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Day 71 – Living in Luxury

2nd December 2011

overcast 24 °C

Nursing our lumpy bodies we hit another long sand road that traverses north eastern Botswana to a town called Kasane near to the border with no less than three countries: Namibia, Zambia and Zimbabwe. Once more we had the pleasure of bumping into some wild dogs. Their mouths and legs still slightly bloodied from their breakfast. (Wild dogs have a nine out of ten kill rate, if they decide you’re dinner, ninety percent of the time, you are. The big cats are more like three to four out of ten at best and rather pleasantly, a cat strangles its dinner before beginning. Dogs prefer to hold their dinner down whilst their kin disembowel it and start tearing chunks of living flesh from their unfortunate quarry.) After the previous night and in fact after over two months of living in a tent the time had come to find more respectable accommodation. We booked into a lodge. Chobe Safari Lodge had come recommended from one Dr. Johnny Cave in Durban and since it was eighty English pounds per night it was slightly more attractive than the similarly named Chobe Game Lodge which pitched itself at six hundred US dollars per night.

We wrote postcards and letters as we watched the river flow by. The pool was vcery nice and it would seem that Lauras’ Zoological observations over the last few weeks were taking their psychological toll. In the pool she was certain she could breath like a hippo, remaining submerged for as long as possible before rising to the surface, nose first, and trying to blow the water out before taking a breath. In the bar I found her trying to eat the peanuts like an elephant, her left arm acting as the trunk. Occasionally she would look over and just when I thought she was about to mutter some tender words of love she would yawn protractedly like a cat. If it hadn’t been so funny I’d have had serious concerns.

Dinner was a buffet and as our host, Lenic, showed us along the counter I couldn’t help but think he was wasting my time with breads, soups, salads and potato dishes. I could see the huge hunk of wildebeest that lay between half a roasted pig and huge fleshy pieces of grilled hake. There would be no starters, there would only be meat. My eyes were almost bigger than my belly but it became a game of mind over matter and as the meat sweats began trickling from my temple, I knuckled down and ate every last forkful of delicious Wildebeest. Some locals performed a traditional tribal dance as we ate and afterwards they came to our table and we bought their CD. God knows why, whether it was because we felt it was a cultured decision, curiosity, some sort of discreet charity or even just material support for their cause. Whatever the reason, if anyone wants to borrow some authentic Botswanan beats then our CD is available. For a small fee.

As the door to our room opened we held onto our rotund and firmly turgid bellies. The air conditioning whirred into life and the sight of two double beds meant our thoughts of getting amorous dissipated quickly. “Which one do you want?” I asked as I flopped onto one of them wondering if that was how it felt to be pregnant.

As a footnote; in order to prove that I have indeed reached a certain age, I have, over the month of November been cultivating a fairly dodgy and definitively ginger moustache and accompanying goatee. If you stare closely at the pictures it may almost be visible. Miss Somers, whilst finding it pleasing on the eye had found it distinctly unpleasing to the touch and so a moratorium on kissing had unintentionally fallen into place. This unwitting moral black mail, combined with the arrival of the end of November, signalled that the time had come for the hair to go. I look sixteen again.

Posted by ibeamish 00:11 Archived in Botswana

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