By Chris Harvie
Uninterested in tragic tales, Chris Harvie units out to determine thepositive aspect of the 'Dark Continent' and to take pleasure in its lifestyles andlaughter. don't Take This highway to El-Karama is the entertainingaccount of an epic highway journey that takes him from hishome outdoor the Kruger nationwide Park to the banks of theNile in Uganda – and again again.In his haphazard and slightly eccentric travels, Harvieencounters missionaries and mechanics, locals and ex-pats,rascals and rogues. Delving into his personal combined British andSouth African id, he attempts to fathom – in his trademarkwitty and sardonic sort – the post-independence nationalcharacter of the southern, crucial, and east African countriesthrough which he and his partners pass.Delightfully opinionated, brimming with fascinating facts,questionable remark and doubtful speculations, this bookis crucial studying for a person with greater than a passinginterest in Africa, shuttle, heritage and folks; in a great read;or simply...
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The plan had originally been to spend six months working for J&B Whisky in Buenos Aires, but the Falklands conflict put paid to that, although, given my father’s rumour that 600 cases of J&B had gone down with the sinking of the Belgrano, maybe business would have been quite brisk at the end of the war. Either way, I headed instead for South Africa, which, with delightful English logic and grasp of geography, fell under the same division of J&B as South America. I fell under South Africa’s spell immediately, despite its appalling politics, and knew I would spend the rest of my life there.
We had a deliciously cold Coke under the Moroccan-inspired pointed thatch roof of the bar, perched on cowhide stools around sandpits which passed as ashtrays for overlanders, and read up on the activities which were provided but in which we weren’t going to indulge: quad-biking on the pan and sleeping under the stars on mud-crystal flats. It all sounded idyllic but well beyond our budget, which was currently being swallowed up by petrol for the huge distances we were covering. Kelly directed us to the campsite by a roundabout route and, with the tents pitched under clever thatched bandstands designed to keep them dry on the occasional rainy day, Mike and I then had to go orienteering to buy wood for the fire.
But all the awkwardness was behind us now and we were well on our way to Johannesburg by the time the sun came up and revealed our homeland to us for the last time. The road was busy and misty and we were still trying to get used to the loads we were carrying in our respective vehicles. Mike and Moira were in their 1989 Land Cruiser, which had yet to be tested to extremes, and Anton and I were in our battle-hardened 2003 HiLux double-cab bakkie, veteran of the 2004 Mozambique-Worn-Wheelbearing-Tour, the 2005 Namib-Desert-Storm-Campaign and countless shorter – but equally daring – expeditions and skirmishes.