Congo Brazzaville

With a trip such as this I suspect that everyone reaches a point whereby they just want to, if not ‘pass the post’ then at least get near it and end the suffering. If I’m totally honest I reckon that for me that point was reached as far back as Senegal (week two!) but for Mick I think that even he’s now finally joined me in becoming tired of the constants: police check points, feeling filthy, being hungry, being thirsty, being tired and of course the mosquitoes. Actually, a quick word on the old mossies...despite me getting eaten alive in the Gambia I seem to have benefitted from the times that I’ve shared a room or just been around Mick as he must be the only person alive (or dead) that they seem to go for rather than me! Right now he looks like a chicken pox/measles and any other spotty disease that I can’t think of sufferer rolled into one! I shouldn’t laugh...OK, just a bit then. The other thing that he’s finally joined me in being tired of is the explaining who we are, where we’ve come from, where we’re going etc etc etc etc. It wouldn’t be so bad if the people that we talk to understand the geography of their continent, but they don’t. For a long time now while Mick has liked to ‘play with the kids’ (a pastime in Denmark I understand) I’ve preferred to just chat with the shop keeper in my best and improving French. Feeling update complete and the Congo Brazzaville was up next. So called ‘Brazzaville’ as there’s actually two Congo’s with the other’s capital being ‘Kinshasa’ and hence, Congo Kinshasa, The DRC, or formerly Zaire if you’re of a certain age. The ‘Earth Road.’ Oh dear. Despite me looking at the map and telling myself that cooler, happier times aren’t far ahead now it may well be true if my companion was riding something similar to the motorcycling equivalent of a Sherman Tank as I am instead of a sports tourer on road tyres. Frustration is the only word that comes close. On what was a five day ride of about 400km, like on the ‘improved road’ in western Nigeria, I rode a bit and waited, waited and waited. Frustrating, as despite a pretty painful border crossing I suspect that me and Des could’ve got to the intended border town of Pointe Noir in half that time. And as I mentioned, tired of the constants I just want(ed) to press on. At the 200km mark Mick’s rear puncture and sheared sub frame bolts along with a Laurel and Hardyesque following day attempt at borrowing the village drill in order to repair the damage didn’t help at all. The second 200km saw more Chinese expertise on the huge PN to Brazzaville project help slightly although the loose surface still meant for two days averaging 20kph! Finally we rolled into Pointe Noir too late to enter Cabinda as with only a five day transit visa, every hour really will count once the passport is stamped. The half day in Pointe Noir was spent getting clean, prepping the bikes for the five day blast of 2900km and eating/drinking on the street and actually quite enjoying the cooler temperature and relaxed feel of the place.