Week 18 - Mar. 10th - 16th
day 120 - Gabon/Congo border to Kibangou to bush-camp
day 121 - bush-camp to Pointe-Noire
day 122 - day in Pointe-Noire
day 123 - Pointe-Noire to Cabinda (Angola)
day 124 - Cabinda to DRC border to bush-camp
day 125 - bush-camp to Boma to bush-camp
day 126 - bush-camp to Matadi to Angola border to Kivola
Week 19 - Mar. 17th - 23rd
day 127 - Kivola to ??? village
day 128 - ??? village to giant mud-hole (stranded!)
day 129 - giant mud-hole to Tomboco to N'Zeto to bush-camp
day 130 - bush-camp to repair station to bush-camp
day 131 - bush-camp to Caxito to Quibala to bush-camp
day 132 - bush-camp to Huambo to bush-camp
day 133 - bush-camp to Lubango to bush-camp
We've only been in Angola for 5 days and we've already had 2 malaria cases, 2 typhoid cases, one minor injury, several hospitalisations, had 1 flat tyre, 4 minor breakdowns, 1 massive breakdown, run out of water and had to resort to stagnant puddle water, run out of fresh food and had to resort to rice and tinned tomatoes, been stuck in the mud several times, been stuck in a massive sink hole for 24 hours and had to wait for a bulldozer to pull us out, our 5 day transit visa has expired and we're only one tenth of the way through this damn country! And it's looking more and more likely that we're going to miss our deadline for Namibia.
Those were pretty much the sentiments felt by most of the group, that is those members of the group that were still present, as we neared day 6 of our arduous slog through the forsaken dirt roads of Angola. In hindsight, now that I'm looking back from my robbery in South Africa, I should point out that nobody actually got anything stolen during our time in Angola which certainly was nice but at the time things didn't exactly seem so bright. We had once again had to resort to getting up horrendously early in the morning and driving all day and not only that but in order to really make up for lost time we decided to stop in the evening to set up a fire, cook our dinner and then drive on again until late at night when we would hastily unpack our tent and collapse in them, forced to get up even earlier the next day. Fun. I really have no idea how Gav did it. He must have been taking gallons of coffee or some kind of trucker pep pills to keep him awake because we were driving for more than 12 hours a day. I imagined Gav behind the wheel, unblinking and wide eyed as he soldiered on all day, shaking violently from too much coffee. I figured that years from now they would find the remains of the truck on the side of the road somewhere in Angola, our remains strewn around the trees except for Gav who would still be in the drivers seat, the same manic look in his eye from too many pep pills, his hands still clutching the wheels with an iron grip. Or so I imagined anyway. He actually didn't seem too stressed when we stopped for our few and far between breaks. But then Gav never seems stressed.And so the last two weeks have pretty much just been a blur of non stop driving all day and every day, or at least they would have been a blur if we had been averaging a speed of more than four miles per hour. Not that I'm complaining mind you, the scenery has been quite spectacular. Not only that but it's allowed me to take advantage of my favourite place to sit on the truck: up on the roof at the front to admire the view. Or up in the crow's nest as I like to call it. That's one of the many things I love about this truck, the fact that it has completely open sides and an open roof at the front. Of course we can cover up with tarpaulins if the weather becomes bad, whether rain which certainly can happen in the tropics, or whether it's cold which almost it never is. Since there hasn't been anything else to do all day on the truck I've pretty much spent the majority of the time on the roof admiring the wonderful views from up on the roof. Not a bad passtime if you ask me.
After our night near the Congo border we were ready to make our way back to the coast once again. Our destination was the coastal town of Pointe-Noire but getting there wasn't quite as easy as it sounded because we had to make our way through some pretty horrendous roads. Bumpy, winding, dusty roads that caused the truck to lurch about violently from side to side as the vehicle filled up with the fine dust that was thrown up by us and other passing motorists. We Eventually reached Pointe-Noire which turned out to be a surprisingly wonderful little place. We camped at the yacht club on the beach and pitched our tent right on the sand just a few feet away from the water at high tide which allowed us to fall asleep to the relaxing sounds of the ocean, always a treat. Pointe-Noire was certainly a welcome break after spending countless sweaty, grimy and shower-free days going through the Gabonese jungle. A couple of days later we were on the road again and we were soon crossing the border into Cabinda, the small enclave belonging to Angola that lies between Congo and DRC. We would be entering Angola for a second time a little bit later, to get to the mainland, but right now it was a relatively short trip to get through Cabinda. We camped near the DRC border that night, ready to make an early start the next day.The DRC: closed on Sunday
Some countries apparently close on Sundays. No I don't mean that the shops and services close I mean the actual country itself closes. Or at least the border does. We found this out when we reached the border of the DRC only to find that there was nobody to let us through, though there were a few guards there to prevent unauthorised entries. But there were no immigration officials in sight. Apparently we had to phone them up and ask them to come and process us. I don't know how cheesed off they were about being made to come in and work on a Sunday but the task of processing our papers took a nightmarishly long time. Probably the most absurd excuse for the delay was when the boss said that he has misplaced his rubber stamp for our passports and had to spend an hour looking for them. Eventually we made it through and found ourselves driving through some even worse roads than before, these ones caked in thick cloying mud that threatened to trap our truck if Gav wasn't careful. We ploughed recklessly on down the road, sliding and fishtailing all over the place, tensing as the truck slid into the big thick mud holes with its wheels spinning then relaxing as the vehicle lurched forward and sprang free of the mud. We camped by the roadside nearby a small village where Phil actually managed to buy the entire towns beer supply. It was one warm beer. The next day we stopped for a brief lunch break outside the town of Boma but were unable to find any actual food. However I did manage to sniff out some of the local beer which was even better, I mean how many tourists can say they've even been to the DRC let alone had a cold one there?
We continued on and the next day we arrived in Matadi, a small town right on the border between Angola and DRC and right on the Congo River which presented itself as a beautiful sight as it came into view. But first we had to cross a toll bridge over the river, and this toll included the 'white man tax' which was about ten times the official price, despite the clearly marked fare sheet right next to it. Gav argued for a long time with the guards as a huge line of impatient honking traffic slowly accumulated behind us but eventually he was forced to concede to paying the ridiculous fee. The best quote of the entire trip so far was shouted by Gav towards a heavily armed guard with an AK-47, as Gav climbed back onto the truck he unceremoniously vociferated to the unsuspecting soldier 'I don't care if you've got a gun FUCK OFF!'. Surprisingly we made it across the bridge alive and after another unnecessarily long time at the border we were finally in Angola, driving along what were quite simply the worst roads in galactic history.Angolan roads: an experiment in psychological torture
I mentioned that the roads so far had been bad. I mentioned being stuck in the jungle in Gabon while waiting for a bulldozer. I mentioned that the roads were so rough that they threw the truck violently from side to side. But the roads in Angola are different. The roads there are evil, pure evil, an experiment in cruel and unusual punishment, in psychological torture. Because these roads take it to a whole new level. First of all we had gotten our hopes up while we were in Cabinda. After all the roads there were some of the best we had seen on the entire trip so far. We mistakenly thought that Angola had a good road network, after all if this little enclave that was separated from the mainland had good roads then why wouldn't the mainland? Then we found ourselves driving through terrain so horrendous that I would lobby to have the path renamed a hiking trail instead of a road. Because these roads were completely ridiculous. In the first five days we covered about 150 kilometres, probably less than one tenth of the total distance we needed to cover during our time in Angola. Not only that but our transit visa only lasted five days so we were already over. I can assure you that a vehicle probably couldn't make the journey we made in less than five days unless the driver drank 20 gallons of strong coffee and then drove non stop for 120 hours.
But the crowning touch in the evil genius of Angola's cruel roads came later on when we were about halfway through the country. Because it was later on that we found the roads randomly alternated between literally, and I really do mean literally, the best quality roads in all of West Africa and the absolute worst. We would breathe a collective sigh of relief as the good roads came into view, cheering as we stopped the process of being lurched around for hours on end and were now cruising smoothly along as happy as could be. The good roads would usually last just long enough to allow our hopes of reaching Namibia in time build up before it would degenerate into a cracked, potholed nightmare that would yet again and for the umpteenth time have us bouncing around for the next few hours, slowed down to a crawl once more. This process would repeat itself many times and would probably drive all but the most steely minded traveller completely insane. I'm sure that the numerous car wrecks that were strewn around the roads were no accidents but were deliberate, self inflicted suicide attempts by hapless drivers who were to weak minded to handle the pressure of this bizarre mind game and decided to drive into a ditch and end it all.So as I said, in the first five days we had made it about one tenth of the intended distance we had hoped to, but although the roads were awful the experience wasn't actually that unpleasant. In fact I really enjoyed it. You probably couldn't tell that from my description of the roads but you might not realise that just because something is bad it doesn't mean I don't actually like it. After all I wanted adventure and excitement, and that was exactly what we were getting! Not only that but we've had some great times interacting with the locals in their tiny villages that dotted the landscape during our first few days in Angola. On our first night in mainland Angola we stopped in a wonderful little place called Kivola and asked if we could stay there. The inhabitants were happy to welcome us and we cooked that night with an audience of about 50 children all crowding round us like they'd never seen white guys before. Except that they genuinely hadn't seen white people before. We even managed to trade with them for, what else, beer of course! Yes warm beer but then it would have been naive to expect a fridge, or even power for that matter, out in the middle of nowhere. The highlight of our time there was the next morning, just before we left, when Phil decided to teach the local kids the song YMCA. This would have been funny enough in itself but hearing Phil yell in his unbelievably thick New Zealand accent, then having the kids parrot it back in perfect Kiwi tones was just too funny! 'Altogether now...it's fun to stay at the YIIII EEEEM CEEEEE EIIIII'. They'll be getting some strange looks from the next tourists to come through that town if they remember that one! That's if they ever get any more tourists heading through their town.
The next day we camped at another settlement full of welcoming, friendly villagers. Once again we bought some booze off them, this time I got some cheap wine. And yet again again the kids crowded round but this time it was their turn to entertain us with singing and dancing which was quite wonderful. The next day it was once again time to continue our arduous journey across the road from hell. But despite our distinct lack of speed we were at least making slow but steady progress. Until later on in that day when we found ourselves stuck in a mud hole once again. And this was was much much bigger than the last one.
Stranded!
I suppose we should have expected this sooner or later. After all we had already encountered some close calls where we were barely able to dig the truck out. But this time it was totally stuck. We spent the first few hours trying in vein to dig ourselves out. The mud was the absolute worst kind imaginable, thick and gritty enough to be incredibly difficult to dig out with the shovels, soft enough for the truck to dig itself in deeper every time it made an attempt to get free. We even all got out and tried to push and pull the truck free, after all it worked earlier when we got trapped in a smaller hole but we eventually realised that we would need another and bigger vehicle to pull us out. 'PS2' Gav, Phil and Swiss Mike hitched a ride with some locals to the next town and returned triumphantly on the back of a huge sturdy looking cargo truck with a tow cable. We thought our salvation had arrived and we were eagerly anticipating good results when our truck was hooked up and the engines began to rev up. But it wasn't enough! We were completely and utterly stuck! It was like trying to tow a truck over a concrete wall, it wouldn't even budge an inch! And since the hour was getting late we decided to admit defeat and we set up our tents right on the muddy road, right next to a big dirty swamp, and we cooked dinner. But all was not lost. There was construction machinery in the area and one of the workers from the nearby village promised to return the next day with a bulldozer to pull us out early in the morning. Hope was restored once again!The tension in the air the next was almost palpable as we awaited the arrival of our heroic bulldozer driver. Soon enough, and only a little bit behind schedule, we heard the distant sound of heavy machinery and the vehicle, a mighty, sturdy looking CAT bolldozer with tank treads hoved into view over the horizon looking like absolutely nothing could possibly stand in its way. We watched the behemoth of a machine hook itself to the front of our truck with a huge steel cable and stood well back, giddy with anticipation. The reason for our nervousness wasn't so much that we doubted the ability of the bulldozer to pull the truck free, quite frankly it looked like it could singly handedly pull down the Eiffel Tower. It was due to the fact that we weren't quite sure how much of the truck would be left behind when it did come out. After all we knew that the bulldozer was strong enough, we just feared that it would tear the entire truck in half, leaving the back end stuck in the hole, the front end trailing haphazardly behind the bulldozer and all of us completely and utterly screwed, in the middle of Angola wondering what the bloody hell we were going to do now. So we all breathed a massive sigh of relief when the truck popped out of the hole with such ease that it made our digging efforts almost look bad. We celebrated and cheered, paid the workers, packed up and headed on with a newfound love for CAT construction machinery fresh in our minds!
Back on the road from hell!
Then the assault of the trees began! We were used to trees occasionally crashing through the open sides from time to time but now the vegetation was so thick that we were being attacked from all sides! Accompanied by a horrendous scraping sound the branches would be pushed back by the front of the truck, snapping back and crashing through the windows and roof, depositing no small amount of debris all over and inside the truck, leaves, insects, branches, everything that you would expect to find on a tree and then some. Each time we stopped for a toilet break we got out the broom and swept out enough organic detritus to fill a skip. After a long and torturous drive we finally reached the small town of Tomboco. We picked up German and Carolina from the local hospital. While we were all waiting for the bulldozer to arrive, German had been complaining of Malaria like symptoms and so him and Carolina had hitched a ride to Tomboco to get to the local hospital. It turned out that not only did German have malaria but apparently Carolina also had contracted Typhoid, and this wouldn't be the last time we had a case of either of those on board during the Western Trans. But we were reunited and that was the important thing. We continued on our merry way, or as merry as could be on those roads, and seemed to be making reasonably good time when it finally happened.Angola killed our truck!
I suppose we should have anticipated that this would happen sooner or later. After all the amount of punnishment that the truck had absorbed during the time we had spent on the worst roads on planet earth was really quite insane. But when we drove yet another pothole in the road it proved to be the straw that broke the camel's back. We heard a loud clunk and Gav stopped driving and got out to inspect the cause of the sound. After exclaiming 'FUCK' quite loudly we knew it couldn't be good. It turned out that we had broken a suspension spring. We limped on a few more miles before coming across a small roadside truck-stop that allowed us enough room to get out and start repairs. Fortunately we had a spare suspension spring in the back of the truck but I should point out that a suspension spring for a huge Scania truck isn't exactly small. Or light. It is in fact a huge thing that takes several people to lift it up and several more to help with the tedious process of getting it into place. And removing the broken one. It was also the cause of our first injury on the truck that required hospitalisation when 'PS2' Gav suffered the misfortune of having the entire spring fall onto his finger, crushing it in the process. Sarah, a qualified nurse, helped administer some first aid to PS2 but he needed to get to a hospital to have the wound properly cleaned. Not only that but 'PS1' Mike was complaining of malaria like symptoms. So PS1, PS2 and 'Swiss' Mike hopped onto a bus and continued towards the next town while we stayed behind with the truck. We did manage to find some cold beers nearby though, always a treat, and myself, Chris and Lucy set up the charcoal burners and prepared dinner while 'driver' Gav, Mac and Summer helped with repairs.
Eventually we were ready to go once again and it was then that we decided to drive on after dinner and then carry on all night for quite some time before we unpacked our tents and crashed, exhausted. The next day we arrived in Caxito where we were reunited with the other, it turned out that PS1 DID have malaria after all. We drove on and it was then that the aforementioned process of 'psychological torture' from the alternating good and bad roads began.
Angola finally delivers!
It almost seemed like an apology from Angola itself when we came across the fantasic scenery that wowed our senses as we drove through the middle of the country. The mountain range in the centre of the country was just stunning to behold and the views continued to amaze us for the rest of the entire day. Not only that but it was one of the few places in the country where the roads stayed consistently good for quite some time and we were able to enjoy the sights without being thrown all over the place. We found a picturesque locations to have a bush-camp next to the road and we were treated to a fantastic sunset. The next day the mountains were bathed in a low fog that made them even more impressive than the day before and we continued in good spirits until we yet again started the process of alternating between more good and then horrible roads. The scenery also got boring again and we were quite bored with Angola by the time we made it through Lubango and moved closer and closer to our goal: the Namibian border. Lubango did prove to be quite a scenic town however and it was a shame we didn't have time to stop and spend some time there. Lubango is home to the third in the trio of Jesus statues that look down upon the landscape from a great height in Portugal and ex-Portugese countries, one in Lisbon, one in Lubango and the most famous one of course in Rio De Janeiro.We were still continuing the tedious process of driving all day, eating dinner, then driving some more although one night we were treated to quite a show when we were surrounded on all sides by violent lightning storms yet the sky above us remained dry and clear. It was a spectacular drive, hanging out the roof at the front as we watched the fireworks all around us. On the night of day 133, the end of week 19 we camped once again at the roadside in the dead of night and hoped, hoped that we would make it to the border in time!
And did we make it in time? Well tune in next week and find out!
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