They didn't have any Land Rover brake pads in Matadi, DRC. In fact they didn't seem to have any garages or mechanics over the age of 16 either. What they did have were some old Mercedes brake pads, a saw and some chicken wire. After lots of waiting around and some instruction from us (never a good sign) these were finally fitted and we headed South.
The officials at the Angolan border couldn't have been friendlier. They proudly told us that their motto was 'safely first'. It seemed that weren't joking either when they insisted on providing a police escort to the nearest town. The word 'Bandito' now accounted for one third of our combined Portuguese vocabulary.
In Mbanza-Congo later that night the police insisted on finding us a hotel, negotiating the price and checking us in. When three policemen then showed us to our room and went as far as to test the taps we wondered quite what we had done to deserve such a service. It's possible that northern Angola is a treacherous den of criminality that we were being protected from but it felt more like some very proud local policemen keen to impress rare tourists. They parted with an offhand comment about us maybe wanting to use the shower (deserved) and a promise to be back in the morning to escort us out of town.
Luanda is famous for being the world's most expensive city so we were grateful to be put up by the generous and rather brave AW. The next morning, while the washing machine was doing battle (and losing) we went for run along the sea front. Luanda has all the trappings of an oleaginous kleptocracy's show capital but the sea view was spectacular and the exercise refreshing.
The scenery south of Luanda made us glad to have chosen the coastal road and we even found a deserted beach to camp on. The plan was then to cover the distance to Namibia as quickly as possible but, as tends to happen, Ramrod had other ideas. The rear left wheel had been periodically rattling ever since Libreville but, as we approached Lubango, this developed into an ungodly racket. We ended up camping in one of Angola's ridiculously smart new petrol stations. Lying in between the 24 hour shop and the children's playground it felt more like the Algarve than Africa. After a moment's hesitation we shared our lasts beers with the slightly inebriated, machine gun wielding security guard on the basis that we were better off with him asleep than thirsty.
As we crawled the few miles into Lubango next morning we were greeted by an unexpected but incredibly welcome sign advertising a legitimate Land Rover garage, the first in several thousand miles. Inside, Marco, one of world's true nice guys, made the financially painful experience of replacing the rear axle, bearings, brake disks and pads much more palatable. He even apologised for not having showers on the premises that we could use. As a perennial optimist I decided to be grateful that the Land Rover had waited until the least bad moment before finally becoming undrivable.
The more observant of you may have noticed that unprompted offers of showers were becoming something of a pattern. Sure enough, next morning, a helpful petrol station attendant took one look at our bedraggled state before pointing to the shower block. The cleaner (understandably) didn't seem too keen on the idea until the manager came out in person to demand we be given access. We were therefore able to cross into Namibia in a slightly cleaner, but still far from respectable state.
Jez at the wheel
Point 2 suggest DRC's diversity policy has some way to go
The ubiquitous Angolan flag
Lunar landscape
A good spot for a coffee break
Up at dawn
The officials at the Angolan border couldn't have been friendlier. They proudly told us that their motto was 'safely first'. It seemed that weren't joking either when they insisted on providing a police escort to the nearest town. The word 'Bandito' now accounted for one third of our combined Portuguese vocabulary.
In Mbanza-Congo later that night the police insisted on finding us a hotel, negotiating the price and checking us in. When three policemen then showed us to our room and went as far as to test the taps we wondered quite what we had done to deserve such a service. It's possible that northern Angola is a treacherous den of criminality that we were being protected from but it felt more like some very proud local policemen keen to impress rare tourists. They parted with an offhand comment about us maybe wanting to use the shower (deserved) and a promise to be back in the morning to escort us out of town.
Luanda is famous for being the world's most expensive city so we were grateful to be put up by the generous and rather brave AW. The next morning, while the washing machine was doing battle (and losing) we went for run along the sea front. Luanda has all the trappings of an oleaginous kleptocracy's show capital but the sea view was spectacular and the exercise refreshing.
The scenery south of Luanda made us glad to have chosen the coastal road and we even found a deserted beach to camp on. The plan was then to cover the distance to Namibia as quickly as possible but, as tends to happen, Ramrod had other ideas. The rear left wheel had been periodically rattling ever since Libreville but, as we approached Lubango, this developed into an ungodly racket. We ended up camping in one of Angola's ridiculously smart new petrol stations. Lying in between the 24 hour shop and the children's playground it felt more like the Algarve than Africa. After a moment's hesitation we shared our lasts beers with the slightly inebriated, machine gun wielding security guard on the basis that we were better off with him asleep than thirsty.
As we crawled the few miles into Lubango next morning we were greeted by an unexpected but incredibly welcome sign advertising a legitimate Land Rover garage, the first in several thousand miles. Inside, Marco, one of world's true nice guys, made the financially painful experience of replacing the rear axle, bearings, brake disks and pads much more palatable. He even apologised for not having showers on the premises that we could use. As a perennial optimist I decided to be grateful that the Land Rover had waited until the least bad moment before finally becoming undrivable.
The more observant of you may have noticed that unprompted offers of showers were becoming something of a pattern. Sure enough, next morning, a helpful petrol station attendant took one look at our bedraggled state before pointing to the shower block. The cleaner (understandably) didn't seem too keen on the idea until the manager came out in person to demand we be given access. We were therefore able to cross into Namibia in a slightly cleaner, but still far from respectable state.
Jez at the wheel
Point 2 suggest DRC's diversity policy has some way to go
The ubiquitous Angolan flag
Lunar landscape
A good spot for a coffee break
A team effort to take apart the axle
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