Back to Africa

Ants, human beings, motorcycles, clouds and dreams

2009-12-20T23:36:00.000-08:00

I am seated on the garden of the Stop Over Motel in Johannesburg and I see the ants crawling up and down like a disciplined army. But some seems to be lazy or full of uncertainty. Now and then you can see one of those little bugs going slower than the others, or changing suddenly its direction for no apparent reason. It’s supposed that are not rebel individuals among ants; but I see they are. I like them most than the others. Perhaps they also have dreams.

My friend Rydall is here. He has driven all the way from Port Elisabeth to Johannesburg to pick my bike. More than 1300 km without sleeping just because we are friends. He is a big boy who loves steaks and he is also a good father and a hard worker.

I saw his gun last night. It is a Spanish one, an Astra. He always carry it since he was 21. He has little, but he needs to protect it. “Few days ago someone stabbed 4 times my neighbour, the woman who lives on the farm at the other side of the road”, told me Rydall when we were having dinner. “What did they want?”, I asked. “Her cell phone”.

It’s time to say good bay to my Princess under the Johannesburg sky. Rydall put her in the van and left me alone. But I am not sad. She should not be either. Rebel ants, lazy human beings and motorcycles dreams are made of the same kind of clouds. I have a new plan and it will make her happy. I will tell you soon what it is.

Merry Christmas from Maputo

2009-12-19T07:56:00.000-08:00

Loneliness under the sad Maputo sunrise .

We all are masks. Monster faces in the far distance, but behind them probably we will meet our equals. We are all just terrified tinkers looking for some love and a hug now and then.

The grey clouds looked at my Princess on the dock.

I sat in the dirty room of the cheap Andalucia hotel. The place is perfectly African: dirty, noisy, warm and the elevator does not work. The whole city lies in front of my room. I can see a man on the mirror writing these words and avoiding asking him questions.

There is not place for questions when travelling Africa. The wind is full of answers I will probably do not want to hear, but I know It’s time to go home. Merry Christmas to everybody.

Indian sunrise waves at toaster master

2009-12-16T22:33:00.000-08:00

As I was sad, I decided to dump my sadness in beer. I am not only a biker, I am also a toaster master. One of the bests. Holding a beer, seated on a bar, I can toast anyone for hours and hours without mercy. I have toasted waiters, customers and girls all over the world in all kind of bars.

If I start talking, I won’t stop till the beer chocks me down or the owner kills me. My victims barely can say something about their lives and they got really and deeply toasted about mine. Then, when they are like dirty cloths for laundry, I go to sleep walking doing zigzag.

Last night I explained to everybody how I haunt (or should I say "fish"?) in Mozambique crocodiles for an Spanish company which sells crocodile meat cans. That was the reason for my t-shirt. I assured as well that crocodile meat is like chicken one but much better. The only problem, by de way, is crocodiles are not like dogs, they are not friendly and if you feed them as friends they will eat your hand or something else. All the customers in the bar nod their heads and agreed that crocodiles are bad guys who do not feel love for friends like dogs do. “What do you want? I exclaimed, we do not eat fucking dogs!!

The best of sleeping is waking up at the following morning (otherwise you are dead), especially if you are lying beside the Indian Ocean in a tent. Then the sunrise waves you up as it is coming from the deepest blue. Is surprising to watch that prodigious which changes everyday. Sunrises and sunsets are best friends of a lonely motorcycle traveller.

Leaving the Tropics

2009-12-16T07:40:00.000-08:00

I am a little bit sad. I am leaving the Tropics. Reality is calling me back. In few days I will be flying to Spain from Johannesburg. I will leave the Princess in the best hands possible. My friend Rydall, the angel who picked me on the road, is going to keep her meanwhile I am out. He can ride her, better said: he must do it because I do not want her to get rust, fat and lazy. She deserves the road and the path, she needs real biker love and if I can not for a while, I want a good new boyfriend who gives to her. As you can see, this is another big difference between human and bikers love.

Fish Market

2009-12-14T08:02:00.000-08:00

Fuck you, dona Margie

2009-12-13T21:38:00.000-08:00

I hate to say, but the karma motherfuckers who love Budism, Toaism and Self help brain masturbation are right: there is a ying and a yang. There is the fucking Chi. No love without hate, no peace without war, no pleasure without pain and, of course, no paradise without hell. The small Mozambican villa of Vilanculos is probably one of the most perfect paradises on Earth, but is also becoming another perfect hell.

I have met one of the local legends mentioned in all the Tourism Guides: Margie, a middle age woman who has lived here for more than 15 years. She has noticed all the changes since the Civil War end and the mass tourism started. Too many changes, and not all in the good direction. Vilanculos was nothing else but a small fishermen village, boring and quiet. There is a wonderful beach and, few miles away, are the Islas del Paraiso.

Those treasures made the tourism came as soon as the conflict disappeared. The first ones to come were the white Southafricans because they found here peace and no crime. But some did not know how to make the paradise last a little bit longer. I have very good Southafricans friends but I also know some of they could be very arrogant dealing with black people because they are afraid of them in their country.

The Mozambicans learnt fast the bad manners like the bad drinking habits. Is always easier to learn the bad than the good. They learnt also there is always more money in a tourist pocket than the little amount of meticais they can earn working one month. Frightened white people are always about to give enormous tips for nothing encouraging blacks to ask or to steal. Now Vilanculos could be dangerous if you walk alone.

Margie realized the change was completed when someday a small girl was happily waving at her. She could hear the girl saying with a big smile: “Fuck you, dona Margie, fuck you”. The girl didn’t understand the meaning of the words probably listened from a 4x4, but then dona Margie understood perfectly what had happened in her small paradise.

Crossing the Bay to Maxixe

2009-12-11T07:01:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I get bored of riding the road. How about a short boat trip? It couldn’t be that bad having a pleasant sea journey. The only problem is not forget behind a German Princess. But she is afraid of water so she never learnt how to swim.

So here we are, in Maxixe, a horrible town with a really nasty hotel.

Fortunately, I always keep my insecticide to kill the bugs who like to crawl around. Think twice when you say you are envious about my trips or I will send you some pictures of those awful neighbours.

Beaches, Karma and motherfuckers

2009-12-10T03:13:00.001-08:00

Hi, all. I am having a rest at Tofo Beach. This is a long flat peninsula and all over are white beaches and brown people. This is a very good spot for southafricans in holidays.

It´s plenty of surfers, divers and other cool motherfuckers. I have to say I hate those buddies who like reegae, pot and dread locks hair. I am fed up of so much karma and the fucking "take it easy" way of living. If I stay one more day here that stupid smile you can see on my face could last forever!!

Keep riding to Hell!!!

Riding the Real Mozambique

2009-12-09T07:25:00.000-08:00

Since I Left Maputo, 500 km of pleasure have happened. This country is so beautiful and fanny too ride, but also deeply complex. The N1 road goes up North and one can find the most pure beaches and really friendly people. Small tourist resorts here and there can make you happy just lying on the sand and having cheap beer and seafood.

But one should never forget this country was in war just twenty years ago and it was completely destroyed. Now, Mozambique is growing up fast, about 10% by year, but the starting point was below zero. People over 40 lived the war and you can see in their faces some kind of sadness they will never loose.

Just few people make war. They are always the same everywhere, just the 10% of warriors who fuck the 90%. Normal people just want to live in peace, get a family and a job and some fun with friends. I can say now we are all the same. From Uzbekistan to San Francisco, we like to be free, love and be loved. I can see here the hope of living in peace.

But I can also see the corruption and the perfect dictatorship of one party. You know, here gas (or petrol) is cheap because the Government promised to keep the price low meanwhile they were competing to the polls. Now, after that decision, the public debt has highly increased but politicians got what they wanted. Frelimo (the party in the power since the independence) runs most of the districts and business go as usual.

But nothing of this ugly reality bother the white tourists who enjoy Tofo Beach snorkeling, dancing and drinking. Sometimes I wonder WTF I am doing just watching the game. I only can try to tell what I see and that is what I am doing now. Sorry for that and enjoy the wiew of Praia de Tofo.

postcards of maputo

2009-12-09T07:05:00.005-08:00

I spent one day riding Maputo. There are few postcards of the town.

Amazing city. It were built as it is today for 40 years. During the Civil War no one took care and no new buildings were set up.

Only now the city is growing up. New developments everywhere. The Portuguese made a good job. Hope you enjoy it.

Maputo!!

2009-12-06T04:24:00.002-08:00

I got it! I am in Maputo, the most Latin and chaotic city in Southern Africa. It stinks, it is poor and it is beautiful. When I arrived, nude guys were having a bath in the channel. It is not freedom? I got away without paying the toll gate fee for crossing the bay. I am crazy and happy like drunk.

When I easily crossed the border I noticed I am really far from Cape Town and I did it even damaged. Dammed stupid TFM! I am playing with my health but this is a desire victory. If you really want something, you can achieve it. No matter if it is love, distances or happiness. You should know what you really want. Sometimes is time to give up, but I am not a quitter.

Rehab is for quitters. No solo motorcycle trip is never easy but this journey it’s been one of the hardest I did. My wounds are still open and my ankle hurts, but I am enjoying small pleasures like stopping on the road and eat the most fresh and cheapest fruit you can imagine.

What’s next? I do not know. I am plenty of energy and Mozambique looks great. I will look for some nasty roads to loose myself till my boring job calls me and I have to bury myself behind a desk in 2010.

Keep well.

Hard working day

2009-12-05T08:01:00.000-08:00

Sometimes, riding a motorcycle is like working. You’d rather prefer doing something else but you have to keep on riding to arrive to the next destination. Then, riding is not too funny. Today it’s been one of these days. A hard working day trying to spend miles to reach Swaziland.

I left Harrysmith really early in the morning, about 7pm. It was cold, wet and windy. Soon, it started to rain. It is supposed we are in summer and my cloths are light. During weekend are too many cars on the road and they barely can see a motorcycle in the fog.

It was also a long distance trip to arrive to the border. More than 400 km on a boring dump roads. But the final part was funnier because I took the mud path. Something more interesting than asphalt.

The border was so easy to cross. No paperwork for the motorbike, just 50 rands for import tax, and very friendly civil servants. Swaziland is amazing, beautiful and green. Greener than Lesotho. But that is also the problem. Too many tourists in weekend. All the places I asked were full, or too expensive or too crappy. Finally I arrived Manzini and there was a music festival, so all the places were totally booked. At last, I found a strange place called Manzini Lodge, and got a room for a crazy price of 350 rands. But, Ok, we can have a good rest before heading Mozambique.

Riding the tough Lesotho

2009-12-04T07:12:00.000-08:00

Beautiful Friday. I left Maseru early in the morning and went to Butha Buthe, 100 km going East on a good tar road. 10 km later, I took the B161, a long gravel road which goes parallel to the South African border. It was Ok at the beginning and later turn up harder and harder, but always beautiful.

That is what I like most. Feeling alone in the wilderness and being like drunk. Lesotho people are poor but nice. The only problem I found is what white people we have done. The children asked me for money or sweets. What should they do when we have calmed down our souls treating them like beggars. So, they are asking what is supposed the white men give. I am fed up of being asked for gifts but I know is our fault.

Finally, the road became really hard and terrible. My German Princess worked really well. I love that machine. The tyres she wear are appropriated for that job. The Metzeler Sahara are good enough in asphalt and in gravel. I just fall down once when the path broke in deep trenches. I do not want imagine how that part of the way could be when raining. A mud pool, for sure.

After 4 hours riding, we both ended up at the South African border and got no problem to go back in. We are having night at Harrysmith, an small town in the Free State. Tomorrow, heading Swaziland.

African Women Riders, the best hands ever

2009-12-03T09:09:00.000-08:00

African Women. Mama Africa. The real heart, soul and strength of this continent. They work hard, they save money, they care about family and they set up succesful business. They make this world roll. They are great. And now, they also ride motorcycles!

And they ride far, long and over all terrains. Some bikers should learn from them. They get where help is needed and they arrive safe. “They are much better than men” I have been told. “Women use the bikes just for the task they are supposed to be used, they ride with more safety and they do not show off when going into the villages. They just work”. That´s it. Women are better riders.

My goal in Lesotho was visiting the programme of Riders for Health (www.riders.org), an NGO from UK which uses motorbikes as useful tools to help communities in Africa. I have had the privilege of riding with them. They were not expecting me so I could see how is their real work. They are fighting against AIDS and non hygienic habits teaching people about good manners of having sex, cleaning, cooking and eating. They are supporting mothers and children. They make inspections of shops to avoid selling expired goods. They go to the very tiny and hidden villages where no other health worker is expected.

The equation is easy. How much is the cost of one of those big super 4X4 other NGOs like to use? A Toyota Land Cruiser costs about twenty of those small motorcycles and the running cost per Km is about 18 cents of Euro. So think twice when seeing motorcycles just like a toy for bold boys and be smart. A motorcycle on the right hands of an African woman can help much more than one can think.

Anyway. As I was at the hospital with them, I decided using the Lesotho Health System to cure my wounds and remove stiches. The Hospital was Ok and too many people were waiting for assistance. The staff also treated me. But not like one could expect in Western World. You should try once Public African Medicine. You will feel how lucky you are to live in a developed country.

Africa is not for sisis. The nurse put off the dressing over my arm wound and all the thin tissue I had been growing up to cover the lack of skin was also gone. Dammed pain! But I am Ok, if Africans can survive, I will probably do.

The fact is that my stiches were put off and now I feel better having a cold beer after one of the best riding days beyond the Lesotho Horizon. Get for me a stout for Riders for Health, and if you can, help them one day. They make the money ride in the proper way.

On the Roof of Africa

2009-12-02T05:21:00.000-08:00

Hi, all.

After my accident I had to wait so long to ride again. But here we are, hitting the road again. My German Princess is happy and so am I. I forgave her for the blood and the pain. I always do. She is a good love. Sometimes she gets angry but never has betrayed me. It is not just luck, I did my job for that kind of loyalty. I made her doing what she was made for. She was designed for long African trips, no for being kept in a garage as the former owner did for years. But you have to ride her gently. She has temper. If we crashed, it was my fault. What a difference to human love and its empty promises. It takes ages to find the right person but only few miles to find the perfect bike.

Anyway, I am in Lesotho, the Roof of Africa. Two days riding from Port Elisabeth and things are becoming normal step by step, mile after mile. The first day was hard. Bad weather, cold, wind, rain… I was frozen in my summer clothes and craving for a little bit of sunshine. My ankle was hurting me and my arm and shoulder cried for rest. I had night in Aiwal Noord, an Afrikaans village about 500 km from PE. But today it has been one of those perfect days of riding. I woke up early in the morning, I put my boots on, and left. Soon I crossed the Orange river and everything smiled at me. Sun, a lot of sun. Mountains in the horizon. A nice gravel road to the border. Friendly policemen and easy paperwork.

Lesotho is again the rough Africa. Animals walking around, deep poverty, children everywhere, AIDS spreading, but it is also the good Africa with friendly people and the sense of riding the real adventure.

I miss my friends: Jerome and his family; Alfred, the good mechanic guy; Barbara and Eugene, the owners of the B&B; Alan and his wonderful workshop plenty of dogs, bikers and beers, and Rydall and Meg, my guard angels. But I promised them I was going to be back in South Africa as soon as I can. My German Princess will be waiting for more love.

Keep well.

Toy Run

2009-11-29T09:01:00.000-08:00

Bad and good news. First the good ones: I am back to the road. I joined the Toy Run on my German Princess. The Toy Run is an special motorcycle event. Every year, bikers of South Africa meet and everyone brings a toy to give to the poorest children, thoose who have no toys at all. One could say that is nothing important to solve the real problems of poverty. Probably that´s right, but a child with a toy is a happy child. There is nothing wrong in collect gifts from bikers.

So I put my boots on, tie them tight, squeezed my teeth and turned on the engine. So, here I was, riding again. What a happyness. I am a biker on a bike. I am in the right place. Having cold wind.

Later, Rydall´s and family joined another BBQ (Braai) with their friends. Good people who work hard. No rich white people expoiling black poor guys; instead of it, citizens who can´t expect protection from the high wawe of crime which is burning South Africa.

Bad news: I have to say good bye to my new friends. But this is the traveller life. Is the way it is.

Keep safe.

Good pain relief pills

2009-11-27T00:39:00.000-08:00

Things are going better day by day. This is me, very unhappy, when I arrived Port Elisabeth five hours after the accident. It was about 9:30 pm and my wounds hadn´t been cleaned yet. The ankle was really hurting me and by then was gone all the adrenaline I fled into my blood to make me walk and fight. But I had to be awake few hours more meanwhile the hospital crew treated my injuries.

These guys are my new friends Rydall and Alan. Rydall is the angel who picked me up from the road to Port Elisabeth Hospital. And Alan has already fixed the German Princess, so she looks much better than me.She is beautiful now and has some guys who want to be her boyfriends.

This is the fantastic dog Alan has at home. He can not be in a better place, playing among motorcycles and bikers. Look at the floor, one could eat there. What a wonderful workshop.

And this happy man is me buying pain relief pills in a pharmacy. My foot is in such kind of galactic boot and I can also walk with cratches. Do not worry about me. In a short time I am gonna be back to the war.

Be well

Love Hurts

2009-11-25T03:56:00.000-08:00

My German Princess gave me back the pain I gave her forgiving our love for 8 months. We bumped into the barrier 40 km away from Mussel Bay when we were entering into the Garden Route. I am not going to be able to ride to the next corner for a while. My Kenyan dream has vanished.

I broke my ankle. That sometimes happens. I had been so lucky so far and I have not complaints. I lived the dream and I still feel I am very lucky. Jesus must love me, I do not why, otherwise I could have been killed or seriously injured. But I am gonna survive as I did before.

I can say I am happy because, again, another angel appeared to help. South Africa is not a good place to crash. People are so afraid of hi jacking crime and for 15 minutes I was bleeding on the road and no one stopped. Nor blacks, nor coloured, neither whites. They just looked at me and kept going on their ways.

The 112 number revealed useless. I was in problems because anyone could stop and rob me even being damaged. Here your life does not worth a mobil phone. Then stopped a van carrying a trailer with a bike on. The guy, Rydall, a hard worker and a biker also, put my bike on the trailer and picked us to Port Elisabeth, where the Princess is being fixed by Alan Lewis, one of the best BMW mechanics, and I was being cured in the hospital.

Bikers we are really different people. Even in South Africa we stop to help bikers when nobody does. Alan and his wife are taking care of me, looking for place to stay, and Rydall’s wife offered me any help I could need while her husband is out driving the van to feed their family.

Should I say I had bad luck? No way. My ankle will be ready in short time and I will forget someday it was broken, but now I have new friends I will never forget.

Keep safe.

Daniel, a new rider

2009-11-22T22:57:00.000-08:00

Two years old biker. WTF is he going to do when 20?

There is not Tortilla Española for TFMs

2009-11-22T06:31:00.000-08:00

Hopefully the rear shock will be rebuilt on Monday. As I have to stay in Cape Town till Tuesday I am wasting time eating and drinking. I am in Jerome´s house. Jerome is a South African biker I met by Horizons Unlimited. He invited me to a typical Afrikaan BBQ (Braai) and I wanted to offer his family something from Spain. But, you know, there is not “jamón ibérico” in South Africa. So, what can I do? We also have others treasures as our "Tortilla de Patatas" or Spanish Omelette, and our "Pan Tumaca" or tomato bread. So I went to the mall and bought all needed: eggs, potatoes, tomatoes, French baguette, and the most important thing: real olive oil from Spain!

I was a little bit afraid because the last Spanish Omelette I cooked died more than ten years ago and the bread was a little chewing gum. But the honour of my nation was involved and this is something important, not only because I did the military service with the parachutes (where they really kick my ass for one year) but because any Spanish guy can make complaints about the country IN the country, but not OUT the country. This is notorious especially when we are in trouble abroad, then even the most ubiquitous nationalist wants to be supported by the Spanish Government. In other words: they can hate Spain but like Spanish money to save their ass. Anyway, despite the Black Legend, Spaniards are a good people. We can steal gold and wind from America but we give olive gold to Africa. Is it not a good deal for the Humanity?

So I started cooking. I peeled the potatoes, fried them in olive oil to the required tender point, added them to the six eggs, mixed the whole stuff and poured into the hot fried pan. Meanwhile, I toasted the bread, and covered it with the tomatoes pulp, salt and olive oil. Even the most TFM could appreciate such kind of treasure, so imagine what a normal person with normal feelings and thoughts could feel eating the most simple gold on Earth. It could make scream even the owls!

Back to the old love

2009-11-20T08:31:00.000-08:00

I am an addict. I have to confess I am a fucking travelcoholic. But only on a motorcycle and by my own. Just alone in the wilderness I feel myself Ok. Behind the handle bar I can forget the stupid pace of western World and the politicians and the economical crisis and the complaints of ex girlfriends, ex ex girlfriends and ex ex ex girlfriends and all the TFMs. But if you offer to me joining a luxury cruise among the Caribbean Islands or flying to China to eat sour dogs and sweet rats in the best hotel of Shangai, I will say: no thanks, I d rather seat on my couch, watch TV, drinking beer and acting like Homer Simpson. I hate planes, buses, boats and crowed places. I am not a World Citizen nor a modern flight miles traveller. I am a biker. So here I am again, in Cape Town, trying to run away and going North. My goal is reaching Nairobi, where I started 8 months ago my first African Trip.

Why I am here? Have you ever felt the calling from an old love? I mean, you do not know how but someday you are at home, doing your stuff as usual, but suddenly you remember deeply someone you loved time ago. Is something strange, because you have your life already fixed, you have another partner and even you can enjoy children, a home and a mortgage. You can say you are happy. Or it supposed you are happy with all your toys. But, God only knows, you start to feel nostalgic about someone from the past and you can see yourself starting to think about what could have happened to her or him, how could be his or her life now and, over all, if that person still thinks about you in the same way you are thinking in that moment.

You should know what I mean. Ok, that is what happened to me few weeks ago. I was riding my Little Fat and then I wondered what about my German Princess I left behind kept in Cape Town? Is she happy? Does she remember me? Does she miss me? Does she like another biker? Oh, I was able to remember her perfectly or even better because memories make the past more beautiful that it really was. I started to crave the feeling of adventure and riding her in the African wilderness. I have one month free and I decided trying our love work again. So here I am, enjoying Cape Town riding the German Princess meanwhile we prepare the departure. But, you know, facts are not as perfect as memories, and normally, when you face the old love, you can see that her or him is not as beautiful and nice as you remember. When I opened the garage I found the rear shock is totally gone. Before leaving I have to rebuild it. Better notice now than in the mi middle of nowhere.

I will keep you updated.