The Vuvuzela Diaries

Dear follower,

Well we are now on the cusp of Africa having driven the 2,000 km through France and Spain in four days. France was easy as we cruised through, pushing 110km/h and stopping for nothing other than “gazoile” to fill our incredibly thirsty steed! After spending our first night in Rouen at an over-priced hotel we met Neil in Bordeaux on Friday evening. The next day we pushed on through the Pyrenees Mountains and into Spain. As we drove through the range we were engulfed in snow and so we decided it was as good a time as any to stop for a Spanish meal. Not long afterwards however, Grant started feeling particularly unwell and soon went on to win the prize for first chunder of the journey! And that was only the start… what followed in the next 12 hours was a sickness that would put and Duzi-Gut or Dheli Belly to absolute shame! We spent the night in a “town” that felt like it was situated in a desolate spot somewhere between Reno and the Mexican border, a town where the Tache is sacred, a town where cats toy with the tumbleweed and the Coke comes in old scratched bottles.

Of course every cloud has its silver lining. Unfortunately our silver lining came in the form of a sheared bolt… That explained why our fan belt had been squealing for the last 1,000km. By now it was Domingo which meant that no mechanics were available. We thus used our Phone-a-Friend life-line and called Julian (see our Preparations page for an explanation on the huge help Julian has been to us)! He quickly diagnosed the problem and gave instructions which Mikaela and Neil enacted with pit-lane efficiency. Before we knew it we were on the road again, heading towards Cordoba via Madrid.

Monday the 1st of February (Grant’s birthday, although it felt more like calamity-day) brought on a new set of problems and challenges:

- 5:30 Paula wins a silver medal in the “first to chunder competition”
- 8:20 Leave Cordoba, no time for breakfast – we have a ferry to catch at 13:00 and we’re already late
- 12:00 Reunite with Andrew and Danielle at Algeciras – an hour later than expected but hopefully in time for our ferry
- 13:00 No ferry
- 13:30 Still no ferry – apparently the King of Morocco is in Tanger and all ferry’s are delayed.
- 13:35 We are advised to rather take the 14:00 ferry to Ceuta
- 13:45 We discover that, whilst Andrew and Danielle make it onto the ferry our vehicle’s ticket has been cancelled because we were “late” for the 13:00 ferry which has been delayed to 17:00. This is Africa?
- 14:00 We miss the 14:00 ferry
- 14:05 Pay another EUR160 for a new ferry ticket
- 15:00 Board ferry, buy a bottle of Moet and celebrate our crossing into Africa
- 16:10 Arrive in Ceuta, drive 5 minutes into town, feel the car start shaking in traffic as one of our jerry-cans is cunningly loosed by an opportunist kid. Welcome to Africa!
- 16:30 Mikaela, now also overcome by “the plague”, wins bronze in the First-to-Chunder competition.
- 17:00 Cross border from Ceuta (Spanish territory) to Morocco
- 19:00 Finally arrive in Tanger and meet up with Mik’s folks.
- 20:00 Neil wins a magenta award for coming last in the First to Chunder competition as the plague strikes once again!

So, farewell was bid to London and off Andrew and I set to catch our ferry from Dover to Dunkirk. Well, we almost made it, but alas, apparently arriving 10 minutes prior to departure is not sufficient time to pass through border control and catch your ferry. So, as we pulled in to the ferry terminal, we were forced to turn around and exit again, as our ferry chugged off into the blue yonder. So, one false start down, we managed to be well in time for the next available ferry (4 hours later) and off we set for the shores of France. One country down, 20 to go.

Exhausted and ready for some down time after our mad last week in London, we joined up with my folks in the Pyrenees for a week of skiing, crepes, vin chaud and some well deserved R&R. The Pyrenees deserve a definite mention – they are lower in altitude and several degrees warmer than their big brother, the Alps. Gentle, friendly and decidedly pretty, this mountain range is a favourite amongst Spaniards and the local French.

Trying to repack our snow-covered 4×4 (christened Dagga Bull after the lone, tough male buffaloes that roam the African bush and enjoy the odd wallow in mud pools) was an experience, for us and the passers-by, and sure to contrast with what will follow.

My parents patiently put up with our gear strewn all over the chalet as we resorted and reorganised our packing system. Frequent trips to ‘Wi-Fi’ stations were also a regular part of our daily routine as we desperately tried to get last minute ebay purchases sent to the rest of our crew pior to their departure. (A massive thanks to Kevin and Eva in this regard!).

One week later, rejuvenated, we squashed my folks’ bags into the back seat, squashed them in too for good measure and off we set for Spain! A gorgeous drive through the Cols of the Pyrenees, the trees all sugar-coated in a dusting of snow was followed by a meander through rural Spain towards Cadaques. Betty, our GPS and vocal 5^th member of our car chose a decidedly scenic route, which we all throroughly enjoyed, despite some incredibly small and windy roads. Tapas and a stay-over at ‘Hotel Masrai’ welcomed us to Spain – quiet and chilly at this time of year.

Day 2 in Spain included a tour of Salvador Dali’s eccentric museum and holiday retreat, Figueres and Cadaques respectively. We then spent some time returning to my father’s youth when he had worked as a sailing instructor in Roses. He was amazed by the development that had occurred since he had last worked there 35 years ago. He reminisced about his motorbike that he had brought over with him from France, and alas, had failed to impress a prominent property developer’s daughter.

Our next stop-over was the beautiful city of Barcelona with it’s wide streets, grand buildings and exotic palm trees lining the squares. We had problems finding parking for our extra high vehicle, but thankfully were able to solve our dilemma by staying at a slightly outer-lying hotel and parking our car in a guarded restaurant parking bay just opposite.

Unfortunately, my Mom’s back played up due to a combination of long hours in the car combined with coughing with a cold. She was very disappointed but in her typical way, she smiled and told us to enjoy ourselves while she recovered. So, the three of us spent a great day exploring Barcelona’s marina, Barceloneta, the beach, the local markets and later the Ramblas and Gaudi’s unfinished church. That evening, Mom had recovered enough to join us for a delicious paella meal just across the road from our hotel.

Sadly, the following day we said goodbye to my folks who were catching a train back to Paris, and thereafter, flying home to SA. Andrew and I camped that evening along the Costa Brava – the horrifically overdeveloped coastal resorts populated by Europeans escaping the cold winters, or realizing their dreams of a place in the sun. Truly awful in every respect and, in our opinion, to be avoided!

The Alhambra Palace in Granada was certainly a highlight and we marveled at the exotic Arabian architecture reminding us of ancient times gone by. We were dressed warmly but still became chilled to the bone as we waited to get in (the queues at this time of year were non-existent at the crack of dawn however we had arrived early after being warned by our hotel receptionist that we should rather be safe than sorry).

Our next stop-over was Cordoba, famous for it’s Mezquita – initially a mosque and now a church. The red and white double arches inside were very impressive as was the sheer size of the interior. This town, like so many others in Spain had streets lined with orange trees, the green leaves and bright orange fruit creating a gorgeous effect. In Cordoba, we also inadvertently stumbled upon a medieval festival , complete with tame eagles, huge open coal fires roasting plump pigs and stalls selling jewelry and sweet cakes.

Tarifa was our last top-over prior to meeting up with the rest of our African Vuvuzela crew. At last, Africa was within reach, beckoning enticingly! Au Revoir Europe.

Do’s:

• Make sure you understand the rules of online shopping (our example in point being Andrew’s purchase of a heavy duty shovel to dig car out of Congo Mud). See photo: Andrew is tall but this was beyond ridiculous!
• Try to assign sufficient time for packing-up and closing of previous life in order to avoid trying to finish off closing of previous life from tiny ski-village. Case in point being asking the ski-rental shop to print important UK documents because they own the only printer in the village.
• Split up tasks amongst crew; delegating responsibility goes a long way!
• Say goodbye to London and savour the great memories.

Don’ts:

• Wake-up with a massive hangover on the day before your departure after drinking a few too many Tequila’s at one’s own Farewell Party.
• Order equipment on internet in midst of massive UK snow weather (which always means road closures and a myriad of excuses).
• Leave for the French ski slopes with one car packed and a panicked remaining vehicle and crew surrounded by a pile of stuff yet to be packed.
• Order 200 soccer balls thinking they will easily fit inside a vehicle with four people and all their gear for a 5 month overland adventure. However, it is in the name of charity so exceptions may be made.
• Order a spare key to be cut for cars by Timpson’s!!! 12 visits and 5 keys later… and still no success!

Neil’s email had been quite casual, ‘Do you girls want to join us for a weekend away learning about 4×4 recovery?’.

‘Hell no’, was my immediate thought. I was already conjuring up images of muddy 4×4’s with gigantic wheels driven by slightly eccentric English blokes, wearing camouflage gear and getting incredibly excited over a discussion about the benefits of an 80 series versus a 100 series Landcruiser. Mind-numbing stuff if you are like me and have little to no interest in cars, so long as they do the job of transporting one from point A to B.

Mikaela, Neil’s girlfriend, and I had already been exposed to the ‘Landcruiser’ fanatics in a previous weekend away where we learnt how to drive our cars expertly over muddy and treacherous terrain. Well, perhaps ‘expertly’ is a slight exaggeration. We were the only ones who had city tyres on our 4×4’s and so the morning’s exercise of driving with speed up an inclined, wet and muddy cliff of a hill was spent watching others attempt and complete the task with ease. Needless to say, the Landcruiser regulars had taken pity on us city-slickers and had kindly offered various bits and pieces of advice, such as, ‘You need to change those tyres’.. thanks mate.

Anyway, I digress. So, in response to Neil’s email, I was just about to compose my regrettable decline of the invitation, when another email popped up in my in-box. Mikaela’s email was quite frightening, it said, ‘Hi D, what do you think about this? I reckon we should go along. It will be good to know how to get the cars unstuck and might be quite interesting’.

Well, now I had no choice. I couldn’t be the only female to let down the side (this was before Paula came on board as our third member of team femme fatale). So, I bravely drafted my reply in the affirmative and then promptly put the whole weekend firmly out of my mind. The only person who was surprised by my seemingly positive response was my husband, who couldn’t believe my sudden change of heart with regards to all things vehicular.

The day dawned to an ominous start. Severe weather warnings were broadcast and we drove to our destination in Devon amidst pelting rain and howling wind. It fitted my mood precisely. Dressed in water proof gear from top to toe, our trousers kindly donated by Mr. Ex-Army Man and Leader of Dreaded Training Day, Mikaela and I trudged behind the guys.

Our day was broken up into three tasks. Each task took place at a different station within a cluster of pine trees which were swaying rather alarmingly as the wind swirled and moaned. Task one involved a lecture regarding rescue gear. We were introduced to tree ‘huggers’ as I like to name them (actually called tree slings), shackles (never use a cheap chinese brand – said in extremely serious voice with a dark look in response to giggles from the peanut gallery), winches, ropes and cables.

We then spent what felt like hours winching a 4×4 up an incline… by which stage I was frozen and the guys were bright eyed with excitement. Mikaela seemed to be holding her own remarkably well and even suggested some practical thoughts and insights.

Task two involved some Cowboy like lassoing tricks and a lecture and demo on ‘how to use a high-lift jack’. High-lift jacks are monstrosities and not light-weights either. However, they are incredibly useful for getting wheels unstuck and changing tyres.  The lassoing tricks were quite exciting, and despite myself, I actually ended up participating with enthusiasm. We were taught how to use ropes attached to fixed point (such as a tree) to help swing the front or rear of the car out of deep thickly mudded trenches.

Our lunch break involved huddling in our cars trying to thaw out whilst munching on Marks & Sparks sandwiches. Then, Mr. Ex-Army Man and Leader of DTD looked at his watch meaningfully, rounded us his troups and led us to task three. Task three involved learning how to use a monstrous high lift jack as a winch. This task was quite interesting from a problem-solving perspective but the end result was somehow less satisfactory. It took us approximately one hour to winch a 4×4 a lousy 2 metres up a slope. Not the winch of choice if time is crucial, however something to add to our ‘tool-kit’.

So, all in all, we had a memorable day and learnt some useful tips. The cherry on top was that due to the awful weather conditions, camping was vetoed (hoorah) and we drove back to London and all it’s creature comforts.

A couple of pics from the preparations to get ourselves ready for our adventure: