Days 52-54: Okavango Delta, Botswana

Travelling in Africa teaches you patience. There are frequent delays and stops in your travel, and nothing happens as fast as it should. A 120km stretch of road can take 2 hours one way, and 4 hours coming back. A border can take 5 minutes or an hour and 5 minutes. Add in flooded roads, random police checks, arbitrary shop closures and getting around can be a real challenge in keeping your cool.

The thing is, it's always worth it. And I got a real lesson on this point when we travelled to the Delta. I was a bit hesitant about the journey- we had seen so much wildlife already, and nowhere can measure up to the standard set by the Serengeti. It takes 2 border crossings and a 5 hour truck ride to get there, 3 of which are spent bouncing over dirt roads at a frustrating 30km/hr. When we finally arrive, we have to cart 3 days worth of gear down a sand road and load it into makoro dugout canoes, as the only access to our camp site is across water.

As soon as we set off in the makoros I felt embarrassed for my frustration. This is amazing. The makoros glide across the water, drifting through natural channels, and at other times carve a new path through the reeds.

Having spent so much time on the visual hunt for the big game, you can get a bit obsessed about the famous mammals and forget about all the other life that exists in Africa. And the Delta is teeming with it. As you punt along flicking through the reeds and branches, you are constantly peppered with an endless stream of critters- tiny frogs smaller than a fingernail, a dozen types of spider, praying mantises, crickets and myriad insectoid bric-a-brac.

In the distance you hear a roar- hippos. Later, a thunderous clarion call as elephants emerge from the bush to crash their way across the water to better feeding grounds.

We set up a bush camp on tiny island, a mere 300x500m outpost which only exists when the flood waters are at their peak. Snakes fall from trees and swim by our canoes, hippos call to each other, warthogs snort outside my tent. Termites, spiders, ants, birds- a dozen for every inch.

The island is breathing.

Days 44-47: Livingstone, Zambia

A visit to Victoria Falls is like standing in a 360 degree, 3-dimensional shower. From a distance, a gentle mist rises lazily from the falls, hence the local name of the falls being the smoke that thunders. Up close, these fluffy clouds are in facts floating torrents, pockets of roaming rains ready to dump a couple of litres on you at any moment. First a warm dousing, then a freezing one.

Some enterprising locals are renting raincoats, but it's the equivalent of a cartoon character protecting himself from a falling anvil with an umbrella. A small poncho is no protection. Within moments you're soaked.

With so much spray, it's difficult to see much. But for a moment, the clouds lift and you see the falls in all their glory. Over 1700 metres wide, 100 metres high. More than half a million cubic litres of water every minute.

Power.

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So impressed am I with the natural power and majesty of Livingstone, that I decide to throw myself off a gorge. Watch it here.

Days 38-43: Kande Beach and Luwawa Forest, Malawi

On a trip like this, you meet and talk to a lot more people than you do in, say, Europe. Partly, this is because a lot of people aren't doing anything and are just sitting around- sitting on the street, leaning on a fence, propping up storefronts. This means they have the time and the inclination to talk.

It's also because of the inherent friendliness of most Africans, and the people in Malawi are about the friendliest of the bunch. As you travel and meet the people- the children, beggars, vendors, general chit-chatters and the downcast, you are constantly torn between despairing at humanity at one turn, and having your faith fully restored at the next:

• thieving and cheating staff at hotels and camp grounds who steal money and alcohol at any opportunity, and attempt to overcharge guests for laundry and pocket the change
• playing with local kids in a village and throwing them around like a helicopter or chasing them down the street. At first they freeze, scared, but then laugh, and you realise their initial reticence was because they've never had an adult chase them as a game, rather than trying to cuff them round the ears.
• seeing a severely mentally and physically handicapped man, whose lot is sit, alone, at a service station forecourt asking for change, his bare scraps of clothes and dirt encrusted legs showing that there's no welfare state here

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Another day, another epic sunset. This time it's from the highest point of Luwawa Forest. I climb to the top of an unfenced fire tower (health and safety precautions don't exist in this part of the world), scaling a small ladder to get an even better view. Halfway up, the tower begins to sway appreciably in the breeze. At the top, the platform is so small that I can't even turn around without having to lean, unsupported, off the top of the peak. It wasn't easy, and halfway up I was more than a little scared. But totally worth it.

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Spiders, freakin everywhere. And they are massive.

Couple of my favourites so far

Standing over the cliff top, Lushoto


Playing with the kids at San bushmen camp, Namibia

The one you've been waiting for

Evidently the source of much hilarity for you all

Day 36: border crossing to Malawi

This is one of those days that is the best, and worst, of Africa.

Another long driving day. The sun rises and sets so steeply that the mornings are quite chilly, and I spend a good part of the morning wrapped in my Masai blanket. Then suddenly it's hot.

Out truck is constantly stopped for all manner of trivial infractions- not wearing seatbelts (we just passed a car load of 14, including babies in the front), inspection of the first aid kit (some vehicles dont even have windscreens), lack of reflective stripes on the front (um, we have headlights). Of course, this is done in the name of transportation safety, but we all know it's a extended invitation to buy the cops their lunch. And this is confirmed when invited to actually write a ticket for the supposed infringement, you are simply waved on. At some points a barrier arm rests across the road- it's not a police stop, just a frivolous, momentary detention as the attendant lazily walks out to remove it.

We stop for lunch in an abandoned service station forecourt, and immediately a man runs over with a frosty box of cokes. For all those flakes still hanging on to their jaded notions of communism, I give you the free market at its finest. A cold soda in the baking heat.

As we sit at the Malawi border a ruckus kicks up. A man is being held in position by a rapidly growing circle of detainers, and then a pig is trussed and then tied across his back. He staggers along under the weight of his porcine yoke as the crowd takes pot shots with fists, feet, elbows. The man is marched off into a local constable's office to jeers, and judging by his attempted speed it seems he is keen to get there. Street justice is swift and severe- the penalty for attempting to steal a pig.

The drive continues, and with the opportunity presented by a quick re-fuel, I duck into a store and buy a box of Carlsbergs for the truck. I sit sipping on a cold, 90 kwacha (60 cent) lager, my arm out the window and Lake Malawi is visible. Flanked by a tall, flat mountain range on one side, and traditional farmland on the other, it's yet another stunning view.

I sit, sipping my beer, enjoying the cool breeze and a breath taking view. Yeah, things are pretty fucking good right now. As the local say- TIA. This is Africa.

Days 30-33: Dar es Salaam and Zanzibar, Tanzania

I'm not really much of a beach person, but sometimes you get an offer that is just too irresistible to turn down.

After 5 days in the Serengeti, baking in the heat and being savaged alternately by tsetse flies, ants and mosquitoes, and being caked in red dirt that clings like rust, we set off for Dar.

8 hours of driving later, and the hot, but lush, Masai plains evolve in the flat, baked dust bowl that are the outer limits of the city. The temperature kicks up more than a notchm and gets dry. Really dry. Clouds of dust float lazily around the markets that skirt the city, as there is no merciful breeze to dissapate them. Even worse, the traffic is choking, and despite being on the first dual carriageway since, well, ever, we sit in gridlock. And swelter.

Arriving, finally, we are delivered to a camp ground on a beach outside the city, and my first view of the Indian Ocean. A moment to savour, at least briefly, but I'm already down the slope and into the warm surf. 2 hours later I get out.

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Visiting Zanzibar is my first real disappointment of the trip. It's everything I expected, at least, in a civic sense, from a former Arab slave trading port city, with narrow winding lanes of stone. Fresh grilled seafood down by the harbour. All at mzungu prices, of course.

It could almost be Florence or Venice, were it not for the menacing Arab men who lurk around some corners. The jeering, hissing and cat-calls as we make our way home at night has a fairly sinister note behind it. The experience is topped off by a drug-addled, Nigerian refugee, wearing a dischordant yellow leather jacket and demanding that we make reparation for his family being killed by U.S and British soldiers. Nothing too unusual there, but he is oddly persistent, and depsite our flat out refusals to give him money, he stands, hovering menacingly over us. We decide to leave and he's following us, at a distance at first but slowly getting closer. When he gets within a few metres and reaches into his jacket for something, it's all too much and we have to stop with a nearby security guard until he leaves.

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Head to the north of the island for some Zanzibar beach time. It's beautiful, of course, with powdery white sand, a warm ocean and plenty of (reasonably) cheap lager. But I can't help but think that this is no different to any other beach that you could care to name that caters exclusively for tourists.

Day 29- Lushoto, Tanzania

I'm wandering through the mountain town of Lushoto. Narrow dirt roads that wind through the natural passes between the mountains. Schools, shops and farms are dotted along the way, and as always the kids are waving. And not just a gentle, Sunday afternoon roll of the wrist, but a manic, frenetic burst of whole body waving. As the kids spot you from 200 metres and a high-pitched jambo rings out from behind the trees, they come running and you half expect to see some poor kid's hand come flying off his arm and land next to you in the dirt.

I climb further into the mountains and suddenly the rock ends- a spectacular view unfolds. A sheer fall from the cliff face, opening out onto wide plains, only broken by more mountains in the distance. The sky is unbelievably clear, like nothing you could get in any near-urban environment.

On my way back to the camp I stop at a roadside store, well, not so much a store as a wooden lean-to stacked with bottle of water, soda and beer. The beer is warm, frothy as hell and absolutely delicious. Best beer ever? Then I pause as something catches my eye. There, half-buried in the dirt is an HIV test kit wrapper.

The Serengeti is classic Africa, in the television nature special and picture postcard way. But this part of Africa is classic too, genuinely happy people, amazing, stunning scenery. And a reminder that this is the real world- the people are poor, sick. It's not a postcard, it's an east African village.

Days 23-27: Ngorongoro Crater and Serengeti, Tanzania

The tough balancing act in travel is seeing the best of the world without being surrounded by throngs of other tourists. The holy grail for any traveller is to find that awesome, unique spot that is also completely empty. Look at any travel brochure and you'll see it's full of words like 'authentic', 'untouched' and 'real'.

Of course, some places are justifiably full of tourists because they are among the greatest sites in the world, and everyone knows it. That's what it's like being in the parks of Tanzania- there is no better place in the world to see the great mammals of Africa- lions, leopards, rhinos and, the not-even-close-to-endangered fat german in safari gear with 24 inch telephoto lens.

Sure, there are hordes of tourists, but it's a price I am happy to pay. For my generation who grew up on Sunday night wildlife documentaries, this is the quintessential Africa- endlessly rolling savannah punctuated by acacia trees, and, of course, the animals.

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Then again, there are few things worse than sitting in a tourist-only bar packed with Aussies, Brits and Canadians (these 3 nations making up 90% of every mzungu you meet in Africa), where the bar is haunted by the tacky ghosts of tours past, as evidenced by the "Ockers in Africa 2007 - getting jiggy jiggy" commerative tour t-shirt, and signed by Kaz, Big Mike and Mongo and the rest of the wacky gang.

These are the I've-done-Africa-merit-badge-earners, people who think that drinking lager with a picture of an elephant on it qualifies as a cultural experience, yet would never think to walk 2 blocks down the road and have a beer in a local bar and possibly talk to someone who wasn't, you know, exactly the same as them.

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Watching the sunset over the Serengeti from a roof-top lodge bar is simply stunning. But is it $1500 per night worth of stunning? As I stood on this privileged vantage point I wondered, what had been the best moments of my trip so far? Arriving in Jinga, Uganda and having to set up my tent just as a torrential burst of rain began to pelt me, only for my frustration to evaporate moments later as I sat watching a lightning storm crackle over the Nile. And sitting in a night-time Serengeti bush camp and hearing the grunt of a hippo just metres away, the morning's grass trails confirming that, yes, there was a hippo about 2 metres from my tent.

If I had been staying in a lodge I would have missed both of these moments. That's not to say I don't appreciate the odd moment of luxury (I was down on my knees thanking Jebus for my 5-star hotel room in Beijing when afflicted with dodgy guts ). You just have to realise that, sometimes, money can't buy you everything, in fact, it may just exclude you.

A day in the life

Travelling in Africa teaches you to be patient. For one thing, everything takes longer than it should, whether it be border crossing, buying something in a shop or taking 4 hours to drive 120km. Fortunately, the frustration is invariably followed by some mind-blowing spectacle, animal or circumstance.

You have to take the good with the bad, and trust that, eventually, it will pay off. As a small example, in the last 24 hours, I slept rough on top of giant rock formation in Spitzkoppe, Namibia, watching shooting stars and gazing at a night sky so clear that the milky way was a visible stellar haze. Then this morning one member of our group was taken to hospital with malaria (on top of the 3 people who had contracted hook worms).

Tomorrow I am off to the sand dunes of the Namib desert for some 80 km/h sandboarding. I wonder what's coming after that?