Day 12 - Mtunzini to Whiteriver (570km)

So, time to hit the tar again! Must say I was getting a little nervous and antsy having slept in the same bed for four consecutive nights. Up at 0600 so with Betty packed and ready to roll. On the road by 0700. By gum it was humid. We took the N2 going North heading towards Pongola but pulled into Swaziland just short to take the border crossing at Golela. It was quite an uneventful drive to the border I'll say, slow and long to match that. Poor Christiaan was a little worse for wear after a brief battle with a swarm of bees that pelted into the windscreen at an early stage.


Aaaagh! I'm covered in bees! Covered in beeees!

Things began to hot up though once the heavily armed SA border cops came into view. Despite already being drenched in sweat, I noticed that dreaded, cooling "fear sweat" that you only get a few times in your lifetime creeping up on me and creeping down my lower spine, goosebumping as it travelled. You may have experienced it if you have ever tried to buy bottles of Alcopop during daylight hours on Paddy's day when grossly underage and there's plenty teachers lurking about. Or if you've ever knowingly had 103ml of shampoo in your hand luggage while queueing for the scanner at JFK airport.

Why, one may wonder, was I a little jittery at a a standard African shed of a border crossing? Well, a grand scheme had been set in motion - one which, like all grand schemes of yore, had been hatched the previous night over a few alternate snifters of rum, brandy and whiskey. Talk had turned to the renewed popularity of Mozambique as a tourist destination among South African holidaymakers. Indeed, it was well reported that on the 23rd and 24th of December the queues at the border to get into Moz stretched over 17km long. Around 25km long at its worst. So we would aim to avoid such delays, obviously. But how could we ensure a smooth passage on our side, assuming when we cross over the lines are a lot shorter? Make sure everything's in ship-shape obviously. Give the bureaucrats very little or no excuse to detain us for more than STRICTLY necessary (10-20 seconds I reckon). Easy so then - just make sure our visas are in order. Not a problem - South African citizens can pass freely between any SADC nations, no visa required. But lo! - I'm not South African! And if memory served me correctly (from my travels 1.5yrs previous with Derry agus POK) a visa cost around R1000 just for passage into Moz. And another R500 odd for Swaziland. A little outrageous for a transit trip?...yes, we all agreed. What's more, I could not determine whether or not a visa could be obtained at the border or if one had to apply at Nelspruit. Guide books and internet clashed on opinion here. As did suggested opening hours of the embassy - some saying it only re-opened on 3rd Jan - entirely ruling out a Moz trip. A little unfair, wouldn't you say? Yes, yes, of course, yes. Thay all agreed. Racist against Europeans even. Yes, crazy, unfair... Pass the rum. Yes, terrible really.

It did not take much more of this sort of lubricated talk before we unanimously agreed on the only logical solution. I would not, nay - I could not possibly travel as an Irishman into the neighbouring states. It would be a bureaucratic nightmare! Not to mind cost an arm and a leg. No, no, the only solution was that I travel as a South African - a hearty white well-built Afrikaans speaking gentleman of a boer of a South African. Slán go fóill Padhraic O' Connor, en baie welkom Adriaan Smuts (Jnr)!
In fairness, the resemblance was uncanny. Adriaan was only 8 months my junior, roughly my height and weight and build and sported a fine head of silky brown hair with blue eyes. And what's more, he didn't need his passport over the coming month. Great.


Absolutely uncanny: both passports were almost identical in dimension.

So, the first test was upon us! Would some fat little woman behind the counter really take a long hard look at our faces before contrasting with those likenesses on paper? Well, no. She didn't care at all really. Nor the the short fat little woman on the Swazi side. In & out. The first Face/Off test passed with flying colours.

At the SA customs side of things the officials were quite keen on the wooden sea chest in Betty's trunk and her contents got a good gawping.Interestingly the engine was inspected and the engine number was phoned in to check for authenticity. To be honest I hadn't a clue if she was a former getaway car or not so I was nervously curious abut the result. In the end I was relieved to find out that the engine wasn't hot, if you will**.

15km down the road into Mswatiland and a uniformed chappie at a roadblock insists my right rear reverse light and brake lights are blown. I rebooted the system and jumped out for a look by which time the problem seemed to have sorted itself out, luckily. Fortunately he didn't realise my International drivers licence was 1yr out of date. Luckier still he didn't ask for my (Adriaan) passport which had a slightly odd looking photo inside.

Anyway, belted on without issue in this notoriously relaxed country. Quickly realised that LRP was non-existent, so had to make do with unleaded til we got back into SA. Bang in the middle of the wee Kingdom we pulled in by a sugar plantation for a spot of grub leftover from the night before. Lovely toasted sandwiches (actually braai broitjies - a staple Africaans food - toasted cheese, tomato, onion and Mrs Balls sandwiches done on the braai) and a right load of lambchops, all heated up on Betty's now warping 80°C bonnet. Perfect.


Toasted sarmies griddled to perfection on Betty's bonnet

Not much ever really happens in Swaziland and to be honest not much really did happen during our c.200km transit trek. Plenty mealies, sugar and fertile earth as far as the eye could see. Thankfully we eased our way through the exit border post without any issues and popped out not too far from Nelspruit. After a long long long day on the road and a few kilos of sweat lighter we reached the Smuts family residence in Whiterivier.


From l to r: Adriaan, Christiaan and Garmin, the short lived and quite unnecessary GPS system aboard Betty

Following a well deserved and crucial kip and shower combo we headed down to The Keg & Java at 17:00 for a few scoops. Quite the goldmine here and the epicentre (or only centre) of Nelspruit nightlife it appears. Here we met up with good ol chums Thea and Boeta from Stellenbosch - Van der Stel Rugbyklub stalwarts - and now proud parents of a bonny babby girl. With the little one in the care of granny they were only delighted to get out of the house and join us for our "one or two" sups. Needless to say we left the joint at 02:00 a little worse for wear.

The noggin was a little soft the next day alright but blame there lay squarely on the amphibious army that annihilated the eardrums at the Keg the night before. It's pretty bizarre when you have to shout at the fellow next to you just to make your point heard above the din of ten thousand frogs. I'll be in no rush back to the place after that eerie encounter.


Feckin' Frogs. Click to play.




**I think that's one of the better engine-theft based puns I've ever seen published.

Day 11 - Mtunzini Sun 26th December

Up again very early for the final instalment of what turned out to be one of those "24hr tummy bugs" I've heard so much about. Later in the morning we took the boat down to the lagoon for another bout of messing about. This time we towed a 7'6" surfboard behind the RIB with the intention of wakeboarding but none of us could pop up so we resorted to kneeboarding the surfboard. A lot more responsive than the softer bodyboard. At one stage I nearly lost a couple of knuckles behind the bád. I came off and began to retie the handle (a stick of wood) onto the towrope using a tried and tested slipknot. Unfortunately Adriaan Snr was in a rush to get going after some verbal abuse from a nearby fisherman, so he floored it assuming I was ready. My fingers were in the slipknot at the time however, not the baton, so I was dragged behind the craft for a spell, forefinger and middlefinger first. Glub glub glub. Very painful, but no lasting damage save for some missing skin.

Back ashore I took it relatively easy on the Zamalek as the tummy was still giving me the evil eye, though I sensed it was improving. We amused ourselves for sometime watching Adriaan Jnr fashion a small sailboat (something akin to an Arabian trading dhow or even a White Nile reed coaster) out of an old cuttlefish bone, a solid twig and a fresh green leaf of some sort. Waist deep for an hour he finaly got the thing running downwind for a few steady metres. Thrilling viewing actually, kind of like watching children erect a colossal sand fortress just inside the limits of the tide.


Tharrr she blows. Finally.

Again the heat drove us back home at around lunchtime. The recovery of our craft up the local slipway was delayed due to livestock cluttering up the car park. In any Irish slipway the offenders are usually hordes of sheep, cattle or D4 children. On this occasion we couldn't manage to shift a stock of bored looking zebra(s?) from by the trailer.


Warning. Zebra Crossing ahead! (hyuk hyuk!)

Back home for lunch. I'm assuming we braaid something - the memory's already waning. After a quick siesta Christiaan and I went to the beach for a bit of a splash in the pleasantly large, strong and warm waves of the Indian Ocean. A great ould splash, and a good beach to boot. Was a nice change from the placid waters of the lagoon of the past few days. After some time gleefully swallowing sand and saltwater we headed home for a spot of supper. Indulged in a healthy number of Richelieu and flat Cokes as digestifs - was keen to stay off the fizzy beers for a spell longer. Dinner wrapped up early and all six of us spent a good long night shitehawking around the table and solving imminent world issues, as must be done after so many Cape to Rios.

Day 10 - Mtunzini Sat 25th Dec

Hooray! Christmas. An unpleasant and unwelcome start to Xmas day this year. Bright and early it was drizzling outside with dodgy looking clouds looming. To make matters worse there was an unorthodox and hurried trip to the leithreas at 0530, that although not too unsatisfactory in itself forebode of less-than-desirable visits to come later that day. A gastric harbinger of sorts.

In any case I was up well before the rest of the gaff and began a lively but humid stroll to the local Catholic Church. I was overdressed for the weather in my shirt, shorts and flip flops and was dripping with sweat upon reaching the pews at 0800. The kind of sweat that does not dry and continues to seep - no, run once you step indoors. A veritable cascade from between the shoulder blades down the hollow of the spine and deep past the leather of the belt.


Tiny Catholic Church, Mtunzini.

Mass was uneventful really - a small congregation of maybe 40 or 50 in a small ground-floor chapel. Mostly locals with a very even racial make-up. Things ran a little differently from a typical Irish mass (and perhaps had some Anglican flavour to it) in that we had to sing from the hymnbooks ourselves at certain intervals. Being the only non-regular here and first-time hymnster, the whole affair really was a proper Mr Bean "Halleluuujah!" job, peering over into my neighbour's (a tiny ould black nun) hymnsheet.
The priest was a jolly bald blackman, who really didn't look too unlike Jacob Zuma I must unfortunately note. He was quite the booming orator though, keeping the congregation hanging onto his message simply with clever play of vocal tones and sweeping hand gestures. So powerful was his voice and smiley his demeanor that his harsh lisssp and pronunciation impediment* passed almost unnoticed.

*(Note - a very bizarre impediment where he used the "ch" sound for any word ending in "d" or "t". The death of Jesus Christ thus became The deach of Jessuss Chrisch.
Lech uss greech one another was another gem.


Post-mass pre-breakfast Cornetto. My God was it muggy out.

I walked home after mass, just missing the rain, and back to another great breakfast braai-up with the Smuts's, who were now up. I reckon it was the first time I had fresh watermelon for Christmas.


A grand Xmas brekfast on the stoep.

A long nap after brekkie ensued (up to around 1300) whereafter the leithreas was revisited, this time in a more dramatic fashion.
We passed the mid-afternoon the way I guess most families do at Christmas - by drinking too much and playing boardgames.


Sizeable pot-plants: The Raffia Palm, which grows for 20 years, fruits once and instantly kicks the bucket.

At one stage we took a drive to see the local patch of Raffia Palms that apparently housed the very rare Palmnut Vulture. The palms were enormous, with the largest leaves of any plant in the world (up to 25m long). In fact I had run among these colossal Calameae a day earlier without once looking up to see what they were. We also took a showery walk around the protected mangrove swamps at the lagoon, having a laugh at the strong-armed fiddler crabs and the stalk-climbing mangrove snails.


Delights of the mangroves: A matrix of (shy) Fiddler Crabs' holes and those crazy climbers, Mangrove Snails

After a fairly long but entirely unsuccessful drive around the parish looking for a pub to have a few drops in we headed back home, a little wearied after the afternoon of humid sweating, dodging showers and looking at things. Back home the lads got as many braais going as possible for the meat while I browsed through the stockpile of SA 4x4 magazines that Santa had kindly brought the men of the family. Here I gladly spent an hour or so with my beverage reading the details of Eric Jackson's record breaking 1963 London to Cape Town run in a Ford Cortina - a 13 and a half day record which would remain unbroken until 2010. Mighty stuff.

A dinner of braai-roasted leg of lamb and a side of gammon was served at sundown. Absolutely delectable meat - nothing beats a braaid roast. Again, a Christmas dinner reminiscent of those back home - roast spuds, good meat and plenty red wine. Another bout of family rivalries ensued after dinner in the form of Pictionary and the South African favourite "30 Seconds".


The gang: Smuts folks, Smuts brothers and one missus. And me.

After fruit cake and custard and maybe a brandy we were all well and truly stuffed. Wrecked, we all retired early - even before midnight I'm sure. Faced with ever-challenging bowel activities I had to resort to catching up on these here memoirs while flitting to-and-from the kakhuis.
Merry Christmas to all!

Day 9 - Mtunzini Fri 24th Dec

Took a short run through some jungle this morning - plenty green thicket, mud, vines and palms. A complete change from any terrain I've tackled yet. Was back before 0800 but was completely sopping wet with the early morning temperature and the cruel humidity.

We were on the lagoon by 0830 I'd say, having towed and launched the 4.8m RIB with twin 25HP Mercurys. She comfortably fit all 6 of us (2 Smuts folk, 2 Smuts broers, 1 masie and me) and our kit. Still had to do a bit of hide-and-seek with 2 bodies though as the nasty park ranger was about and our craft was legally considered overloaded. We took a spin around the weaving lagoon for a bit before finding a tiny spot of sand on the mangrove embankment to park our craft and our arses on. Adriaan, elder brother of my rugby chommie Christiaan got the braai going within seconds of landfall. The Black Labels didn't delay in making their inevitable and already awaited appearance.


Braaiing, boating and beering. Christmas Eve 08:30. Nice.

We'd a lovely rasher/sausage style fry up on the braai - just the job to get the day going. After some more Zamalek hydration we fashioned a tow rope behind the RIB and busied ourselves with towing one another around the shop on a bodyboard. Mighty craic.


Messing about.

After a good morning of fun on the water and in the mangroves we were safely back home by 1300 in order to escape the midday heat. While the others took a nap for themselves Christiaan and I spun to Richard's Bay (about 40km away) to have a few festive dops with old college friends and acquaintances, Theuns and Donald, and a few other unknowns. What should've been 3 Christmas Eve drinks there turned out to be some greater multiple of that, and much merriment was made. I really took to the "hubbly" as the hookah or shisha is known here. It should be pointed out to European readers that only (typically cherry or apple) flavoured tobacco is smoked during this extremely popular Uni student pastime, as opposed to the slightly more illicit tobacco variants that are sampled in and around rural Ballydehob.


The lads enjoying their Zamalek, basket of grapes, hubbly pipe and chamois cloth. Richard's Bay.

We eventually laboured back to Mtunzini after many a gruesome "college days" yarn was spun, feeling our way through the dark and heavy night with skyward brights and non-existent dims on the borrowed Nissan Livina. Still though, home safely. A quick chop braai and a few brandies and into bed by 2300. Wrecked.

No chimney here so quite excited about what Santa will squeeze inside the braai lid tonight...

Day 8 - Durban to Mtunzini (472km)

In spite of grand early morning ambitions it was around 11.30 before I shifted Mike (my willing passenger for the day) outside and into Betty. Some dawdling! Mike had just bowled and written off his own small car during the year on some high speed dirt road venture to and/or from some legendary Grahamstown party or another no doubt and was in the hunt for a new vehicle. After much sweaty spinning around dodgy Durban alleyways and lanes in one of its industrial zones we finally found a seller he had located on Gumtree the night prior. He was offering a beautiful metallic charcoaly greeny 2008 1.4L Corsa bakkie - the best looker on the market in my eyes (post 1989 in any case). She was mechanically sound - could hardly hear her breath in the underground car park - but was going at a questionably low price. It transpired that she too had been written off recently, rolling and crushing the left pillar and pushing the roof sideways across the right of the car. Somehow yer man straightened it out and beat out any dents, changed the front wing and did a lovely respray job. It was a great car at the price but I wasn't sure if any insurance companies would touch it and how it would affect resale if she made it that far. In any case Mike threw down a deposit there and then - love at first sight.


Mike, Tracey and Betty share a happy moment in Empangeni

After some difficulty in escaping Durban's pre Christmas traffic we finally made it to the N2 going North. It wasn't a very long or difficult drive to Empangani (the hometown of Mike's lovely lover Tracey) but it certainly was the sweatiest one yet. The cab hovered at a steady 35°C with both windows open and cool air on. Add to that Durban's notorious humidity and Betty Bakkie's non-porous grey pleather seats and you've got some very wet boys. Could have renamed her Betty Swollocks for the day, gan dabht!

Anyhow dropped Mikee off at his missuses in Empangeni before heading back South to Betty's (semi) ultimate destination: Mtunzini. I had only popped my honking head in the door for a few minutes at the Smuts' stronghold before I was whisked away on a delectable sunset booze cruise on the Siyaya lagoon. Absolutely stunning spot.


A murky shot of the Siyaya lagoon, Mtunzini

Black Label in hand, bats and warm dusk air through the hair, two Mercury outboards whirring in the background and a braai to look forward to back home. Who could ask for a better start to the Christmas holliers?