our air condition are the flaps
below the windscreen and
in the tropical roof.
Lesson learned from the day before (although everything went fine): Low gear and mud are not compatible. Today there is no way out other than through it.
There are skeptical observers on our descent to Kasane, all the way into the outskirts of town.
And back on tar we are happy that this queue is not ours but he trucks waiting to cross border into Zambia.
Crossing border into Zimbabwe is much smoother than expected, but nevertheless an experience: Paper work, paper work, paper work! “Deformation Professionelle” kicks in and I can’t help but to think how much processes, customer experience and labour conditions could be improved by a rather simple ECM solution. Stop! You are not at work, not in that area of business any longer anyway, and most importantly we are on vacation.
And what it costs! We knew all upfront, the road fee, the pollution tax – luckily our insurance did cover Zimbabwe, so car insurance didn’t apply – and last not least the visa fee if you are not a SADC citizen, 30 US$ per person. It sums up.
But it could have been worse. We were told that carrying a British passport you pay more than double. Should I call it post-colonial revenge?
And then there was Monique’s special experience. Paperwork was done, we got our passports stamped and were leaving the office and got into our car. 25 meters to the gate and we will be in finally. “Where is your Gate Pass?” Oh sh…, although we knew we need it, we forgot to collect. So I was running back to the office to get it. You should know the gate pass is a piece of paper, about A7 size, looking as if it was cut by hand from A4 paper and carrying a stamp and in handwriting the number of passengers in a vehicle. Luckily I got mine immediately.
Meanwhile Monique was sitting in the vehicle next to the gate, when one of the guys – officials? – approach the car. “What do you bring?”
Monique countered: “We are going to Victoria Falls and will spent quite some money. Isn’t that enough contribution to develop the country?”
While saying this she did pity the guy, and she offered him a chewing gum. Handing over the blister she did expect he was going to squeeze out one gum. Before she did realise what happened, the guy turned around, and off he went with the whole blister.
Once past the border post Monique did take over the helm. But why is she looking such exerted? Is it anger about what she did just encounter at the border post? Or is the pattern on Zimbabwean road hypnotising her? Or is she just mad because once more lunchtime past and we were far from having lunch?