The heater is on and Helga is driving while I put my bear feet where the heat comes from. We’re following the coast like we have been doing for a while now. There is no conversation and we are both miles away in thought. In my mind I am far away from where I am now; home in the Netherlands where our friends live, careers are chased, jokes are told and fun nights in the pub take place without us.
We stop in Port Elizabeth. We find a hostel where we can camp in the front garden. We find our winter clothes, dress ourselves in warm layers and even get out our warm Australian Uggs from deep down in the car. We did not think we would be needing those here in Africa. It’s a good day to stay inside.
The wind has been blowing full strength and it seems that all the rainclouds have blown away.
A wooden gate serves as an entrance to a farm. We see a ladder that goes up in to a large tree and ends in a plateau. From this plateau you can see the sun set. We park our car amongst the horses, fold out the tent and get visits from different cats.
The farm is not an active farm. Surrounded by trees of which some of them are nearly 800 years old, it has developed into a hostel and runs on volunteers. We feel at home.
Here we meet Richard le Sueur. He is a travelminded South African who published a book about Winter in Africa. He doesn’t own a house, lives from his suitcase, usually travels on his motorcycle and is also a South African actor. He spends hours with us and our maps and full of advice we continue our travels.
With my teeth I tear open a bag of muesli. It’s early, very early. The bag gives in and opens up. “Maybe it’s too early”, I muse to myself. Helga crawls out of the rooftoptent, a sleeping bag tucked around her. We have a quick breakfast before packing everything up. Everything got wet because of the rain last night. When we went to bed the whole sky was clear and hundreds of stars shone bright. But the wind brought a vast amount of clouds above us while we were sleeping and unceremoniously dropped its contents. We woke and from the tent we could see lightning finding its way to the ground while thunder kept us from our sleep for a while.
We fold up the tent while it is still wet and put everything in its place. The sun manages to get through the clouds when we get in to our car and we head west.
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One of the largest national park in South Africa, Addo Elephant National Park has expanded to conserve a wide range of biodiversity, landscapes, fauna and flora. Stretching from the semi-arid karoo area in the north around Darlington Dam, over the rugged Zuurberg Mountains, through the Sundays River Valley and south to the coast between Sundays River mouth and Bushman’s river mouth, Addo covers about 180 000 hectares (444 700 acres) and includes the Bird and St Croix Island groups.
The original elephant section of the park was proclaimed in 1931, when only eleven elephants remained in the area. Today this finely-tuned ecosystem is sanctuary to over 600 elephant, lion, buffalo, black rhino, spotted hyena, leopard, a variety of antelope and zebra species, as well as the unique Addo flightless dung beetle, found almost exclusively in Addo. The park can exclusively claim to be the only national park in the world to conserve the “Big 7” – the Big 5 as well as the southern right whale and great white shark off the Algoa Bay coast.Plans are currently afoot to include the proposed proclamation of a 120 000 ha (296 500 acre) Marine Protected Area which includes islands that are home to the world’s largest breeding populations of Cape gannets and second largest breeding population of African penguins.
https://www.sanparks.org/parks/addo/
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Light-yellow coloured sand tracks lead us through the park. The sun rises slowly into the sky while we drive along looking around us for wildlife. We’re in luck. We’re caught of guard by one closer than we expected. A leopard turtoise slowly, but confidently crosses our path while he chews on a green sapling which managed to grow through the sand on the track. We drive around it like a large rock in the savannah.
The sandy track leads us past something we came to see: We drive on while the big male elephant barely seems to notice us. The creases in his skin are noticeable, his ears are frayed and his trunk scans the ground, probably looking for water or food.
The next time we are eye to eye with an elephant is when we drive on a path with a lot of bushes on the sides. The whole way we try to look sideways and through the vegetation, but only the enormous piles of dung give the impression that animals live here. Every once in a while there are small clearings on the side of the road which we eagerly look in to. We both look into the fourth clearing or so when our gaze is being met. A male elephant, three meters from the road, partly hidden, turns his head to our car. I brake and we’re standing still immediately. I’m not so sure this was the best idea. His trunk is waving towards us and glides like a garden hose on the loose past our car. Our windows are open and we both hold our breath.
The moment is broken when an even larger male elephant comes towards us aiming for the one who was exploring our car with its trunk. He turns around quickly and we can feel the car move. He puts his heavy feet in front of one another and makes his way fast into the bushes again. The other elephant is not that interested in us. He walks straight up to us, looks into the car, turns around and walks in the opposite direction as we are heading.
I let my camera fall into my lap and feel the excitement through my body. What an experience!
We lean out of our windows while scanning the horizon hoping for the luck we had earlier. And luck we have! At the end of the day, we have seen:
Elephant, Buffalo, Lion, Red Hartebeest, Warthog, Common Duiker, Eland, Burchells Zebra, Kudu, Black backed Jackal, Cape Grysbok, Flightless Dungbeetle, Ostrich, Secretary Bird, Leopard Turtoise.
March 2-5, 2016
Packing up is quick, Adam is a valuable new member to the team: the sidewalls of the awning are folded up quickly, packed and disappear somewhere in the car. We turn down on the tarmac road and touch the gravel that day. A small ferry brings us across the Kei Mouth and we drive on to Chintsa. When we drive up to the reception of the campground we park next to a well equipped Landrover Defender. It turns out to belong to a captain who sails out 2 months a year from Dutch Harbour, Alaska, fishing for King Crabs and you can see him on the Discovery program “Deadliest Catch”. He travels around Africa with his wife a large part of the year in search of various wildlife.
We say goodbye to Megan and Adam and head down to Wild Woody Cape, or Wild Wind Woody Cape as we would like to call it. A huge storm takes us unaware, the fly of our tent is sent flying and the tentpoles holding it up crash to the ground. The next morning we do some running on the beach, the majestic sand dunes next to us, and we write our blog.
During a trip to the small community shop Helga, Adam and Megan run into a guide. The man seems eloquently and helpful and he has been working as a guide for DwesaNational Park for the last 6 years. They hire him for a walk through the mangroves where he will tell us about the flora and fauna and lead us through narrow hard to find tracks. We decide to start this later in the afternoon when the sun is past its highest point of the day. .
With our backpacks filled with water and sunscreen we wait for the guide’s arrival. Half an hour after the previously agreed time Vojany comes running into the campsite, shoes in his hands. He needs a moment to catch his breath. He introduces himself to me, but doesn’t look me in the eye. For a second I think I can smell alcohol on him, but the smell coming from his shoes takes over. We follow him and before we turn into a narrow path he starts a long speech about safety while we have a hard time understanding him. We get the impression that he was not wearing his shoes earlier, because he doesn’t really feel comfortable in them. He hops from one leg onto the other like he is standing on hot coals. He takes the first step into the forest and picks up a stick of about 60 cm. With this stick in front of him he starts to lead the way. Like a magician he waves the stick wildly around and his feet follow slowly behind. We follow his example without a wand and me as the last person. I have a hard time keeping my face straight. He stops at a plant that looks like a fern and starts his story: “ Before the dinosaurs in 1860, this was plant was everywhere”. This time he looks at us all.
We look back at him and he receives a bellow of laughter. He looks around the group dazed. I am now sure, the guide is drunk. I tell him I don’t want to walk around the mangroves with him if he’s drunk and that he should go back home and sleep. He nods at me, turns around and walks back to where we came from. Without his wand. We look at each other surprised, start to laugh again and decide to walk on without a guide. Pretty soon we find out that he actually taught us something useful: the wand is for cobwebs.
Now we regret putting the car here…I wipe the sweat from my brow while I turn the steering wheel around again. The effort must show on my face.The front tyres grind under me while I force them yet again the other way. I don’t know if this is a known fitness exercise, but if so I will have mastered it after our journey.
The bull bar pushes the plants and fence out of the way while the spare wheel and back bumper thrust against the wall of cane. Some angry looks and frustrated comments later we finally manage to get out of this tight spot. I quickly run from the scene and inside for a well deserved cup of coffee which I drain like it’s a cold glass of milk.
Ten minutes later and we’re ready to go. It’s the four of us now. Adam and Megan from Canada are fascinated by our trip and like to accompany us for a few Miles Along The Sea.
The four of us have a look at the map. Together we decide to keep following the small gravel roads we can see on our detailed map. When the small gravel roads turn out to be narrow, muddy tracks with tight passages and low overhanging trees I start to worry.
I leave the car on a hill where turning around is still a possibility and follow the track on foot walking between huts and low hanging branches. The track ends on a steep uneven slope which ends in a river. Bare feet I walk through it while the strong current tries to unbalance me several times. The ground seems solid underneath and besides some deep holes I believe the car can do this watercrossing..
Slowly, like a funeral procession, I follow Helga down the hill in the car while she walks in front of me with the walkie talkie to guide me around the largest potholes. Megan is safely on the other side with the camera filming everything. Helga has a hard time getting across the river bare feet. The current is trying to unbalance her too while the sharp, slippery rocks don’t give much opportunity to plant your feet well. I watch her struggle and notice that walking is not going any better than driving. I decide to use my momentum. I pass by Helga and try to read the path through the river as good as I can by myself while I start on the steep part. I miss a giant pothole and the car makes a dangerous sweep to the left, followed by a loud yelp from Helga. I’m being tossed in my carseat while the car balances itself out and slowly start the steep climb up from the river crossing.
I park the car a little up the slope so everyone has time to deal with the earlier fright and the adrenaline rush settles down. This way I hope to avoid a lecture about my irresponsible behaviour…By the time everyone reaches the car there are already a few laughs and giggles about the whole situation.
We barely speak about it later and focus on navigating the route ahead. When we reach the top of the hill it almost looks like someone drew a line with chalk on a green pool table. In the valleys below we sometimes have to look for the roads that from the top were so easily to see.
The line of chalk get wider and wider, people live along side the road and the low rumble of the car makes the cows step away from the it. I think we are all secretly relieved when we reach the tarmac around noon and see the first signs leading us to Dwesa National Park.
A Canadian is not an American. Absolutely not. Not that I’m implying that Americans have no clue when it comes to camping, but when I lived in the States I only met a few people who really camped. They either stay somewhere about 5 hours from home or they are climbers who sleep in their car. But as soon as we park the car the Canadian Adam feels right at home; he browses through our camping equipment, finds the MSR stove and crowns himself as the cook of the camp kitchen. He helps setting up our camp like he does this every day and gathers wood which he expertly transforms into a beautiful campfire. Around the fire he tells us about his nightly hunting expeditions with his father, the solo hunts with bow and arrow, his adventures on a snow mobil in which he had to plow through powdery snow and the days he spent on the ice, fishing. He also tells us that the only way of hunting for moose is to spray yourself with a deoderant of moose urine and not wash yourself for days. And also that it can be a bit scary when you’re alone in a tree when it gets dark, with bow and arrow ,while the forest underneath you comes to life.
They teach us an easy card game and maybe it’s the alcohol that effects our play, but the sober Helga quickly turns out to be the best player with strategically placed, but often painful cards.
The Wild Labunzi is build on something that resembles the coastline of Wales: green sloping hills and steep, rocky walls rising up from the ground like a boundary between land and sea. After a rocky track we arrive. The only flat part within the property is very suitable for the car and the rooftoptent. The way to it on the other hand consists of many tight bends that are kind of impossible for a Troopcarrier. The headstrong me insists though and half an hour later, after having moved many stones, plants and fences, the car is there. I hope we can get out of here again….
A single track, consisting of a narrow sand coloured trail that snakes through the hills ahead. It’s a nice walk and we left before it got too hot. In good speed and without any baggage we walk through the small communities with houses made of clay. Most of them have fences around their property, some of them don’t and we see sheep hiding from the sun in the shadow of the rondavels. We’re startled by two dogs who obviously think we’re intruders. Luckily the owner comes out, yells at his dogs and calls them back.
A lonely rock, in the mouth of the river where the depth is decided by the incoming tide. The rock resists the water coming at it ferociously from the sea while river water flows on both sides into the sea. Its years as gatekeeper show the consequences: the giant rock is worn around the edges and in the middle a large hole is cut out. The Hole in the Wall.
A wall full of surfboards stares at us, Danish Rasmus and I both pick one and walk to the beach. The waves hit the rocks hard. We run behind each other down to the beach, jump over the sharp rocks and land flat on our stomachs on the surfboards. We paddle out while we get hit by the first brakes. A moment later we’re sitting on our boards, waiting for the perfect wave.
When the wind increases (level full power in no time) and the thunderstorm starts, Helga and I decide to pack up the tent temporarily and hide out with the dogs in the kitchen.
Getting excited by the drummer’s first beats at a concert, that’s how I feel. The hail falls loudly on the steel roof and the noise is overwhelming. The wind also lets us know it’s here with the branches slashing agains the building.
After the hail stops we move to the “living room” where everyone else is and a couple of hours later, slightly intoxicated, after hearing a lot of travel stories, we pitch up the tent again.
February 27, 2016
We wake up from the sun heating up the green canvas and the inside of the tent rapidly. The sky is clear blue and all that is left of yesterday’s storm are the branches and leaves on the ground. Bare feet we walk on the wet grass towards the kitchen. A large cup of coffee washes away the light headache.
Johann, the owner and instigator of Mdumbi Backpackers takes me on a walk around the property. He grew up here. His father used to have a holiday home in the area and Johann spent a large part of his childhood in this area. He uses the money the backpackers generate to improve life in the community. For example, he oversees a project building a hospital. He also brings the community closer to the tourists who visit Mdumbi by having the church and pre-school on the property.
Johann also feels close to us. Together with an old Honda African Twin he travelled around Africa. He integrates sports (surfing), local community, travellers and tourists. He does it in a way I have never seen before, it is like a good cocktail where you don’t taste the alcohol.
For the last time I paddle out to catch a few waves before they all disappear and the ocean becomes quiet again. Afterwards we drive on to the next place on the map: The Wild Lubanzi.
Mdumbi Backpackers is situated on URC premises at Mdumbi Beach and was founded on January 2002. Thirty% of this backpackers is owned by 5 local employees, 10% of its profits are given to the local community representing body and 9% to TransCape NPO. It is closely involved with the community and formed Transcape NPO to respond to the educational, economic and health needs in the area. There vision is to active communities that address and improve their own health, education and economic development. There mission is to provide access to the support, knowledge, and resources necessary for communities to initiate the process of change towards a better quality of life. See www.transcape.org
On the health side Transcape has started a HIV/Aids program which include the implementation and management of awareness days, support groups, an ARV clinic, training programs, wellness and home base care. Transcape is managing a malnutrition project at Canzibe hospital, does maintenance and upgrading of the hospital and surrounding clinics, support community members with transport for medical emergencies and maintain a project concerning multimedia communication between Canzibe Hospital and clinics.
On the education side Transcape has started an education project at Mdumbi Backpackers. This involves a library; extra English and life-skills classes for school goers; preparing matriculants for final exams; computer, business, secretarial, entrepreneurial and vocational training for young people ready to explore the labor market; a pre school and ABET. Transcape also sponsors a pre school at Canzibe Hospital.
For economical growth Transcape started an interest free micro-financing project through which multiple small businesses like shops, brick-making, gardening, chicken farming, ext. are formed. Transcape is also involved in tourism development and agricultural programs.
We are camping outside the fence that marks the boundary of the Kraal and we are woken by people walking around the car who are obviously packing up. We get dressed and walk towards the main building. This is what is happening: the government is busy constructing a new, tarred, road to make the hospital and this part of the Transkei more accessible. The local community believes that the government is not using enough local people to do this work and are therefor planning to create roadblocks to demonstrate against this.
Bags are being packed, doors closed, laundry folded and before we know it everyone has left to hopefully get through it before it’s really closed. There are stories that these roadblocks could last weeks before the police is able to end them. Helga and I are a little agitated by this, but decide to stay. We are not in a hurry to go anywhere and we are told that for our car there are enough (4×4) alternatives to leave the area. We use the rest of the day to write the blog, get coordinates for 4×4 tracks in the gps and finish our books.
February 25, 2016
We decide to go, we pack up and drive up the steep path leading to the road. Just before we left we heard that the demonstration had stopped and that the roadblocks are gone. We decide to take the road less traveled nonetheless. On the road to Isilimele, where the hospital is, we see an older woman slowly walking up the hill. We give here a ride and she tells us her name is Christina, that she’s 65 and is on her way to the hospital for TBC treatment. She speaks good English and tells us a little bit about her life while we tell her about our travels. We drop her off at the hospital and walk around quickly to get an impression about how things go here.
Helga and I leave the hospital and drive south over old roads with washed away bridges. We are heading towards Mdumbi.
A small track leads us towards the coast. Schools are just out and we drive through large groups of children all neatly dressed in similar uniforms. Almost all the groups we drive past turn towards us and cup their hands to beg for “ssssweeeets!”. We don’t respond to this request, but wave and give them a smile. I loose my patience when a group of boys, who we pass without giving attention, pick up some stones from the ground and throw them at the car. I can hear one of them hit their mark.It resonates through the car. I quickly brake and reverse, but by the time we reach the spot again they have all fled. With a huge adrenaline rush we drive down a road that will take us to the coast. When we get here we realise we took a wrong turn and ended up on the wrong side of the bay….we can almost see where we need to go, but we have to drive back through the small town we just came from, towards the main road and get the next exit.
Slowly we drive back, luckily the children are all spread out by now and they are no longer a bother.
It’s late in the morning when we leave our camping spot and leave Port St. Johns. School kids seem to have their break. Kids in uniform are along side the road and watch the cars pass by. The speed bumps turn out to be camouflaged and have the same colour as the tarmac….Helga gives me an angry look when she is almost lifted out of her seat and thrown into the backseats because of me missing it. I give her an apologetic look and mumble “sorry” while I try my best to spot the next one.
An imposing man in a uniform steps in front of our car. By the way he moves you can see it is not the first time he does this. His belt is heavy from his gun and he almost seems to lean to that side when he walks from the weight. I brake while I look around me. I missed it completely at first, but it turns out there is a police car on the side of the road kind of hidden behind the bushes. Around the car are three policemen. One handles the speeding camera, while the others are leaning on their rifles. The imposing policeman’s hand is sliding over the bullbar and while he walks towards us his gloved hands are tapping rhythmically on the bonnet. His destination is the driver side window which I already opened. A large head comes into our car and asks us: “where are you going?”. I see his nostrils move like a nervous bull and he seems to take in the air of the car. If I would have some popcorn on my lap that would have been funny. Helga answers his question by telling him the next big city on our map. He gives her a serious look and he almost seems to want to smell if we are speaking the truth. “ How long are you staying in South Africa?” Helga answers: “four weeks sir”. He takes another big gulp of air and I think: I hope he leaves some for us too. “ Alright, continue” says the policeman while he gets his head out of the car. I look at Helga, who shrugs, and with both windows open we quickly drive on.
Via a long track through several small villages, cornfields, groups of schoolchildren going home for the day and a lot of lazy cows standing in the middle of the road without any inclination to go off it, we end up at the Kraal. We are invited by our Dutch friends, who work as doctors at the hospital in Isilimele, just a few kilometres away, to enjoy pizza night.
The car shakes when I start it up. We just packed up our tent and pushed everything in its original place before we head off to Port St. Johns. It rained the night before and kept us out of our sleep while litres of water found their way over our tent towards the ground.
The potholes on the sandy track are filled with water and there are spots with thick mud. We have faith and navigate ourselves out of this and back to the main road.
It feels like we’re driving into an ant farm. Streets are filled up with people, school kids, trucks and men trying to push heavy wheel barrows. We drive into Lusikisiki, mix with the local traffic and end up parking in between a rusty truck and a market stall selling bananas. Helga stays in the car while I bump my way into the supermarket. While I push my cart I try to find the right products. I seem to be the only white guy in the supermarket. Not something I feel uncomfortable with while I think back to the time I taught PE at a juvenile hall in San Fernando Valley, Los Angeles.
I look up when somebody starts talking to me in really good English: “ sir, that car outside, that must be yours? It’s from Australia, how did it come here?” I smile, he is the first one to notice since the colours of our Australia number plate are the same as the area in South Africa we’re driving in right now. While I explain how the car got here I see his expression change, his eyebrows are now raised and he says: “really?”. I try to nod as convincingly as possible and say: “really.”. Deep in his own thoughts I see him push his cart to the cash register.
I quickly find the last items on my grocery list and follow his example. When I leave the store a security guard picks me out of the stream of people also leaving. I have to hand in my receipt and all my groceries are checked against my receipt. Behind my I see all the locals leaving the supermarket without raising their heads. In the reflection of the window I can see myself and I wonder if I am giving out the wrong impression by the way I look? After carefully checking every single item they let me go. I quickly leave the store, put everything in the back of the car and get behind the wheel. Away!
A large grassy site almost like a golf course is our camping spot for the night. From our tent we have a view of the chocolate colour river and the large cliffs, or “the gates” that are the entry to Port St. Johns.
When we wake up we are immediately followed by 4 kids from the surrounding villages. In the beginning this is a bit threatening, but when I return later to talk to them it turns out that they are bored and are looking for something to do. It is Saturday and there is nothing else for them to do. When I talk to them I call them boys, but soon I am being corrected by one of them. He points at the others and says: “ They are boys, I am a man”.
A brochure about local culture tells me that boys need to do a ceremony of a certain period in which they do assignments and rituals after which they become a man. Apparently the kid I called boy previously already completed the ceremony while the others had not.
The sun slowly crawls its way up in the sky and we know our morning hours are over when it begins to burn in our faces. We quickly pack up a day backpack with lunch and the camera and start on our hike towards a waterfall that ends in the sea. A narrow track leads us through the hills and down to the banks of the river. This river turns out to be famous, because this is the only river where the Kingfish, who normally only lives in deeper waters swims up. They swim against the stream until they reach a small island, they circle this and swim with hundreds of them back to the sea. Numerous scientists have done research on this phenomenon, but so far it is unknown why they do this.
We have to cross this river and I let my eyes skim over it with the story of the Kingfish in the back of my head. Nothing to see. The path continues on the other side of the river. We put our clothes in a dry-bag together with the camera, the daypack and our shoes. We quickly wade into the water and push the dry-bag in front of us to the other side of the river. We can feel the cold water pass by us, but we manage to reach the other side and we quickly get dressed again to continue the small steep track up the cliff.
Our footprints show on the dew of the wet grass. We take over the last things to the car before we begin on the first real travel day in Africa. A wave of emotion overwhelms me when we leave the familiar entrance path. The main road takes us through Harding again and bends afterwards onto a gravel road. We have felt welcome here. People walk in long rows on the side of the road and welcome us with their broad smiles of white teeth, contrasting against their dark skin. We are not driving fast and we see the children run towards the fences to see us and the car a bit better. We’re driving with our windows open to be closer to these beautiful people.
“I realise that in 2011 I bought an old Landrover, with the dream to make this trip we are doing right now. It took me years to get the car ready and equipped to take us safely through Africa. Every spare hour was spent by driving down to the car, sitting and waiting in a dusty shed, and turning the ignition to hear it start, just to keep this dream-journey alive while I was preparing. Just the sound of a car who had seen so much more than I, who was waiting faithfully for adventure in a dusty shed, like a tiger on a leash.“
The white palms, full of lines and raw of working on the fields, wave at us from a distance. I don’t know if it’s fair, our background and education gives us such an advantage. It feels good to be welcomed by such a beautiful country like South Africa, but I don’t think I deserve being cheered at.
We get in line behind a long row of cars waiting in front of a women in full workman’s wear and a flag. We got the recommendation to leave enough room between cars so there is always the opportunity to get out. The inhabitants of the village nearby make the most of these stops by selling drinks and fruit. Helga and I are captivated by the smile of a short, heavy, black lady who carries a bowl with ice and cans on top of her head. We did not think that smile could get even bigger, but it certainly did after we bought two Cokes.
After this interruption we notice that the villages become less fortunate and the road gets worse. We have a hard time navigating and the heavy rain from the last few days shows in the broad muddy tracks and water filled potholes. I can see Helga’s white knuckles from holding on to the rail in front of her which is attached to the dashboard. The last time we drove through mud we got stuck big time and it took us a few hours to dig ourselves out.
People have stopped waving and children hurry towards the road, not to say hello, but to fold their hands into little bowls and shout: “ Ssssweets! Sweets!”.
F*ck the tourist who ever thought of doing this! I am shocked when I look in my side mirror and see the previously folded up hands picking up stones from the ground and throwing them towards the car. I feel angry and powerless. Absorbed in our own thoughts we drive on, and on some level I understand them, as a child I was also not the best in dealing with disappointments. And yet, I believe that giving out candy is not the solution. There is a challenge to find something that works for us, but is also beneficial to the children.
We stop when the land makes way for the sea and we find a good campsite. All the facilities are built in small wooden huts which are all connected by a boardwalk suspended a metre above the ground.
The rain falls down hard on the tin roof of the cottage. We’re on the couch, watching an empty fireplace in the corner. The cottage’s interior is stylish and spacious. Our shoes are muddy and placed on an old newspaper, full of political news. Not a bad place to put your muddy shoes.
The continuous drum of the rain on the roof seems to get louder until we realise someone is banging on the wooden door. I quickly open it and in the dusk I see someone, panting, wet, with rubber boots. He’s pointing towards some really dark clouds in the distance.
He turns around and points to the car, which is the only one still outside in front of the house. I understand and I follow the rubber boots up the slope towards the car. Hail is common in this area. With soggy shoes I climb behind the steering wheel and see the large wooden doors of the hay shed being opened. I start the car and drive inside. The wind is so loud around the shed that it drowns out all other noise. We both wait for a second at the door, before we both start running back, he to his family at the farm, me back to the cottage.
February 19, 2016
It’s early morning when we drive down the muddy path that leads us back to the main road, it’s covered with leaves and broken branches from last night’s storm. We turn onto the highway and mix ourselves with the few cars heading towards Harding. We are on our way to a workshop to have one of our batteries tested. Since our arrival in Durban, our starter battery seems to not have enough power to start the car. A test at the workshop proves this and we decide to leave the battery to see if slow-longterm charging helps.
We look around the village, do an extensive puzzle journey through the supermarket in search for familiar products and enjoy ourselves on the farm.
It’s the Tuesday after we drove our car out of the container and we’re on our way to the Howling Moon factory. We drive through sluggish Durban traffic and ask ourselves:” Who drives their car in the middle of rush hour when they don’t have to?” that is the question I ask myself as I pull up behind a smoking Toyota Corolla and try to gain enough speed to shift from first to second gear. Let’s ask another question: “Durban, a South African city with the busiest port and over 3 million people, you’ve had your car for one day…Is it wise to drive it during rush hour”? answer: “No.” Question: “Is it fun?” answer: “Kind of!” We both lock our doors when we drive through one of the more shady neighbourhoods and we both wonder as to who locked the back door, something we’ll have to get used to. It’s Africa.
Howling Moon is a South African producer of camping equipment with its head office in Durban. I’ll try to describe one of the things they make that is so important to us.
You climb on the roof of the car, unzip a sturdy canvas cover and throw over the back of the car. You slide the ladder to its full length, climb off the roof and pull the ladder downwards while stepping backwards. Like a harmonica the rooftop tent unfolds made from a wood/aluminium floor, aluminium poles to make the frame and a thick canvas.
Helga and I walk into the factory where mainly women are working on tables set up into long rows and where they get kilometres of thick green cloth through their hands and their Singers (sewing machine). We get some curious looks when we walk through the factory and when walking the stairs to the office. I wonder about the steady noise the sewing machines keep making while they follow us with their eyes. I would probably have sewn my own shirt into some canvas when doing to same.
Camping, it’s not for everyone: it’s being creative with what you have, dealing with inconveniences and constantly looking for new and easier ways to do things. If you add a fit, energetic and colourful person to this mix you get Dave, the progenitor of Howling Moon. We come into his office and introduce ourselves, we tell him about our travel plans, experiences and adventures. One of the first questions we get back is: “how do you think we can improve the rooftop tent? After this we are summoned to get our tent out of the car as soon as possible so they can do a service of the tent and add some improvements that have been made over the years.
Dave has them to clear a space in the factory so we can start to unpack and re-pack the car, since nothing was where it should be after the shipping.
While we are working on this, every once in a while an employee will come and have a look as they are curious about who we are and what we do. They have no experience with camping like this, but they are interested in our stories. Dave will often invite overlanders to visit the factory so his employees get an idea of how their products are used and they can “travel along” through the stories they tell.
We are captivated by the friendliness and the enthralling smiles we get from behind the sewing machines. We feel as at home here as we do in our home for the past 11 months: our Howling Moon Tourer rooftop tent.
February 6, 2016
February 7, 2016
We end up in a great place in Durban, a hospitable couple welcomes us in the only gay-friendly guesthouse in Durban. The guesthouse is surrounded by a large stone wall, an electric fence, 24 hour camera security and an electric sliding door. This could leave the impression that having a gay guesthouse requires this sort of security, but looking around in the neighbourhood you can see that all the houses have this extreme form of security. It’s almost as if they are competing against each other with the height of their walls and the amount of electric fencing. We’re staying in Berea, a part of Durban not too far from the city and the harbour. That evening we get the conformation that the ship which holds our container has arrived in the port of Durban.
February 8, 2016
On Monday we start with a positive attitude on the process to get our car cleared. We know that the ship is in the harbour, but locating one of the 1221 container on board is difficult. We chose a large agency in South Africa, hoping they would have the experience to get this process finished as quickly as possible. The choice for a large organisation appears not to be the wisest, we are constantly dealing with different people. Finally, after 4 days of waiting, which consisted of a lot of calling, we learn that our container has moved to the depot for collection. Helga and I spend another 2 days amongst heavy industry, dodging forklifts and eating dust while seeing a lot of containers being emptied and filled with boxes. In the end our waiting is rewarded: after 8 long days we drive our car out of the container and we say goodbye to the people of the depot who took good care of us.
In the meantime Helga used her time productively by getting a South Africa Sim card and making appointments to get our travel vaccinations.
The clouds are hanging like smoke plumes in a clear blue sky. You would almost have to squeeze your eyes shut to look into the sun and see them. They could have been smoke signals from some Indian tribe by the round and identical look of them. Without any warning the clouds start to form a thick blanket, which turns a dark grey and bursts open just a few minutes later. Water flows in long red-coloured streams and finds its way through the soil. We’re driving an unsealed road, the red mud gets stuck in our tires and all four of them spray the wet red dirt around as we drive.
We have started on the legendary Gibb River Road, once a road to move cattle, but now a 4wd track that every offroad enthusiast wants to drive. As the Lonely Planet describes: “ A high-clearance 4WD (eg Toyota Landcruiser) is mandatory, with two spare tyres, tools, emergency water and several days’ food in case of breakdown.” I believe we got this sorted.
The largely unsealed road of about 660 km long lies between Kununurra and Derby and along it are some of the most stunning gorges to be found in Australia. We really want to experience this drive, but time is running short and it is already December. The wet season is about to commence and this road can be closed at any time when the circumstances are unsafe for travel.
Fortunately, the department of Transport in Kununurra informed us it would still be safe, but that we should not take longer than 4 days and that we would probably be one of the last cars to drive the whole thing from there to Derby before they close it off.
The rain stops as suddenly as it started. The clouds drift away like sailboats and leave an empty blue ocean. I turn down my window and warm, humid air flows in. The road takes us up an elevated plateau with an impressive grey rock wall which beautifully contrasts with the red dirt and blue sky. I see two vehicles coming from the way we are heading. They seem to be sand coloured from a distance, but when they pass us they turn out to be the same white Landcruiser Troopcarrier that we are driving, camouflaged by a layer of mud. We now know what awaits us…
We don’t have to wait long for that matter, before we know it we’re standing before the Pentecost River: a 300 meter long river crossing. Helga gets out her trekking poles, puts the camera in a water resistant backpack, grabs an Oricom handheld from the glove department and starts to walk across the river. The Troopcarrier waits with its front wheels in the water and me on the bonnet scouting the river. We realise that this river probably has some less dangerous freshwater crocodiles, but could also house some bloodthirsty saltwater ones since the river ends in the sea.
The water almost reaches her shorts, but it doesn’t seem to bother her. She won’t be distracted by the current and reaches the other side quickly. I now know which depth to expect.
Over the radio Helga tells me about the obstacles and the route to take.
Slowly, in low gear, I follow her trail with our loaded Troopy. When we’re on the other side the clouds, again, turn to a solid grey blanket. By the time we are both safe and sound inside the car the blanket tears open: just in time.
The road winds through a breathtaking landscape. The road is rough, but the low tyre pressure makes it bearable. We stop to have lunch at Rollies Jump Up, make coffee with our percolator and look out over a long stretch of nothing. The whole day we are the only ones on the road.
We set up camp at Kennedy Creek next to an old fire pit. For many years travellers through the Kimberleys have stayed here and probably not much has changed.
We have already left before the sun rises. It must have rained extensively a few kilometres down the road because it’s alternately mud and sand. We take a turn off the Gibb towards “Gibb River” cattle station. A young couple opened a little shop here about a year ago and together with the Aboriginal community, a nurse and the owner of the station they form a small, but hospitable place to stay. Three large mango trees are the centre of attention when we pull up and leave us and the car in some more than welcome shade. We enjoy the stories from the people we meet and we feel very welcome in this community. The map comes out quickly and we leave with several notes and circles around places not to miss along our way. We return to the main road full of new ideas and places to visit.
31 Kilometres later we leave the Gibb again. We start on the road that will lead us towards Mount Elizabeth Station and for the next 29 kilometres, which is not that long save for the teeth shattering corrugations, we mindlessly endure the rough road. When we reach the homestead we find out that the owner has left the station for the wet season and we meet the caretakers. They turn out to be both writers and they decided to live in this desolate place to finish their books. Surprised by us visitors so late in the season they don’t hesitate to answer our enquiries. The owner from the shop we just visited made some notes on how we should visit the gorge that belongs to Mt Elizabeth Station. There should also be some Aboriginal Art around on the rocks a little bit further downstream. The writers have no knowledge about the art, but give us the small laminated mud map of the area which shows us the way to the gorge and point out the grey gate towards the beginning of the track.
We cross a small river and slowly start on the narrow road that winds through the dense vegetation and boulders. It is obvious that this road has not been used for a while now. Nature has started to reclaim some parts of it; we can hear the low scrub in the middle of the track brushing underneath the car, roots found their way over the road and the first rainstorms left deep ditches to navigate around.
We stop when we reach a steep and rocky descent we don’t want to risk with our car. The sun is at its highest point, but we decide to follow the rest of the track on foot. We battle the heat step by step, while our footprints are clearly visible in the dust behind us. The track becomes more narrow until all that remains is a walking trail on which we continue. Small white ribbons are the only way of knowing we are actually going the right way. From beneath her pink cap I can see Helga’s face; sweat trickles down her face into her t-shirt and her colour matches that of the cap.
A water python watches us from its hiding place when we make our descent into the gorge. We waste no time, undress and quickly dip in the cool, blue-green water.
We spend the night at Galvans Gorge and are disappointed when it turns out to be just a small pool with no flowing water the next day. We decide to skip our morning swim and drive on to “Over The Range” Car and Tyre Shop. Neville Hermon settled here about 14 years ago coming from New South Wales. He saw a business opportunity and fell in love with the Kimberleys. Slowly he managed to build up his shop and when we look around us there are a lot of cars that did not make it until the end of the Gibb. Neville mainly uses Landcruisers and we make out a 40, a 60 and a 70 series around the main building. He now employs one man and he tells us that his next focus is to build a house for his family so they don’t have to live in a caravan anymore.
Neville points out that we should go to Adcock Gorge a little bit further down the road and we take a belated morning swim there. After this we drive through King Leopold Ranges, past Queen Victoria’s head and put up the tent near Kimberley Downs just before the rain hits again. We watch the road turn into a muddy affair and I look at Helga: we both start to laugh, again, we are just in time. When we drive the last stretch of the Gibb River road we are becoming more and more aware of the trees along side the road. The Boab Trees are not to be missed in this part of Australia. These ancient trees are amongst the longest living things in the world and some are more than 2,000 years old. Storing water from spring rains give them their swelled trunks and thus distinctive look. We pass more and more cars and we realise the past days of seeing maybe one car a day are over. Civilisation is around the corner and as the gravel turns into bitumen the quietness of the car lets us relive the wonders of the Gibb River road in our minds.
It’s 5 o’clock in the morning when the Kookaburras wake me up.
I turn around in my sleeping bag, but I’m already too excited to go back to sleep.The day before a long, sandy 4wd track through Cooloola National Park prepared us for Fraser Island, which is only a mere 50 km ahead.
I stick my head out of the rooftop tent and the humid air startles me. I pull back immediately, but it’s too late: mozzies, having waited for their chance to come in, find their way through the now open mosquito net. Alright then, I think – they’re in, I’m out. Twenty minutes of hurried packing later and we’re on our way to Inskip Point.
The sun just doesn’t want to join us this morning. Inskip is covered in a thick layer of fog which doesn’t make it any easier in locating the barge on an unfamiliar beach.
When we finally get there we are guided to one of the three rows of cars already there. This is where the separation is made: all 2wd cars stay behind while only 4wd cars are allowed on Fraser Island. Our Toyota Troopcarrier should feel right at home.
Since it’s only ten minutes to get to Fraser we leave the barge still in the thickest of fog. We’re glad another Landcruiser takes the lead and we follow him on the hard sand which almost resembles bitumen. We can barely see the thick waves rolling in and the start of the low tide gives us enough space to drive along side them. In the distance we can see the outline of a the Maheno Wreck. The sun finally won its war against the fog and we get out the camera to capture this amazing scene.
That first day we drive all the way to Marloo, past Orchid Beach, and hide behind a small sand dune where we set up camp. We enjoy the sunset which is on the other side of the island, but still leaves a beautiful colour palette to our sea view.
The next day we drive back to K’gari where we start the first 4×4 track on Fraser Island: the Northern Forest Scenic Drive. Knife blade Lookout gives us a view over an enormous sand blow where you can almost feel the battle between sand and bush. We slowly continue on the track where the vegetation gives the eerie feeling of driving through a tunnel. I feel like I’m on a fun fair going through a haunted house: the branches are like cobwebs and the vegetation becomes a dark tunnel.
An oncoming car suddenly appears from around the corner on our single track. My foot is on the brake immediately and my adrenaline rush makes me go to lean on the horn before putting the Troopy into reverse to create some space to pass. The other driver waits while I make some space for him to to continue, after which he smiles meekly while he passes in a hurry to get away from us. It takes a while for us to get out of the adrenaline rush, but fortunately Lake Allom is close by, and a swim in the freshwater lake calms us down.
On the last few kilometers of the track we come across a deep ditch on the left side where the soft sand almost doesn’t allow us to level the car through it. We make it out of there unscathed after we reverse and try again – driving off-road on Fraser Island is not always a walk in the park.
That night we camp at Eli where the howling winds and the lack of sand dunes keep us awake for most of the night.
The next morning we drive from Eli via the beach to Eurong, and from there we drive a sandy track to Central Station, where we meet road workers placing rubber mats on the soft sand. We set up camp amongst the trees and decide to do the return walk to Basin Lake for a quick dip. We like our hidden little spot so much that we decide on another night and a long, 18 km walk the next day which will take us to Pile Valley, Lake McKenzie, Basin Lake and back to Central Station. It’s a long and testing walk and by the time we have reached Basin Lake it starts to pour down with rain. Luckily we know the way from the day before and we almost break into a run the last kilometers to get to the car. Not that it makes any difference, we’re soaked anyway.
It keeps on raining through the night and we have to pack up a wet tent and annex the next day. We take the Southern Lakes Scenic Drive to Dilli Village and continue via the beach back to Hook Point. We timed the trip back with the low tide and it seems like we’re not the only ones trying to get of the island. We join the long queue of 4wd cars waiting for the barge to take them back to the main land and from there we continue our journey around Australia.
This story was published by Hema Maps: http://www.hemamaps.com.au/en/Trip-Reports/Fraser-Island
After we drove my parents back to Sydney (driving on the “wrong” side of the road not being their thing) and spent a whole 5 hours being tourists we took a train back to the Blue Mountains to pick up our car.
That first night alone again we stayed at a deserted campsite in the Blue Mountains near Woodford.
From there we drove from Dharug National Park to Yengo National Park and from Yengo to Barrington Tops. Our timing was really unlucky since all of the 4×4 tracks in Barrington were closed until the 1st of October……
A little frustrated with this we camped at Manning river and made a nice fire to ease our pain. We were really close to Gloucester then and we went to see our friends at the company Drifta. They helped us sort out our crate-storage problem by making a wooden frame for them. Happy to have this sorted out we decided to head for the coast.
The moment we left Gloucester it started to rain……and hail…..and rain some more. From Port Macquarie we took a “road” towards Point Plomer. That road had so many potholes (filled with water from the still ongoing, never to stop, rain) that anything above 5km/h was impossible. Frustrated and tired we spent a night in the pouring rain and thought we would try our luck inland the following day. We drove towards Wollomombi Falls (still raining), camped here and there (rainy) and took the Waterfall Way back to the coast (RAIN).
So apparently, the New South Wales coastline is really spectacular and worth seeing….but not when it’s raining.
Currently hiding out near Lismore with Ben & Sigrid (who we traveled with through WA & SA), we’re waiting for the weather to turn and hopefully enjoy the coastline with a little bit of sunshine.
Leaving Melbourne was long awaited but sad. We would finally be on the road again after spending almost 7 months working and preparing the upcoming trip in one of the greatest cities we’ve ever lived. We met wonderful people, drank the best coffee and enjoyed the hustle and bustle of city life. But it was time. Time to feel our beloved Troopcarrier work beneath us to bring us from A to B, time for campfires, time to sleep up high and time to see more of this amazing country.
It took us two days to pack the car. Reen once compared packing his motorcycle panniers as a game of Tetris. Well, this was Advanced Tetris. With the barrier we had installed behind the backseats, some things were a little bit more difficult to fit in and we had acquired a lot more stuff.
In the end, we managed, but knew we would probably repack at least 5 times before everything had its right place.
We left Melbourne in the pouring rain. The city was obviously weeping for our departure.
Giddy for being on the road again we listened to Abba and drove all the way to Lake Eildon. Mt Pinninger provided us with a beautiful campsite and we were glad the rain stopped when we were pitching up the tent for the first time in months.
The next two days we drove through Mansfield, camped at Edi, moved on to Myrtleford, Bright and camped at the beautiful Mountain Creek Campsite near Mt. Beauty.
We decided to do some 4 wheel driving and took a short cut to Mitta Mitta on Disappointment Track….which turned out to be a real disappointment since the road was blocked by an enormous tree. Turning back was the only option unfortunately. Where is that chainsaw when you need it?
To drive from Corryong to Kiandra was a challenge. The high altitudes in Kosciuszko National Park and the fact that it is still winter resulted in closed roads, campsites and Park entrances. Long winding roads and even snow on the side of the road gave us the distinct feeling of driving somewhere in Europe and we had to drive well into the evening before we found a place to camp at Yarrangobily.
Waking up the next morning I looked up and couldn’t believe my eyes: frost! on the inside of the tent. Reen hurried out of the tent to take photos of the unbelievable winter scenery of frost and ice.
We decided to take the advice of our fellow camper and head over to the Thermal Pool at Yarrangobilly Caves and indulge ourselves with 27 degrees bath in the outdoors.
All refreshed we began our longest drive in 5 days. We wanted to reach the Blue Mountains that day since my parents arrived there that day too.
I would’ve loved to know how many kilometers we drove that day, but both my iPhone cables decided their life had come to an end and my Hemamaps app only tracked for an hour before my phone’s battery gave out. After a long and boring drive on the Freeway we arrived, exhausted, in Leura (the Blue Mountains) where my parents were waiting for us in a nice apartment.
Over the past few days we’ve seen many stunning views and walked beautiful tracks through canyons and over high cliffs. So far the Blue Mountains have not disappointed us and we’ll enjoy its riches for a few more days before my parents go back to a currently rainy Holland and we’ll continue up the coast.
Het is eind november als ik de deur van de Toyota hard dicht sla, alles is ingepakt. De wolken sluiten samen als een dichte deken en de eerste druppel raakt me vol in het gezicht, snel volgen er meer. Heerlijk reisweer, we rijden de stad Perth uit en volgen de kust zuid.
Eaglebay, Margaret river, Augusta.
We zoeken het gezelschap weer op van een rondreizend stel. Twee jaar geleden zijn ze uit Sydney vertrokken en inmiddels zijn ze bijna rond Australië.
Warren NP, Shannon NP, Mt. Toolbrunup, Fitzgerald River NP
We kruipen we nu in oostelijke richting langs de kust. We zetten de auto waterpas met een paar stenen, klappen de tent uit en met het zakken van de zon lijkt al het geluid te verdwijnen. We zijn alleen onder een heldere sterrenhemel.
Balladonia track
Moeizaam ploetert de auto zich door het zachte zand omhoog. Helga’s knokkels zijn wit, haar handen hebben zich stevig om het stuur van de Toyota geklemd. Het raampje aan de bestuurderskant staat half open, af en toe persen zich er takken doorheen die vervolgens schrapend over de zijkant van de auto verdwijnen. We stoppen als omgewaaide bomen het pad versperren.
Port Lincoln, Coffin bay
De zon gaat onder en kleurt de lucht rood en paars. De vinnen van dolfijnen snijden door het water, vanaf de door de zon eerder opgewarmde stenen bekijken we het schouwspel dat duurt tot het laatste licht. Met een kampvuur halen we de warmte en het licht weer terug. In goed gezelschap beginnen we een nieuw jaar.
Nuttbush Retreat – Port Augusta
Een gevoel van herkenning is er als we aankomen op een sheepstation. De voortrazende roadtrains bulderen door de stilte. In combinatie met het zachte hoge herkenbare gezoem van muskieten houd het ons die avond in een lichte slaap.
Melbourne
Geuren van ondefinieerbare, maar vast goede gerechten vinden zich een weg door je neus. Mannen laten hun gezichtshaar staan, lopen in korte broeken op kleurige sportschoenen en lijken druk onderweg naar iets. Vrouwen trekken hun broeken op ver voorbij hun navel, rood geverfd haar is hip en zichtbare geïnjecteerde inkt is meer gewoonte dan uitzondering.