There’s something about arriving in new cities, wandering empty streets with no destination. I will never lose the love for the arriving, but I'm born to leave. - Charlotte Eriksson

19 July 2019, Loubetsi to Nyanga, 51.67km
Auberge Brunel 5,000CFA (R125)

So comfortable were we last night, so safe did we feel, that we slept with our door open onto the swept earth of the homestead surround, deliciously cool. Often in this part of the world, a curtain hangs across doorways, no doubt to increase airflow while reducing dustflow. We booby-trapped our curtain by placing our flasks on its inner edge, an early-warning that proved unnecessary. It was quiet in that starry African village, and we slept well on our too-thin mattress.
In the morning, while we drank our coffee and packed our bags and bikes, we had a sizeable audience. While I sat on our bed, packing the panniers, 12 kids stood in a semi-circle at the door, watching, while several adults, some from a neighbouring village 2km away, created an outer semi-circle. Beyond greeting each other, we could not really converse, so instead our audience discussed us and our doings in quiet tones.
We stopped to buy cold water at the first village we came to and there came across a young boy rolling a bicycle rim with a stick. Charl, who had learned this skill in his youth, borrowed rim and stick and entertained the growing crowd of children and adults by running the rim up and down the dusty “piste” (track).
The road surface was less treacherous today, often compacted clay as stable and smooth as tar. Not perfect, of course, with potholes and rough segments that jounced boobs and bellies and butts into submission. And often narrow, a single-track lane running through the bush past scattered villages. At times we could not believe it was the main road to the border, so often checked our location on iOverlander or Maps.Me.
We created a stir in the villages we passed, kids running and calling out something or other repeatedly and over-excitedly. We could not understand what they were calling, but it sounded demanding rather than friendly. We have encountered so little begging since setting out to cycle Africa, that it took a long time to dawn on us that this was likely begging in childish form, tolerated by nearby adults. It is hard to believe enough travellers pass this way to have made successful begging a norm. Charl says it does not take much to reinforce behaviour patterns. It requires only random success to settle patterns. I tried to create new patterns, by not giving in to inveterate demands.
We saw a young man sitting astride a drum, playing it on the roadside near a shop-house. And a man with a rifle on his shoulder and a sleigh-type carrier on his back. We stopped to photograph the carrier, and Charl “over-reacted” when the man turning, swung the gun barrel toward him. The man laughed, but assured Charl the gun was empty. And a tiny woman, who stopped to tell us about a nearby Catholic mission and who looked dwarfed beside my five foot one and a bit (+1.5m).
In Nyanga, we checked into the Brunel, and dined at Chez Maman Emma-VéVé, on a meaty stew and glutinous cassava, not my favourite. Charl says it has the texture of Bostik.

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