update 24.
on the road again
19-30 July 2008
Total kilometers cycled: 36,881 (22,866 miles)
Cycling through South Africa and Swaziland
Specific country info on routes & roads/food & accommodation/the locals available here.
Our last glimpse of India was of the sleeping city of Chennai
as
we raced by on our bikes in a mad dash to make it to the airport by
midnight. Flights taking off in the wee hours of the morning
are
hardly convenient for anyone and less so for a cyclist. There
were plenty of families sleeping rough on the side of the road, but in
tranquil India, nobody bothered to hassle us in the dead of night.
40 hours after takeoff and a luxurious 24 hour stopover in
Qatar at the 5
star Movenpick hotel (not at our expense, naturally) we landed in
Johannesburg and braced ourselves for what is known to be one of the
most dangerous cities in the world. Not quite up there in the
league of Baghdad, Kabul or Mogadishu, but a city nonetheless notorious
for its carjackings, violent robberies and rapes. We were
fortunate, then, to be met by Jay, the brother of our hospitality club
contact who hosted us in Cape Town. Jay's passion
is flying
and as soon as he'd loaded our bikes and gear into the back of his pick
up (alright, that's cheating a bit, but this is the return trip so
we've relaxed the rules a tad) he whisked us off to the airfield, fired
up his microlight plane and we were airborne again. What a
rush
flying over the highveld as the sun slowly set over Johannesburg,
buzzing low over the fields with a sharp wind in your face and then
floating back down to earth. 
But
cold. Really cold for two travelers who'd just escaped from
sweltering India where it was in the 90's (35 Celsius) before 9 AM.
We were in the midst of the southern hemisphere winter and
Johannesburg lies up on a plateau at around 1500 meters.
Central
heating in homes somehow never caught on in South Africa and we had to
content ourselves with hovering around the fireplace at Jay's place,
piling on the blankets at night and sleeping with a cap to keep
frostbite at bay (OK, that's a bit of an exaggeration, but once sun
set, I started shivering). At least we weren't in the tent.
And fortunately geysers (which is pronounced geezer and
is what I call a water heater) are a normal feature in South African
homes. In any case, the cold didn't agree with me and I spent
the
better part of two days buried under the covers in Jay's bed.
Jay
slept in his sleeping bag on the floor in the living room.
Maybe
he just wanted to be near the fire, but more likely this is just
another example of how seriously South African's take their hospitality.
After
a few days we'd acclimatized ourselves to the new weather conditions
and were ready to hit the road. Jay offered to drop us off at
the
highway heading towards Swaziland and we didn't refuse. We're
getting soft. He was worried we might get lost in the tangle
of
roads encircling Johannesburg or take a wrong turn and find ourselves
in the middle of a troubled township. Most every South
African
we've met has a tale of being robbed, and Johannesburg holds the
dubious honor of crime capital of the country, so we didn't want to
push our luck. Day one back on the bikes we racked up a grand
total of 30 kilometers. And the next day we rested.
We
weren't keen to push on just yet since we were being hosted by Amanda
from Hospitality Club, who's an excellent cook and good company.
Plus she took us on a mini township tour and showed us some
bright spots in what are some pretty blighted areas. She's in
charge of several township libraries which often serve as a
haven
for young people who want to escape the poverty and crime that
surrounds them. Kids pour in once school's out for the day to
do
their homework and escape sometimes harsh life at home. 
On
August 24th we started cycling in earnest--no rides in pick ups or
stopping after 30 K's. We did a whopping 124 kilometers (77 miles),
arrived
in a small town called Bethal as sun was setting, stopped off at the
police station to see if we could camp in their compound and were directed to
the municipal campsite just outside of town on the edge of a lovely
lake. Great, only the place seemed deserted and was
surrounded by
a high barbed wire fence and electric gate. But wait, what's
that? Way off in the distance a group of men kicking around a 
soccer ball. Hey, hey, let us in, pleeeaaase!
They ignored us at first, but we were unrelenting in our
pleas
and eventually one of them hopped in his pick up to see what all the
ruckus was about. He had a remote control that operated the
gate
and I guess we didn't look too suspicious so he let us in.
The
group of guys were road workers who were doing a job nearby and the
only campers who wanted to brave the freezing temperatures.
When
I complained about the cold they just laughed and showed me the heaters
they had running off the truck battery. It was toasty in
their
tent, no so in ours.
The
next night we were luckier. Just as were starting to think
about
searching for a nice friendly farm where we might pitch our tent, a
smiling face called out to us and asked if we didn't feel tired and
wouldn't we like to spend the night in the guesthouse? Were
we
dreaming? That's how we got to know the
Celliers family and
spent the rest of the afternoon riding horses and being given a tour of
the farm on the back of a quad driven by a very able eight
year
old. Most kids his age couldn't 
handle anything more complex
than a game boy --these farm kids show surprising maturity. In the morning it was on to Swaziland, past more caramel-colored highveld farmland and then it to the imposing forested mountains of the Kingdom. Near nightfall we made our way to the local police headquarters in Bhunia with an aim to pitch our tent in their compound. The officer in charge was seated below regal portraits of the king and the she-elephant, as his co-ruler and mother is known. We explained our mission, got permission to camp and then got to chatting with the policemen about Swaziland. The king's turning 40 this year and there's much speculation as to whether he'll take another wife. She's normally chosen in the month of August when the Kingdom's most beautiful virgins are summoned to dance bare-breasted before the king so he can choose the loveliest of them all as his latest bride. At last count he had, I believe, 14 young beauties in his harem. But sometimes he skips a year, I'm told.
Swaziland's
a tiny country and our stay was short, but from what we saw it looks
like the Kingdom is developing fast. The capital, Mbabane, is
surprisingly modern with parks and shopping malls and
branches of
all the big South African shops and supermarkets. Even
villagers
live in well-constructed brick homes and have access to schools, health
services, running water and electricity. Swaziland's main
scourge
is AIDS. One Peace Corps volunteer told me that the HIV infection rate
is up to 
40
percent in certain areas. The country's got enormous tourism
potential and is courting upscale South African holiday makers
with spas, golf courses and safaris. Late one afternoon as we were
approaching a wildlife reserve we were stopped in our tracks by the
sign reading Cyclists
& Pedestrians beware of Lions & Elephants.
We though better of continuing on so late in the day and
turned back down the highway and followed the sign reading Cattle Ranch
in hopes of finding a nice spot to pitch the tent.
The
cattle ranch turned out be property of His Highness so we got to camp
alongside the King's 2,000 head of cattle. It's his private
stock
which he uses to feed the masses during festivals, royal weddings and
such. The family managing the ranch was extremely friendly
and
invited us in for warm showers, tea and dainty cheese sandwiches.We were up by 5AM the next morning to take on the elephants and lions of the wildlife reserve and were slightly disappointed to spot nothing more exotic that a couple of warthogs. Just our luck.
Soon
enough we reached the busy Mozambique border, stopped in for our last
cheap meal of fish and chips and snapped a photo of the women roasting
mealies (better known as corn-on-the-cob where I come from).
These enterprising ladies then tried to extort a photography
fee
which I deftly avoided paying --Who
do you think you are, Cosmopolitan top models? That
got them laughing and we parted ways on good terms. Border procedures were painless and it was quickly time to
say
good-bye to English speaking Africa and concentrate on
Portuguese in order to communicate with Mozambicans who are struggling to
put their
colonial past and recent civil war behind them and work towards a
better future. Beaches, bush and a long slog up the National 1 await us.contact us at: worldbiking@gmail.com
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