It’s hard to go. It’s scary and lonely…and half the time you’ll be wondering why the hell you’re in Cincinnati or Austin or North Dakota or Mongolia or wherever your melodious little finger-plucking heinie takes you. There will be boondoggles and discombobulated days, freaked-out nights and metaphorical flat tires. But it will be soul-smashingly beautiful… It will open up your life. - Cheryl Strayed

31 May 2019, Benguela to Lobito, 36,5km
VAG Hotel 10,000Kz (R446)

It was a short run to Lobito, just 30-odd km up the coast. We rode a double-carriage road with a shoulder, essentially flat, not particularly interesting. The road and railway ran in tandem, dusky pink railway stations punctuating the distance between the two cities; also a stadium and an airport. To the west, the sea visible on occasion; to the east, hills. Farmland with bananas, but also small mixed homesteading on the verges. Cheerful calls of “Bom dia, amiga” (good morning, friend) the highlight, from autocycle taxi ranks and women selling pawpaws. There was more traffic than usual, spewing dust and fumes.
As we had only a short ride, before leaving Benguela, we pottered down to the beach and to a pretty church spotted down a side road. We were slowed also by the large town of Catumbela, not far south of Lobito.
We crossed a suspension bridge into Lobito. The outskirts of Angolan cities, like most cities worldwide, I suppose, accommodate the poor and various industries, and are seldom attractive places. Small, drab homes in tan, tin shacks, dirt and odours, little of beauty. We battled our way through streets increasingly battered, potholed and dusty.
Battled our way onto the narrow five kilometre spit of land that lies to the northwest of Lobito, parallel to the coastline, forming a safe harbour in Lobito Bay. On the northwest side of the spit, so narrow the sea is visible both left and right of the road, lies the Atlantic and some pretty beaches. Clearly the spit houses the wealthier citizens of Lobito, but still much of it is all faded Portuguese charm, some buildings dilapidated, some still functional, some being upgraded.
We enquired at a couple of hotels, to find, like much else in Angola, they are not cheap. We managed to negotiate the VAG down from 12,000Kz to 10,000Kz, and put down roots for the afternoon and night. Our room was a strange one at the end of a short passage. The bathroom window opened into the room and the room window onto the passage, and the bed was so high off the ground, I had to lever myself into it. But the aircon worked well and there was hot water in the shower.
After a shower and nap, we got back on the bikes, this time luggage-less, and pottered down to the end of the spit, stopping in for a drink at the Zulu and for a hamburger supper at the pretty, but quite empty, A Cubata do Marcão.

For today's route see below photos
For overview route, click on ROUTE tab above…