I have just returned from an action-packed, 3000+ km journey to four countries in five days. There were good times, there were bad times, and everything in between. We went on an amazing river cruise in Chobe National Park; visited Victoria Falls in Zimbabwe and Zambia (I bungee jumped!); traveled through Namibia's Caprivi Strip; saw San (Bushman) paintings at Tsodilo Hills; hit a cow (that wasn't fun); and took a mokoro trip in Maun before caravaning with friends back to Gaborone. Grab a cup of rooibus tea with honey and settle in, because reading this post might take awhile. Don't let the title fool you--abbreviations may be popular here, but this is the unabridged version of my wildest summer weekend yet:
Day -1: Gear Up!
I met the Peace Corps Botswana director for lunch. She served in PC Togo in the 60s with a PCV I served with (during her second tour) in Morocco. She was the first person I'd told about our itinerary that didn't doubt our ability to pull off the intensive schedule. We had a great time talking about our Peace Corps service, and life in Botswana.
After lunch, I took a tour of the PC office, which is conveniently located next to Game City Mall. At Game City, I bought the requisite sleeping bag for weekend camping, and a headlamp as a little splurge/possible necessity. I misplaced the headlamp at the end of the trip, and was so distraught for a few days I considered buying a new one. I loved that headlamp--it made reading in the dark so easy. But my friend had accidentally stuck it in her bag and taken it back to Mozambique with her--so I will recover it next month. Luckily, I did not have to buy a tent, because a friend of ours in Gabs happens to have one that is the perfect size for three people! I went to Riverwalk Mall to pick it up from him. Yes, this was the shopping tour of Gaborone.
Day 0: The Night Road to Francistown
Dimpho arrived early in his taxi to take me to the airport. I thought I covered everything at the Budget Rental Office--I asked for a letter of authority to cross international borders in the rental car into Namibia. I asked if I could drive the car into Zimbabwe (I was told "No, there are no rules there."). But I forgot to get a thorough explanation of the insurance policy--perhaps because there is no insurance policy, just a damage waiver. This will be important later.
The work day was fairly busy. I had read a draft report the UN had commissioned, and had to go to a meeting where the researchers presented their findings and took comments on the report. I had a LOT of comments. This report is perhaps the worst professional piece of writing I've ever seen. I wasn't commenting on the document--I was rewriting it. Logic and organization were completely absent. I said this all in much politer terms at the meeting, but since sending them my track changes, I have the sense that they were slightly offended by all the red markings and don't want to make substantial changes. This is sad because if they don't make changes, the report will be unsuitable for publication.
While I was at the meeting from Nofunville, Caitlin arrived in Gaborone from Mozambique! She was at the office when I returned, ready to join Lauren and I on the adventure weekend of a lifetime. I hadn't seen C since Xmas 2006 in Morocco, and this trip would be slightly crazier given all we were cramming into 5 days. Only one thing left to do-- hit the road!
Traffic sucked. It took an hour to get out of Gabs. As if we needed more proof that Gaborone is a small town, one of our friends called us while we were crawling along, saying he had seen us pass him in traffic. Eventually we managed to reach a decent speed, and had an entirely uneventful drive to Francistown. Our hotel does bear mentioning though. First, the name cracks me up: The Diggers Inn. The lobby featured multiple pictures of Victoria Falls, which made us quite excited for the trip ahead of us. Oddly enough, there was no door on the bathroom in our family room. There was a full kitchen though, which featured complimentary tea and coffee (we fully exploited this early the following morning). I "dug in" for the night, curled up on the bottom bunk bed.
Day 1: Elephants Crossing
5:30 am came all too early, but if you want to catch the elephants on safari, you've got to get up with the sun. We wanted to make the noon game drive. We made good time to Nata. But when we took the Kasane turn-off, the potholes began. These were not your average little bumps in the road--they were as big as our car! For some time, it was easier to drive on the side of the road in the sand than to brave the "paved surface". This was not the last time this trip I would wish I had a 4WD. At least there was interesting scenery--we saw an elephant on the side of the road, as well as some giraffes. I sort of felt like I was in the middle of a psychedelic Beatles' Magical Mystery Tour song.
We got to Thebe River Camping in Kasane just before noon. Sadly, the game drive had been canceled, but we were able to reserve a spot on the afternoon river cruise, and had time to pitch our tent and find lunch in the meantime. It took us all of 10 minutes to see downtown Kasane, but we enjoyed a mini pizza from the local bakery, bought foodstuffs at the grocery store, and checked out a giant baobab tree on the drive back to the campsite.
The afternoon river cruise was definitely one of the major highlights of the entire trip. The banks of the Chobe River are completely full of elephants and hippos as the sun goes down--it is absolutely stunning. We also got to see a rare occurrence for this time of year--elephants crossing the river. They all congregate in a group, as if discussing whether they should cross the river. Then they all follow the leader out into the water in a line, and as they get deeper in the water, they use their trunks as natural snorkels. While I was not aware of it, elephants are quite exceptional swimmers. The pictures can tell it better than I can:
On the ride back to the lodge, we discussed our plan for visiting Victoria Falls the next day with the friends of an Australian we had befriended on the cruise. Let this be a warning: beware a doubting Aussie with a superiority complex. This guy arranged safari excursions, but was a complete Negative Nancy when it came to encouraging our lofty goals:
Me: We don't want to pay the lodge the transfer fee of $80 per person. So I guess we're going to leave our car at the border and hitch.
Aussie: No, you'll have to catch the ferry into Zambia. You can't hitch from the Zimbabwe border.
Me: Hmm, well we're planning to see the falls from both the Zimbabwe and Zambia sides.
Aussie: "You'll NEVER be able to do that. You won't have time.
Me: And we want to bungee jump.
Aussie: But you haven't reserved it. Well, you can't just walk up and do it.
Back at the campsite, we ate vegetable sandwiches in the car, then hit up the campground bar for a couple beers to end a fantastic day. We asked our Aussie friend if he happened to have a plug adapter so Caitlin and Lauren could charge their electronics. Since he had no idea where he was going, we ended up taking a tour of the entire campground before he found his campsite...only to find the plug would not work with an Australian plug adapter. He suggested bending the metal on our plugs to make it work. Luckily, as with his friend's Victoria Falls advice, we didn't listen to him.
Day 2: The Smoke that Thunders, the Screams from Bungee Jumpers that Reverberate off Canyon Walls
We awoke Saturday with hope and anticipation sparkling in our eyes--today we were going to see a natural wonder of the world, visit two new countries, and go bungee jumping! But first, we had to figure out how to get there. While trying to find the Zimbabwe border post, we ended up at the Kazungula ferry crossing into Zambia. After consulting our Lonely Planet (and our instincts), we were not about to take any of the Australian's advice, so we turned around to give finding Zimbabwe another go. We pulled over at a truck stop to ask a woman for directions and realized as we were rolling down the window that the most likely reason a woman would be walking away from a truck stop one kilometer from a border crossing (where trucks usually wait several days clearing customs) is that she is a prostitute. But, prostitute or not, she gave good directions--Excuse me, which way to Zimbabwe? Oh, it's a right turn, I see. Thank you.
At the border, we asked the Botswana guards if it was alright to leave our car for the day. They gave us quizzical looks and told us: "At your own risk. But why are you scared to take it to Zimbabwe?" Because--there are no rules there. So after paying a $35 visa fee (at least I wasn't Canadian like Lauren--$75!), we walked into Zim, and were delighted to find exactly what we had wanted to see when crossing the border: a big sign reading "Welcome to Zimbabwe". Damn straight.
The doubting Aussie was proved immediately wrong, as there were three taxis to choose from for a ride into Vic Falls. The cost was only $25 total for an hour-long ride, and it included so much--green tinted windows, an elephant sighting on the otherwise deserted road, wondering if the gas tank was really riding on empty the whole time or if the gas gauge was broken (my guess: the former), and listening to the weirdest Zambian radio station ever. On the news: a dog has eaten its third dead baby (it was digging them up in cemeteries). In a public service announcement, read by a man in a scary voice, with haunted organ music playing in the background: "BEWARE of wolves in sheep's clothing! Individuals have been posing as representatives of this radio station. If in doubt, call this number. BEWARE of wolves in sheep's clothing!"
We arrived safely in Victoria Falls, and were dropped off the street directly across from the park entrance. Piece of cake--take that, Australian man. The park is set up perfectly, because you start across from the western end of the falls near a nice little statue of David Livingstone (the first white guy to see this natural beauty) where lots of monkeys hang out, and gradually work your way a kilometer or so down the Zambezi to where you have the best view of the main falls (which are giant!). It is impossible to actually capture the entire falls in one picture or description, because they are so indescribably massive. However, the name for the falls in the local language is Mosi-oa-Tunya, which means "The Smoke that Thunders". This is absolutely accurate--later on in the day, while staring at the falls from Zambia (where you are directly across from the main falls, getting soaked by the mist from the falls), the water pouring over the cliff face sounded like a roaring thunderclap. Viewing the falls, you feel like you are in a great thunderstorm...only the sun is shining, creating rainbows over the water, and the sky is bright blue.
We finished exploring the Zimbabwe side before noon, but in awe of this natural wonder, we decided to enjoy the falls from a different vantage point--bungee jumping! Zim and Zam are divided by the continuation of the Zambezi River after the falls, so the border runs directly down the center of a bridge spanning the canyon. On this bridge, there is a platform that is 140 meters above the river, serving as a bungee jumping platform, where you can get your adrenaline rush for a mere $105. Yes, please. We had been told by someone at the bar the night previous that the company took cards, so we hadn't taken exorbitant amounts of cash, but on this particular day, the machine wasn't working. Lauren is afraid of heights, so a 111-meter jump didn't appeal to her too much. But Caitlin and I went on an excursion into Zambia to find an ATM machine, since no such thing exists in Zimbabwe, the country of the highest inflationary rates in history--5,000,000,000 Zim dollars will buy you a bag of maize meal, though no one actually uses the currency, and instead they sell it to tourists as a souvenir.
After going through Zam customs, we walked five minutes down the road to the hotel that was supposed to have an ATM machine. But since it was Saturday, the Barclay's was unfortunately closed, and for some reason, this meant their ATM was turned off as well. We were not giving up so easily. We hitched a free ride into Livingstone, 10 kilometers down the road, to find an operating money machine. The drive takes you along the banks of the Zambezi before it plummets over the falls--but you can see the mist of the falls from the road. It also took us through some nice road construction, but we made it to a mall on the edge of town, and were relieved to become proud owners of tens of thousands of Zambian kwacha. After an ice cream cone and a soda, we went to try and exchange our kwacha into something that would be valid somewhere other than Zambia. Caitlin gave the man at the bureau d'exchange her money, and he counted out $130 in five Andrew Jacksons and three Alexander Hamiltons. However, this exchange bureau oddly gives worse exchange rates for smaller denominations of US bills ($1, $5, $10), so Caitlin asked that he give her a $20 in place of the two tens.
He apologized: "I'm sorry, but I don't have any more $20 bills".
"That's not my fault," Caitlin said. "Can't you give me the better exchange rate?"
The answer was no, so she didn't exchange $30 worth of kwacha.
"But what about me?" I asked, "if you don't have any more large bills?"
"I don't have any more dollars," he said.
I tried again. "Ok, how about rand?"
"I don't have any rand."
"Euros?" No.
"Pounds?" No.
"Pula?" No.
"What do you have?"
Kwacha.
"Forget it."
We hitched a ride back to the border--for free! Not realizing how much time had elapsed since we left Lauren at the bungee jumping spot, we decided to check out the Zambian park. While Zimbabwe offers sweeping views of Victoria Falls, Zambia gets you right next to the falls--you get absolutely soaked as you walk across this narrow little footbridge above a very long drop to the water below. For the first time, I was glad I had brought my raincoat to Africa. We didn't have time to make the hike down to the Boiling Pot, at the foot of the falls, but we did check out the river right before it plunges over the drop. There is no fence to keep people from dipping their feet in the river here and risk being swept away to certain death...just a sign advising "No Swimming." Oh, the developing world and complete disregard for safety. Realizing it was almost 4:30, and knowing that bungee jumping ended at 5, we rushed back to the bridge (but not without first feeding the baboons at the border post), almost forgetting to go get our passport stamped--this is without a doubt, the most lax international border I have ever crossed.
Our hopes were almost dashed once we reached the bungee jumping cashier--"We close at 4:30; they've told me no more sign-ups today." We had to run down to the bridge to beg the bungee operator--if we couldn't jump, what would I spend all my kwacha on? We'd had to go all the way into Livingstone, for crying out loud. We are persuasive...he decided to let us jump! We ran back to pay, got weighed (they are kind enough to write your weight on your arm in marker for the harness strappers to check, and just so you can publicize it to the whole world.), then ran down to the bridge to get fitted for harnesses. We had to get ready so quickly, we almost didn't have time to be scared. But even though Caitlin wanted to go second, she somehow ended up going first, so I had a little more time to get nervous about the idea. The man on the platform wrapped my legs in towels before wrapping the strap around them and latching me on. Even though he promised that your feet don't fall out, the fact that I was going barefoot (to avoid losing my flip flops) made me skeptical...I kept my feet perpendicular to my legs the whole jump. I was greatly relieved they also attach the bungee to your body harness.
In case you get last-second butterflies, you still jump--the man tells you to put your arms up, counts down from five, then pushes you off the platform as he yells "Bungee!" I was jumping anyway as he went to push me--I wasn't going to have spent $105 not to actually jump. But I definitely screamed.
You fall for a long time. A 111-meter jump (the third-highest in the world), and objects fall at 9.8 meters a second. More than 11 seconds of free fall seems like an eternity. You don't think you're going to stop, and you are just plummeting headfirst into a canyon, watching the riverbed getting closer, figuring this is the end. Then you bounce back. The first bounce is the worst--whiplash. Then the bounces get less extreme, and you are just bobbing there, with the blood rushing to your head, yelling things to yourself that no one can hear--like, "Why did I just do this? Holy @#%*)#You fall for a long time. A 111-meter jump (the third-highest in the world), and objects fall at 9.8 meters a second. More than 11 seconds of free fall seems like an eternity. You don't think you're going to stop, and you are just plummeting headfirst into a canyon, watching the riverbed getting closer, figuring this is the end. Then you bounce back. The first bounce is the worst--whiplash. Then the bounces get less extreme, and you are just bobbing there, with the blood rushing to your head, yelling things to yourself that no one can hear--like, "Why did I just do this? Holy @#%*)#$&*!" You feel very very alone, but (oddly) very serene at the same time--after all, you are looking at the sun reflecting off the canyon walls, and seeing and hearing the water cascading beautifully over the cliffs in the distance. It is awesome.
amp;*!" You feel very very alone, but (oddly) very serene at the same time--after all, you are looking at the sun reflecting off the canyon walls, and seeing and hearing the water cascading beautifully over the cliffs in the distance. It is awesome.
Then you start to see the man being lowered down to get you in your peripheral vision, and eventually, you grab onto him, and he carries you back up to the base of the bridge, telling you to stop shaking (I'm sorry, my body is slightly in shock--I can't), and you try to crack some jokes (So, you must like heights, huh?). There is a very elaborate walk to get from below the bridge back to the top of the bridge--ladders, and walkways (you are attached by a carabeener the whole time), and bending over so you don't bump your head on the bridge supports--and then it's over. Would I bungee jump again? Probably not. But I'm sure glad I did it that once.
By this time, it was almost 5:30, and we knew that it would (a) be getting dark soon, and (b) the Zim border closes at 8. Time to head out. We bought some souvenirs (intent to provide a little stimulus to the local economy--it's obvious very few people visit the Zimbabwe side of the falls anymore) while arguing with a cab driver on a fare to the border. He kept changing his mind about the price, and how far he'd take us, but in the end he agreed to take us to the border for $25. We started driving, and he said how he hates it when people lie to tourists. Well, he lied. Three kilometers later, he dropped us at the hitching spot, and wanted money for it. We told him we weren't paying him anything, but eventually, we paid him $5 just to get him to leave. Then we waited under a tree by the side of the road with a policeman, a woman with her baby, and another guy waiting for a ride to the border. It was getting dark, and we were getting worried we might have to spend the night in Zimbabwe. None of the cars passing us were going to the border. After ten minutes, a car passed going into town, and said he would be back. When he returned, he let the three of us get into the back seat while he went to drop off one more guy in town and refuel. I think that--very kindly--he didn't want us to be waiting in the dark, and I don't think he could bring the policeman along while he was putting black market fuel in his car.
So how do you get petrol in Zimbabwe? You pull up outside a house (you need to know which house), honk the horn, and yell for fuel. When they're out, you have to drive to a random truck parked on the side of the road a few blocks away, ask the foreigners in your car for a $10 advance on the $30 they agreed to pay you (offered gladly--we had to get back to Botswana!), and funnel some gas into your car. Then you go back to pick up the policeman, the woman with baby, and the other guy and pile them into your little sedan. This was not a Moroccan Mercedes taxi, but we squeezed seven people and a baby in, none the less. It wasn't overly comfortable, but the baby was cute and fun to play with for the first ten minutes of the drive, and we made it to the border just in time. And our car was still there, hurray!
We enjoyed a well-deserved dinner at the campground restaurant and bar. After a day like that--defying Australians, gravity, and common sense--we all needed a beer. We had a long drive ahead of us the next day, but a local in the bar gave us directions to Namibia, and told us we would enjoy the drive. Almost true.
Day 3: And then, we hit a cow (of the bovine, not elephant, variety).
Sunday morning, we got in the game drive we had missed on Friday afternoon. It was fine, but not nearly as cool as the river cruise. Northern Botswana is COLD at 5:45 in the morning, but luckily we were sitting behind some veterinary sciences students in the truck, who were highly astute at spotting wildlife (they'd just come off of a stint at a symposium at Kruger in South Africa, where they'd stuck their hands down the throats of sedated lions, among other crazy adventures). With their help, we spotted more elephants, zebras, warthogs, monkeys, mongoose, squirrels, giraffes, plenty of deer (impala, springbok, duiker), a hyena, and a jackal, but were very disappointed not to see a single lion--especially when everyone back in Gabs asked us if we'd seen one, as if it should have been standard.
Considering the many miles we had to drive to Maun, we broke camp immediately when we got back from the game drive, and headed out. You drive on a road cutting through Chobe Park for part of the drive to Namibia, and we saw almost as much game (at much closer quarters) on the road as we had seen on the game drive--elephants, zebras, deer...should have passed on the early morning. Eventually, we reached the beautiful border post with Namibia, which overlooks the Chobe River and is full of baobab trees--time to see yet another country! Namibia's Caprivi Strip is a long, straight stretch of road, nestled in between Angola and Botswana, and the road is much busier than anything I've come across in Botswana. Little villages line the roadside, people are out and about, and it feels slightly more "authentic" African than its more-developed neighbor. We turned west at Katima Mulillo (though looking at a map now, I'm not sure why we actually drove that far north), and stopped in another town along the way for a bathroom break and to explore a craft shop and observe a town meeting (which involved a lot of dancing). I had to pay for my purchases in rand because I obviously had no Namibian money. I was about a dollar short in rand, but the lady wouldn't give me a discount...what a joke. We fed malnourished-looking Namibian children some apples we had in the car.
The road in Namibia was far superior to the road to Kasane, and in between populated areas, we cruuuuuised and made great time. We probably also didn't conserve gas that well, so when the gas light started blinking on the 20 km of dirt road leading up to the Botswana border, we got a little worried. But our gas lasted across the border and into Shakawe, where we had to wait a half hour at the one existing pump to get a fill-up. We were behind a guy who spent over 1,000 pula ($150) on gas (he was filling up two tanks), so it took awhile.
Perhaps too cocky, we decided we would fit one more thing into the day before booking it to Maun, so we went to check out San (Bushman) paintings at the Tsodilo Hills. The road was not sealed, and though suitable for a 2WD, the car got very very dirty. We picked up a hitchhiker at the turnoff who worked in the museum at the Hills, and told us about the history of the area. The paintings we were going to see were between 2,000 and 3,000 years old. Since it was a Botswana holiday, he told us just to open the gate to the park ourselves and drive in to look at the hills. This we did, but when we parked the car at the campsite to go look around for a few minutes (it would be getting dark soon, and we wanted to be back to the main road before sunset), a man wanted to register us and have us pay for a tour. We tried explaining that we only had 15 minutes to walk around, but he went to go get the registration book--in the meantime, we went to where we could see a distant view of the paintings, and called it good. We "registered," then left, seeing a beautiful sunset over the red hills as we drove away.
We pulled back out onto the main road at 6:30 pm, just as dusk was falling. We figured we could get to Maun in a few hours, and get a good night's sleep before our canoe trip the next day.
And then we hit a cow. My brights were on, I was going a conservative 110 km/hr in the little Toyota Yaris. We rounded a curve, and there we saw them. Botswana's export pride and joy--Cows. In the middle of the road. On both sides of the road. Everywhere. I slammed on my brakes. It wouldn't be enough. One cow was moving across the road, opening a small slice of road I could try to aim for. I swerved right toward the window of opportunity, avoiding a head-on collision. The front passenger side headlight was not so lucky. Neither was the cow's rear end. The car clipped the brown cow; it flew through the air. I don't know if it died. I kept driving until I found a safe place to examine the damage. We called the rental company, and they said they could switch the car in Maun for us. So we kept driving in the dark--for 350 km at a slow 80 km/hour, with one headlight (I kept thinking of that song by the Wallflowers). We were out of food until we reached a gas station two hours later. Even then, I wasn't that hungry. We almost hit two more cows on the way. Elephants were also on the side of the road, so I guess I am glad we did not hit them. And that I am alive. We also saw several nocturnal animals in the late hours (little mice, chinchillas, fox-type things), though I could have cared less. We made it into the campsite after midnight, after a tortuous search for the Okavango River Lodge using one of the worst Lonely Planet maps ever.
I hope I am not going to spend half my summer living allowance paying the collision damage waiver (never use Budget Rentals!). Please note the tufts of cow hair and streaks of blood on the bumper in the pictures...the friendly dog at the gas station liked the bumper too:
Day 4: Mokoro a Go-Go
In the morning, we tried to switch the rental car before our all-day mokoro (canoe) trip in the Okavango Delta. We failed to actually do this, however, because we had not yet gotten a police report, so Tuuso at Budget said to wait until tomorrow. We also failed to find food to take for lunch, since none of the grocery stores were open, and had to buy some basic food from the gas station. While waiting for a call from Tuuso at the airport, however, we found a cafe that was opening soon, and they were kind enough to sell us some muffins and juice for breakfast. Then we got back to the campsite, and realized they had a restaurant. So we ate some granola and had one of the best French press cups of coffee I've ever had.
At 8, we hopped on a speed boat for a short ride down the river to the village of Boro, launching point for the mokoro. Our polers stopped briefly in Boro to pick up some supplies, so we got to check out the village before heading out on our mokoro adventure. Mokoro are narrow dug-out trees, with hay spread along the bottom to sit on. Two people sit in the mokoro, and the poler stands at the back to steer the boat down the reedy channels of the delta. The whole experience is very peaceful and calm--someone else is doing all the work--except for the bugs that are everywhere. They are not mosquitos, so they don't bite, but until you apply liberal amounts of bug spray, they cover your clothes, the food bag, and everything else. Caitlin and I both thought that being in a mokoro made us wish we were rowing.
After a few hours, we docked on an island, and went on a bushwalk with our guide, Eman. We were not allowed to stray very far from Eman ("You are not in Gaborone, ladies," he reminded us). Again, we were not lucky enough to see a lion, and saw what had become standard for the trip: elephants, zebra, warthogs, and wildebeest. It took a long time to find any of this though, and because we weren't having much luck seeing animals, Eman decided to explain in great detail about animal dung and termite mounds (both of which were plentiful on the walk). Did you know, for instance, that termites build mounds thicker on the eastern side to allow proper ventilation and protection from the heat of the sun? I bet you didn't.
The bush walk was so long, we didn't have time for lunch on the island, so we made our avocado sandwiches on the boat instead. At the end of the day, back at the boat dock, we ran into our friend Julia who was up in Maun on work with Tebelopele (the HIV testing center she is interning with in Gabs), and had taken an overnight mokoro trip with some Peace Corps Volunteers. She was also staying at the Okavango River Lodge, so after the speed boat ride back to the lodge, and a nice hot shower, we all met for dinner at the lodge's restaurant...butternut soup, since I was boycotting beef. Her co-worker, Sokwe, joined us, and since he is from Maun, and speaks Setswana, he agreed to help us out with filing the police report. Sokwe is brutally honest, and this time was no exception: "Julia, your car is ugly," he told me when he saw the very dirty, very damaged Toyota.
We filed our report with the police, and then went back to the lodge for a bottle of South African red. While we were drinking, we chatted up the two bartenders, and then turned in for one last night in the little yellow tent.
Day 5: Caravan to the Tax Collector Tree
The drive back to Gabs was actually fun, because we caravaned with Julia and Sokwe half-way. First we had to visit the police to pick up the report, and trade in the car, but once we were on our way, the trip was enjoyable. We had to stop at a foot and mouth control checkpoint (dip your shoes in the disinfectant and drive through a puddle of it), at which Sokwe told me: "Let's drive faster now so you won't have to drive too far in the dark." I jokingly told him that was fine, so long as he payed my speeding tickets (one of the policemen at the station had warned us to watch for speed traps on this Botswana holiday). Later, I would realize I jinxed myself.
We stopped off in the little town of Mopipi to check out a pan and take some pictures. We had just passed a sign for the "Mopipi Tax Collector Tree," and curious what exactly this meant, we decided to explore since we were in the area. It turns out, this tree is where the tax collector used to sit when he came from Orapa to collect. Now the tree is used as a leather curing facility. Awesome.
We kept driving until Julia and Sokwe reached their destination just outside Orapa. We pulled over into a lay-by to return the music we had traded for the drive. They left, and I pulled out to continue our journey. 200 meters down the road, a cop pulled me over to the side of the road. He told me that 180 meters back, I had been going 74 km/hr in a 60 km/hr zone (this is about 8 miles an hour over the speed limit). I don't even know how it's possible to get going that fast in 20 meters, and told him as much--I'm certain he had the radar trained on someone else, or it was broken. He wrote me a ticket anyway for 380 pula ($60). I said "You have got to be f$^# kiddin' me." He said I was insulting the government of Botswana. I said I had no money with me at the moment. He said I would have to pay it within 14 days in Gaborone, or they would come knocking at my door. He wrote my information down incorrectly, and I am not going to be in Gaborone during the last week of my internship. I am not paying. I am going to become an international outlaw.
The jinxing continued--Sokwe had asked us before we parted ways if we wanted to refuel there, but we said we would wait until Serowe--we should have listened to Sokwe, because the gas light was blinking the last 60 km into Serowe. At one point, we turned into a little roadside convenience store advertising "GAS HERE", but then we realized they meant the gas canisters you use for your stove--in Botswana, gas is petrol. We made it anyway.
We got back to Gabs quite hungry, and hit up Riverwalk for a pasta dinner. We were absolutely exhausted (driving 3000 kilometers in five days will do that to you), and we managed to run into half the people we know in Gabs at the restaurant. We talked with a couple of them for awhile, then dropped them off on our way home. It had been quite the weekend--and we had to go to work at 7:30 the next morning. But the trip had been incredible, and worth every minute. Except for the cow--I could have done without that.
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