We were packed and ready when the park opened at 6am, but that was still not early enough to catch the two cars that whizzed through just before we got to our post. We waited for two hours, as the ranger helped us catch and beg each in the small trickle of tourists who entered the park. Every car was either full, unwilling to take us (admittedly, we probably smelled pretty rank by then), or wasn't doing a day trip. Finally, around 8:30am, a Namibian/German woman and her young daughter volunteered to take us. The mother had been there around fifty times and was an expert on the park. Our first foray to the eastern section of the park yielded nothing, but as we headed west, we soon came to a watering hole where we were able to watch as a number of giraffe came up, scared away the other animals, and very cautiously knelt down to drink. On our way back to the main road, the daughter noticed a shape off in the distance and excitedly cried out "rhino!". Sure enough, a black rhino bumbled right up to our car, too blind to even notice we were there; our host scooted us out of the way just in time to avoid an accidental impact.
On the way out of the park, we stopped next to another car that had parked in the middle of the road; they had somehow managed to spot the butts of two sleeping lions in the trees. This was pretty exciting as we imagined we had zero chance of seeing a lion in the daytime. We tried our best to get a clear picture of the butts, but soon gave up and continued toward the gate. But then, coming down the side of the main route, was none other than a lioness. Our driver made us roll up the windows as the lion stalked casually past and slunk into the weeds on the side of the road. We spent the next 45 minutes catching glimpses (or supposing we caught glimpses) of rustling grass that tipped us off to the location of the hunter. Then, as our patience neared its breaking point, the lion exploded out onto the open plain and into the middle of a group of oryx. They easily evaded her and, ashamed, she slunk silently away.
Our driver treated us to sodas and German chocolates and dropped us at the front gate. It had been a steal of a game drive for a mere 80R entrance fee. We thanked her and, with only a few hours of daylight remaining, drove to the next city. Filling up at a Shell station, we found that somehow 9.7 liters of gas had been put into my 9 liter tank; I mentioned this inconsistency in passing to the pump attendants but opted to push it no further. We got some corn mash (sadza) and beef at a supermarket and ate it on the side of the road; some random guys approached to ask how we felt about Obama and take our picture.
We drove into the night where I shortly found that, given that my headlight pointed up into the trees, it was not altogether useful for seeing what was in front of me. Every car that approached chose to keep its brights on, eliminating any hint of orientation left to me. For the last 50km, I had only the Force to guide me. Luckily, this, the mystical energy connecting all living things, did not let me down, and we reached Roy's Rest Camp (13km further than suggested by the book) without hitting any killer potholes or wandering antelope. The entrance to the camp was creatively adorned with a giant windchime made of cow skulls, and was the perfect welcome given the hour.
My primary reason for choosing Roy's were the advertised 'miles of hiking trails', and I awoke at the crack of dawn eager to try them. If such trails ever existed, they no longer did; each that I encountered immediately split into a hundred different goat trails, all with plenty of mud and thorn bushes. The thorn bushes here, like those depicted in The Gods Must Be Crazy, have curved thorns that cause you to become more ensnared as you fight to free yourself. After a few dozen more trail bifurcations, and spins to escape the sinister thorns, I was completely disoriented, and could only bushwhack through to the sounds of the highway, leap over a fence, and walk along the road back to the camp.
We did not see a single person until after we crossed the buffalo gate (meant to keep domestic animals away from buffalo and other wild animals that carry foot and mouth disease), but here the population exploded. The remaining miles to Rundu were filled with charming thatch villages, children running after us yelling hello, and roadside craft and boiled peanut vendors. Matt stopped to watch several chameleons that sauntered across the road in their usual way.
Reaching the city market, we found a line of women with buffets of food to select from. I got some rice, greens and potatoes for 15R, and found some donuts nearby for 50 cents each. Matt bought a watch practically identical to mine for 25R; we in fact believed it was identical - until he went swimming with it some days later and we were immediately led to doubt its 50m water resist claim, and we noticed that the manufacturers had neglected to print the "Casio" label that featured so prominently on the face of mine. Matt befriended all the restaurant owners and had each pick out her respective village on our map.
After learning that we probably wouldn't be able to pass through Chobe (on the other end of the Caprivi) on our bikes, we made a run for the nearby Botswana border. The last twenty kilometers was an excellent dirt road through a game park where large animals raced along in front of us, fearful of the apparently formidable fury of our 150cc engines.
At the border, the customs official assessed a vehicle import fee of 120 pula; since we had no pula, he tacked on a $5 convenience fee and charged us 180R. The next gas station was closed and it was nearing dusk anyway, so we found a nearby guesthouse. Our jaws dropped as we discovered that the cheapest room was 400 pula per person; almost in jest, I inquired as to whether there was a camping option, and surprisingly, the receptionist replied that we could in fact set up right in the courtyard for a mere 50 pula per person. The other guests awkwardly stepped around us as we prepared our dinner in the middle of the sidewalk. Since the communal bathrooms were defunct, we were given keys to one of the aforementioned 800 pula rooms; this was the first toilet of the trip with en suite satellite TV and three comfy beds.
