Krokovango

It has finally happened. We’ve met another cyclist who’s going the same way as us at the same time. Léo is 22 years old and from Neuchâtel in Switzerland. He actually started hiking in Rwanda and then bought a bike there and put his backpack on the back. We’re only on the same path for a day, but it’s still nice to be riding with someone else. We chat about everything under the sun (and the rain). With three cyclists the trucks can’t ignore us any longer and we feel like a biker gang.

A few kilometers before we reach our goal for the day Léo gets a puncture. We pull over to the side and the kids from the local village gather to see what’s what, how they can help and what they can get from us. Lina watches our belongings like a hawk while the guys set up the repair shop. As Léo pumps up the tube to try and find the leak the probably ancient inner tube explodes. Of course he doesn’t carry any spares. We put in one of our old tubes. We need to get new ones in Windhoek anyway.

Tonight we’re once again camping at a school. Thankfully it’s Saturday and the classrooms are deserted. We actually learn something new by looking at all the educational posters: one group word for bananas is “a hand” of bananas. We say hi to the barn owl that lives in the bathroom and settle in for an early night. We’re glad to be sleeping indoors when the thunderstorm passes directly overhead. The next morning we wish Léo good luck. He is going straight to Windhoek while we turn north for one last big detour to the Caprivi Strip.

As we cycle around the Okavango delta the landscape is getting greener. The road is fringed by thorny bushes. Every now and then we get a glimpse of the wetlands to the east. At one campsite we spot a herd of zebra and kudu as well as many curious cows. Other than that we don’t see many animals… except for donkeys. Here the donkey population by far exceeds the number of humans. They are all called Dominick of course.

The sky is dotted with fluffy cumulus clouds that don’t provide much shade. By now it’s been three days since our last shower and every day of sweaty cycling adds a new layer of grime until we’re almost unrecognizable. The wet wipes are no match for the all powerful body odor. But only one more night and then we’ll be luxuriating in an expensive but well reviewed camp on the river. It is an encouraging thought as we cycle around the outskirts of another thunderstorm.

…And then Lina gets that call from home. That call no one wants to get, especially not when they are so far away. Her dad is in the hospital and it’s serious. For a few hours she sits in her chair waiting for news. Ben sets up camp around her and a little butterfly keeps her company. There is one silver lining. At least in the middle of nowhere Botswana there is cell phone reception. In Germany this wouldn’t be guaranteed.

Some hours and many a frantic phone call later the immediate emergency has passed and the paralyzed feeling starts to ebb away. After another sticky night in the tent we hurry up to make it to our nice campsite. On our way in we get a lift from Ansie, who works at the crocodile farm next door. We arrive just as Starlink is being installed. What a stroke of luck. The campsite is right on the bank of the Okavango panhandle. We spot many new species of birds including a giant kingfisher (about the size of a crow) and quickly decide to take a day off to do some planning.

In the morning we visit Krokovango (best name ever!). We marvel first at the baby crocodiles and later at the older breeding ones lazing around an artificial pond. It definitely feels like we’re walking around Jurassic Park. Crocs keep growing their whole lives and Sam – the biggest one – is over five meters long. But he is experiencing some stage laziness and only his impressive eyebrows poke out of the murky water.

Unfortunately Ansie is too busy “preparing some croc skins for shipping” (not something you hear every day), but she promises to give us another lift tomorrow so we have more time to chat. The rest of the day is spent fretting over flights and our visa for Namibia but in the end everything works out. We’ll be home for Christmas after all. On our way to the border we get a 21 carmine bee-eater salute. They slaughter some cicadas in our honor and screech a farewell from Botswana.