Our last post came from the right bank of the mighty Congo river, where we had to overcome two obstacles on our way to Southern Africa: crossing the river, and obtaining an Angolan visa. A walking tour through the port of Brazzaville, another incarnation of chaos theory, convinced us that crossing over to Kinshasa was not an option: the regular ferry had broken down and private barge operators demanded fantastic prices for the 20-minute crossing. Our minds were made up when we saw the rickety cranes that were supposed to lift our Archie on a barge: no way!
The Angolan visa situation initially seemed to block us in Brazzaville: the embassy informed us that transit visas were only obtainable in Matadi, on the DRC-Angola border. With the Brazzaville-Kinshasa ferry out, and the only other routinely used route to Matadi going through Pointe-Noire, the Angolan exclave of Cabinda and a bit of DRC, we were stuck, since a visa is already required to enter Cabinda.
After a few beers and a decent meal at Hippocampe, we had another look at the map, and started wondering why nobody ever mentioned the smaller gravel roads that could take us straight into DRC, and on to Matadi with smaller ferries or the only existing bridge over the Congo (formerly known as the "Marshall Mobutu" bridge).
The next day, we set off to find out if the shortcut we found on the map actually existed. If it was practicable, it would save us a lot of time and money. Officials along the way assured us that there was indeed a border crossing where we planned to enter DRC, and indeed, immigration and customs stamped us out of the Republic of the Congo (at a place called Mindouli). From there onwards, we had no maps nor GPS to guide us, and we relied on directions from locals. Language problems and creative route descriptions sent us into the bush on occasion, but ultimately got us to the river, three days later.
Right after leaving the Congo, we would probably not have continued on what seemed to degrade into a foot path, had not some very affirmative local persuaded us that this was most definitely the way to the border and that a truck was using it once a month to bring farmers and their products to a market. The following three days were thoroughly off-road, with Archie using all his tricks (low gears, high clearance, flexible suspension) to transport us a few kilometers further on (at about 10 to 20 km/h). Sand, deep ruts and water damage made this a challenging route that we wouldn't recommend in the rainy season.
On day 4 of this adventure, a small ferry took us across the Congo and we arrived in Matadi triumphantly, but completely dusty and exhausted. We indulged in the guilty but very necessary pleasure of a hotel room, had a shower or two and some decent, albeit horribly expensive, food. The Angolan consulate's location in a squalid area of the formerly prosperous port city should have served as a warning: the visa situation would not be solved as painlessly as expected. Under the pretext that Connie's passport was full (it wasn't), she was denied even the possibility to apply for a visa. No pleading helped, we were rather unceremoniously pushed out the door. Stuck again?
With spirits very low, we decided to fly Connie to Windhoek, where I would catch up with her after crossing Angola: no long separation, since transit visas allowed a maximum of 5 days only. The following day, we show up again at the consulate, to apply for my visa. Surprise, surprise, they wanted to see Connie's passport again, hinting at a possible solution to our problem. And indeed, aided by a 200 USD cash payment, it was suddenly possible to obtain 7-day transit visas for the both of us. We duly returned the next day to collect our passports with two shiny Angolan visa stickers in them. The clock was running, and we set off to the border immediately.
There is only so much we can say here about Angola, a large country that we raced through to avoid overstaying our visas and paying exorbitant fees.
In a foul mood after the drama surrounding the quest for visas, we were also not particularly motivated to explore this country.
And although Angola will probably not figure very high on our list of places we would like to go back to, traveling here is largely unproblematic (if you can forget for a moment the disastrous roads in the North).
Authorities at the numerous check-points are friendly, locals are happy to chat (but language barriers prevented us from meaningful conversations) and despite information to the contrary, cheap food can be found.
There are still many visible traces of the prolonged civil conflict: destroyed bridges and burned-out tanks appear every so often.
But today, Angola is obviously a boom country: infrastructure construction is advancing rapidly, cities expand, Internet access and shopping malls become more frequent. But so far, this development seems to benefit a small minority, centered in the capital Luanda, or in Benguela, more to the south. Oil (or mining) revenues have not reached the rural areas, where life is similar to remote areas of the Congos. Benguela was probably the one place where we would have liked to stay a few days, also owing to Nancy's hospitality (Nancy's English School and Guesthouse).
From Benguela to the Namibian border, we drove in convoy with Karl-Heinz, whose Toyota Hilux was by now missing a substantial part of its rear suspension. With Archie's ailing and shuddering prop-shaft (the universal joint was near-defunct) slowing us down, we both limped over the border into Namibia: we made it!! What a relief!
With hindsight, the trip through the Congos and Angola was largely uneventful, and didn't even take that much time. But the drama surrounding the river crossing, the visa situation and the car's mechanical state cost us a lot of energy and nerves, and made the "return to civilisation" all the sweeter.
And we're actively enjoying this break from adventure, thanks in great part to the generous hospitality of our friends in Windhoek, who let us squat their beautiful house and who even left the fridge full ;)
