December 2019

It’s a really good thing to keep your promises. So when I promised the Air Safari pilot I wouldn’t touch any of the controls if he let me co pilot the last leg in the Cessna back to Maun from the Okavango Delta, I kept my word. There were lots of buttons, too many to count.

The Okagvango Delta, a place one will hear many tales about, but it’s only once you are there that you can grasp it.

A World Heritage Site 1500km long, while the ‘hands’ and ‘fingers’ of this majestic earthly biodiverse feature make up 6000sqkm and 12,000sqkm.

Camp Okavango is nestled in the north west of the Delta, a slice of bliss for a couple of nights. The baobab trees that have stood for thousands of years, which have provided tartaric acid and yeasts to bush people for many lifetimes. Termite mounds decades in the making, which can be knocked down or partially destroyed by a passing elephant in the blink of an eye. Kilometres of the papyrus reed along the waterways, used by the Ancient Egyptians to make the first ever paper, and it can also be eaten and made into boats. Surprise encounters of elephants enjoying a cool down as you navigate the waterways to a hippo infested yet great fishing spot. Catching two red breasted tilapia and enjoying them for dinner under the Botswana stars. Coming across a pack of wild dogs walking back to Camp after a mokoro, through the waterlilies which not only look beautiful, but are used as methods of survival by the traditional people of the Okavango Delta. (Mokoro are the original boats carved from soft wood, used to navigate the waterways of the Delta, although now fibreglass ones are more commonly used.) Hearing tales of bushman of the Kalahari combining friendships, skill sharing and years of collaboration with those who called the Delta home; together they’d learn the ways of the life in the desert and by the water. Sighting the rare antelope, the Statunga, who live in water and on land, but too quick to photograph. Taking a bush walk on Nari Island, ‘buffalo’ in Swana. We saw a massive herd in the distance. Flying in to Camp Okavango in the Safari Air Cessna was fun; the distant clusters of trees and watering holes turning into detailed havens for many forms of wildlife. A great couple of nights with an awesome crew there who love the place and love nothing better than for those who visit to love it just as much. Cheeky monkeys at the camp, busy squirrels, lingering baboons, the distant honking of hippos and roaring of lions, and the constant chirp of so many birds. During activities and over delicious meal times and refreshing drinks was a chance for constant learning about this land from those who know it best, who live and breathe it. What a treat. Departing Camp Okavango by boat to a nearby camp, inbetween thunder storms and heavy rains, a final chance to be on the water, a final thrill. All this, and I’ve barely scraped the surface of this paradise.

October 2019

Hanging out with my dad the last couple of days on the turf he grew up on has been damn awesome and special. And listening to stories about school life in the Rhodesian Days from him and his cool school mates, while sitting together around a table at the place I made wine earlier this year Zimbo Bush Life styles surrounded by horses and warmth and wonderful people…. was all quite surreal. I just sort of sat back quietly and smiled to myself and thought, ‘wow, well this is pretty neat, lucky me.’ ❤️😁

October 1, 2019.

And…… we made it to Zim!!!! A bit of a mission, but not too bad for a plan that was shaped up just 15 hours beforehand. After leaving the Makgadikgadi Salt Pans in Botswana at the crack of dawn today, with achy legs and a satisfied belly after yesterday’s indulgence of a few tequilas and an epic braai, after running 100km across those mighty salt pans for Botswana’s inaugural stage ultra marathon race The Freshpak Salt Pans Ultra, (that’s an entirely different story by the way..) it was time to head east and hit the Zim border, firstly ensuring the fuel tank was full with an additional couple of full jerry cans for luck. Or necessity. Navigating the Plumtree Border Crossing was no simple process.

A lack of a car registration paper on our part meant a quick backpedal to a local police station on the Botswana side. It went a bit like this…. Turned left at the T-Intersection, drove up a dusty road past a village of small houses. A young fit looking guy casually leaned against his car as we stopped to ask him where the police station was. He pointed us in the right direction, accompanied by ‘What do you need?’ ‘We need an affidavit signed to show we own the car… are you a policeman?’ ‘Yes, but I’m not on duty. My boss is there and will help you.’ Awesome, off we went. The police station was empty, but a lady at the house next door popped her head out, asking if we needed help. She was wearing pajamas, had her face caked in some sort of cosmetic clay, and it turned out she was the policewoman we were looking for. So with a big smile, and still in her mask and pyjamas on, she happily walked over to the Station, and willingly scribed up the required paperwork, (after we found her a pen in the car because she didn’t have one.)

Her superior arrived shortly after to second it, we gave them some cold drinks and chocolate brownie to say thanks, (they were super stoked) and we were then back to the border. Then we get to the Zim side. Africa time, at its best. Nothing was particularly wrong, (apart from the fact we had to smuggle our car in because the man behind the desk didn’t trust the affidavit, so a tale was made up which worked..)  it’s just that nothing happens in a hurry. In a nutshell, three hours from one border post to the next. Now, the Zim currency is quite hard to keep up with at the moment. So when we reached the first toll gate and were asked to pay in the Bond currency, we had no goods. But in Africa, you can always make a plan. Turns out the guy in the car in the bay parallel to us had lots of this stuff, and was after some USD, of which we’d managed to get our hands on a bit of at the border.

So he paid our toll, and we followed him half an hour up the road to Bulawayo, where he waved us over, and we did a little shifty swapsie of currency in the back seat of his car. Nicely done. Oh, that was after we got pulled off at one of the already many  police road blocks, and the man in uniform asked if we had a couple of dollars or some cold drinks from Botswana, (noting the number plate). Again, the chocolate brownie was a winner. But even with all of this organised chaos, it’s always so damn great to get back to this country, even if it is just for a couple of days this time.

The road opened up as we drove north to Harare, we dodged cows and goats and dogs and sketchy trucks and vans and buses unloading or loading masses of people, and my grin just got wider and wider and wider that eventually my face started to hurt. The Batswanan, the South African and the Kiwi – what a great day for a scavenger hunt. mountains haven’t changed a bit in nine years, and I don’t recon we have much either. 🥰

September 26, 2019.

So I’m really pleased the baboon didn’t thief off with the freshly baked scones when he snuck into the kitchen on Monday afternoon, and hooked into the fruit bowl. But he didn’t take the bananas – how weird…

It’s been nine years between innings, but the feeling of serenity and intimacy of the Drakensberg mountains was just the same as it was nine years ago, as my great mate Vic and I pulled into Mkomazana, at the foot of the Sani Pass, last weekend.

It was 2010 when we last visited this treat from Mother Nature together, and I’m pretty sure we had more ideas and rules about ‘being a grown up’ back then, than we do now…

Eight people in one house for four days amongst the mountains equals; feasts, wine, naps, laughs, and some epic stories.

A fun early morning hike, then enjoying the All Blacks won the opening RWC game, and it was totally fine being the only ABs supporter in the room, as long as I kept zipped.

A solo 30km return hike up Sani Pass had Sunday cut out well and truly; had a chat to a local Lesotho guy with a bundle of sticks strapped to his back, swapped him a photo of him for a juicy orange. Learned from a bakkie full of university students that Pretoria University has been studying ant life (yes, actual ants) in the Sani Pass for 16 years. No, I’m not sure why either.. And I met a group of ‘birders’ almost beside themselves as they clutched their binos and long lenses, when they sited their final bird on their list, just as they were on their way home; the Drakensberg Rock Jumper. Which, for matter of fact, lives only at 2700m altitude and above, I think. ‘This is GREAT, it’s like beating the All Blacks, in EXTRA TIME!!! Thank you for sharing this with us!!’ exclaimed my birder friend as she fought back tears. It was actually pretty cool – you’re one tiny dot in one massive mountain range, and each and everyone finds and appreciates different treasures.

Speaking of treasures, horse riding on the Monday was hilarious. My stomach was sore from laughing, and that’s before we got on the four-legged beasts. Loose horses, broken gear, biting, kicking, saddles falling off. My chestnut fluff ball was called Womble, (pronounced ‘Womblee’ like with a bit of French flair). Well Womble was the laziest horse there, except for when he must have been boring himself and decided to take a hunk out of Mr T’s arse (Mr T is a horse, not a person.) Well, Mr T was less than impressed, and Womble was counting his lucky stars the retaliative kick did not land him a big one. And the guy who was on foot walking with us keeping an eye on things, with ‘Dope Hands’ plastered across his chest, was about as helpful as tits on a bull. We did see a beautiful waterfall.