Today started differently, our place of recovery, perched high on a hill with a 360 degree view of the surrounding Miombo Woodlands, was the perfect medicine to repair sore bodies and minds. The much-reduced morning coughs were evidence that the medicine had worked, and instead, we awoke to the rising voices of the birds, a promise of a return to normality.
Our mission today was to reach the source of the Zambezi, which we expected to be little more than a damp, weedy patch. Yet, with our deep respect for the Zambezi, a visit felt essential. The Watermeyers, especially, viewed this as a pilgrimage, having kayaked the river since the early 1980s. Their eagerness to see the source was palpable. So, we set off on the 40-kilometer journey, refuelling first in Mwinilungu as we will not see another fuel station for 400 kilometres.
The turnoff is surprisingly well signposted and the interpretive centre itself lies about 4km from the main road. The park attendants were clearly delighted with this unexpected crowd of rather eccentric travellers. As foreigners, the cost per person to enter the park is USD $20, which seemed a lot, but we had come so far. More disappointing was that we were immediately cautioned against videoing, as it comes at an additional cost of USD $500.
We walked down the pathway flanked by wooden, carved totems like something out of Survivor. The forest grew dense, overgrown, and impossibly tall, with normal Miombo Woodland trees double their ordinary size. It was unbelievable. Gus was ecstatic.
We followed the rickety wooden pathway for about 300 meters to a landing overlooking a still pond covered in leaves but with crystal-clear water beneath. It took Alastair all of about 30 seconds to request a cup to drink from the Zambezi Source, and as if part of a ritual, we all took turns sipping the earthy yet clear water. Our guide slipped away and we had the entire Zambezi Source to ourselves. A profoundly moving experience.
Retracing our steps along the wooden path, we observed the stream’s curious behaviour, disappearing underground and then reappearing in various spots, sometimes flowing freely, other times still.
Left alone, the Watermeyers did exactly as expected: they stripped naked and bathed in the source of this Epic river, fulfilling a childhood dream. They were so happy.
The visit was so much more than any of us had anticipated and we really felt like we had been recharged, rejuvenated and blessed as we prepared to leave Zambia on an incredible high.
The ride to the border was thrilling. Gus, still enchanted by the incredible forest, excitedly chatted with Alastair, oblivious to the road conditions. His front tyre slipped into a rut, and as he corrected, he careened across the road, narrowly missing Alastair before tumbling to the ground. Adam was bearing down on him fast but managed to stop just as his front wheel touched Gus’s head, narrowly averting a catastrophe. Gus stared in shocked relief at the tyre treads mere millimetres from his face.
Was it the magic of the Nyami Nyami’s water that propelled us forward, sometimes reaching speeds of 40 km/h? Despite the hilly terrain, we seemed to glide effortlessly. 30 km from the source, we crossed a beautiful river, and as usual, the Watermeyers led us in for a swim.
Unbelievably, this river, now 5 meters wide and half a meter deep, was the Zambezi again! It’s astounding how rapidly this tiny stream transformed into a beautiful, clear, and powerful river in such a short distance.Children flooded onto the bridge, curious spectators of these crazy old people who appeared from seemingly nowhere and were now bathing in their river with such happy abandon.
The road itself is called the T5 which means there are only four more senior roads in Zambia, but we can report that this is indeed a road very less-travelled and suitable only for a Zimbabwean driving a Vitz or a 4×4. The road gets increasingly poorly maintained and unused as you approach the border. Jaime was riding alone at one point, really not even sure if she was heading in the right direction until a smiling Zambian said, “Hi, you are close to the border now”, which was quite a relief.
The closer we got to the border the more the village children ran out from their houses excitedly cheering and waving us through and, not for the first time, we felt like some kind of accidental celebrities. All too soon, the border appeared, a narrow 8-foot farm gate, closed but unlocked, which a friendly local teacher eased open for us.
Christopher squeezed through, followed by the other cars. Troy recorded our arrival at the border with the Angolan flag proudly flying behind the lead bike. Zambian formalities were pretty slick and Lady Dakar cleared us through immigration and customs on that side within 30 minutes. We then rode a kilometre over a dusty, rickety farm-like road to the Angolan side and saw what looked like a ramshackle store on the right, which turned out to be the Angolan Border post.
We were mobbed by local teenagers and immigration officials, all eager for a selfie with us, particularly Jess and the giant Nick. They hugged and high-fived us, welcoming us with the broadest smiles, as if they knew exactly who we were, and had been expecting us all along. One of the officials told us that the wisest move would be to camp at the border for the night, so for the first time since leaving Harare, we set up camp mid-afternoon and enjoyed a peaceful sunset and delicious belly pork supper around the fire, savouring the memory of our incredible day, and the wonder of simply being here. What a continent this is. We are truly privileged.
And on that note, we leave you temporarily, as our Zambian data is about to run out, and we will be pretty much out of signal until we reach the next point of civilisation.
So until then, from all of us,
Have fun, do good, do epic!
#OldLegsTour #Angola2024 #PedallingForPensioners #HaveFun #DoGood #DoEpic