We have a further 40km of
terrible roads to reach Banyo and the final paperwork at the Customs – stamping
of our carnet. It is getting late so when they suggest we camp in their carpark
we jump at the chance. Traffic dies down and it is a peaceful night.
We thought the bad roads were
over, but oh no how wrong we are. The main road heading south has not been
repaired for years – it is a red track winding through the jungle. It is slow going, picking our way through
massive ruts, avoiding holes and massive mudpuddles. We do 150km at about 20km
per hr. There is not much traffic. A few trucks, some overloaded hatchbacks –
all with the hatch open and goods hanging out, plenty of motorbikes – with up
to 7 people on the back, and some overloaded vans. It is all very green &
jungly with countless small villages.
At 3pm we reach the tarseal. What
excitement! We decide to continue to the town of Foubam to visit the Sultan’s
Palace. Suddenly we are in a big town with lots of traffic & as usual I get
John snarled in the middle of the market that is spreading all over the road.
And of course, we cannot get out, so have to turn around and go right back
through it. Phew we find the Palace – a rather untidy looking manor house and do
the obligatory guided tour just before closing time. Time to find our hotel
carpark, but when they want practically the cost of a room we drive on (a
mistake!) There is a convent 20km out of town – so we head there. Sadly, the
incredibly narrow, muddy side road gets wetter & wetter, until the puddles becomes
a lake. It is nearly dark, so we simply camp on the road. After all who else
would be crazy enough to drive down this road (only motorbikes!)
Even getting back out in the
morning is a bit dodgy using full 4-wheel drive. Very relieved it didn’t rain
in the night. Today we head through the much bigger town of Bafossam and on to
the city of Yaoundé. We are hoping to get to the DRC Embassy today to organise
our visas (the last visas to get for this trip) and we are excited to get there
in time. No crazy paperwork required – they just need a form filled in, a few
photos & plenty of money. Even better we’re told to come back tomorrow at
11am to collect them. We head up to the Presbyterian Guest House tucked up a
hill overlooking the city. Aa amazingly quiet oasis in the middle of this crazy
city. Just one minor problem: recent road works have put a trench around the
whole yard. And these locals don’t hurry. Finally, a wobbly bridge is made for
us to cross. In the morning the bridge is re-erected and GR2 crosses – with
plenty of wobbling by the planks! Actually, rather scary, but we are out and
head off in the crazy mayhem traffic to find an ATM, then a supermarket &
finally the Embassy for our visas. Chores
easy, but the Embassy says no it will be ready tomorrow. Bother! What will we
do now? It is no point leaving the city as it takes ages to get anywhere, so we
hunt down a workshop to get a grease and adjust brakes and return to our spot on
top of the hill. We plan to camp over the road, but no we must be inside her
property. It is much safer, even though there is no fence, so a new bridge is
made. This time a secure concrete/dirt one.
Back to the Embassy and with our passports
collected, we exit the city. Lots more jungle and of course small villages.
Also, lots of rain. We finish the day in a hotel carpark not far from the
border and we head off early, but too early for the Customs guy. We end up
waiting for an hour. Finally, on to Immigration. Our details get written up at
numerous places before we are finally stamped out.
Hello Gabon. There is a sort of preborder area
with horrendous reports about a very officious officer – fortunately he is not
on duty and the process is very smooth. Then we need to drive some 40km to the
town of Bitam to be properly stamped in. Here too it is relatively simple. They
need a few photocopies & proof of our Hotel booking. (Tomorrow we must
remember to cancel it) Finally we are off and in through more lush jungle.
There seems to be at least 2 police checkpoints before and after each biggish
town. A bit tedious, but generally Ok. Oh, and by the way the roads are excellent.
What we do notice are the logging trucks – heaps of them, filled with humongous
logs. When we stop for the night beside a rather grotty motel, we meet a Chinese
guy. He is in charge of one of the numerous plants here. Interestingly there
are 40 containers of wood that are shipped out of here every week. And he has
been here for 2 years! That is a heck of
a lot of trees going out! The extra
payback for Gabon is the great Chinese roads. Hopefully they will be maintained
once the Chinese leave.
As we drive through this country
John asks what the favourite accessory is. Mmm is it a mobile phone? No, it is
a machete! The ladies pop them on their heads, the men swing them back and
forth, and even the kids take them to school – it looks as if they have to
slash the school yard before they can have play time.
It rains all night & I am
getting agitated because we have another long section of dirt road (300km), and
then it keeps raining on & off. This jungle is dripping with water. We make
the decision not to do the extra drive, in and back out on the same road, to
Libreville (the big smoke in Gabon). After all it is just another port city.
Instead we carry on to Lambarene – a biggish town bisected by a massive river.
Here we stop riverside for lunch. There on through flatter countryside towards
the border, finally looking for our hotel in the town of Mouila. As usual I am
on the lookout as we drive in for backup camp spots. And as the hotel carpark
is not big enough, we head back to the nearest backup. Itis a big Immigration
building and carpark secured by fence & gate. It takes a while to get the
boss’ approval, but yes, we can stay. At dark the gate is locked and a guard on
duty. Perfect.
Off early to Ndende (the border
town) on more great roads, but once we turn to head to the border the seal
vanishes and we are back on dirt: potholes, ruts, puddles & all. We stop to
get our carnet stamped out and discover that Immigration was back at the town.
Oh well, too bad. We just don’t have an exit stamp in our passports (and no one
is bothered). Over the rickety bridge is the Republic of Congo.
More to come…..
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