On the Road Again

We had a leisurely start this morning in large part because Alan lost some money. That said no one was in a particular rush to get on the road, and we finally wound our way down the very twisty bumpy potholed dirt road , past the Planet Baobab statue to the  main road. Our first stop after a couple of hundred kilometers was for fuel, and there Les bumped into his old friend, the very chic lady from Nando’s in Maun. She told us that she was a Zambian heading home for Christmas with her family. She was a hairdresser and once again was dressed to the nines, forcing Les to take more photos.  It was interesting that at the gas station it was so hot that they had to keep all of their candybars and chocolates in the cooler case or they would just melt.

We drove into Francistown at about three that afternoon and our first stop was the fire station ( Professional courtesy you know, one fireman to another, although they might have seen through our disguise). They were delighted to see us and invited us in to have a look at their equipment.  (Wow, is that a Freudian comment or what. I guess its because all fireman talk about big hoses). Their firehouse and its contents  was awesome, They had machines there that would have done any major city in the US proud. Huge machines with water cannons, multiple pumps and they all looked very well maintained. I am still trying to understand why the Swedes who I believe donated one of the trucks bekieve that they need a huge foam canon in Francistown). They actually invited us to come back to the chief’s retirement party that evening, and meet the rest of the corps. Our hotel was just across the road from them and while we thought of doing it, we figured ultimately that it was tantamount to gate crashing an official event. They had invited us out of courtesy and we declined I a similar vein.

We checked into the hotel, and it was a great change. It reminded me of a Holiday Inn, and while that may not sound like much, crisp sheets, towels, an internet connection ( still very slow), TV, a swimming pool, gym and a big bed all felt like a million bucks. Steve and I went to the market around the corner and it was just like any non tourist African market and bus station. Lots of tables set up by ladies selling produce like tomatoes, cabbages, potatoes and some canned food. We also did a tour of the mall next door and it was really like any small town mall in America. A Wal-Mart or Dollar General would not have been out of place. We walked through looking at the brands and most were multinationals and familiar to us.

We went back to the pool at the hotel, migrated to the outdoor bar, and met the chairman of the Francistown Country Club, his father and a lady friend of theirs. He was one of those colorful characters that is the antithesis of the Hemingwayesque African explorer. He lived in Francistown, had a small contracting business, hated killing anything, which meant that he allowed the rats that inhabited his home to become his temporary pets, and had three beehives in the house because they had just arrived and taken up permanent residency. No green cards were required in that household.

That evening dinner was at the best restaurant in Francistown, Barbara’s Bistro. Barbara is a German woman who grew up in East Germany, was caught trying to escape, spent nearly a year in one of their prisons and was then deported to West Germany.  She made her way from there to Francistown (I am sure there were a few stops along the way) where she said she really found her freedom. Her game plan was to open a restaurant because she could do it on a low budget, loved to cook and was good at it; she would build it over a couple of years, save some money, and then move back to a big city. Problem was she was bitten by that damned African bush bug and it’s now a dozen years later and she is very happy there. The food that she served was excellent and besides two Russian diplomats, we were the only guests that night. She explained that all of her regular clientele had gone to Xmas parties ( it was Saturday night in December) but she had stayed open for us because we had been referred to her  by a close mutual friend of hers and Peter’s.

After dinner she invited us back to her house for some wine, and also brought the Ruskies. She lived a five minute drive away so she drove her minivan, we all piled into the two firetrucks, with the Red Guard taking up the rear. and off we went to the burbs for a nightcap. We were greeted by two large very noisy dogs of uncertain heritage, she call them African dogs,  but once we were inside her grounds they were very friendly – I guess we had been appropriately vetted. She had a beautiful pool in her back yard and a large poolhouse with two walls, which had a lot of old railwood furniture in it. It is stuff made of old railroad ties that have been weathered in the veld in some case for more than a century. It is typically a teak or mahogany or jarra, and is incredibly dense, heavy and strong. It is also insect resistant and so was never treated in any sense. As the railroads are re-laid, the old ties are sold off to companies that make this furniture. 

We poured  our wine and the Russians drank schnapps, and we had an interesting conversation with  them. The senior one explained to us several times that he would die for mother Russia, that bankers were ruining the world economy ( he actually was citing the Kondratiev cycle as evidence) and that the most critical thing was to have the US and Russia make friends, The reason for this is that unless we are allies against the developing nations, the fate of the white man is sealed, and that the Chinese and Chicanos are going to take over the world. He considered nuclear weapons in Iran a non-event and was really concerned about the ascent of the orient.  You can guess how far that conversation went and we went home soon after the wine was finished. All in all a great and fascinating day