Yes, Billy the Kid is international. Ironic, seeing as how young William Bonney probably couldn’t have named more than five countries outside the U.S. Be that as it may, to more than a couple of people, the Southwestern United States is still the Wild Wild West. Sorry, Texas, but I think you are pretty consistently lumped in with the Southwest, though I know you hate to be. So, maybe all this is why Hugo showed up at Backpackers this morning to see if I wanted to go horseback riding. I am conjecturally a cowboy.
Although the jaunt was set up through Backpackers, the ride itself started from the Island Safari Lodge. I don’t know much about this lodge, as this was only the second time I had been there and, like this time, my prior visit had been short and purposed. All I can really comment on is the appeal of the portion of the grounds that I’ve seen- the bar and dining area. It does make an impression, though. The gorgeous brick-laid bar area runs out from the elongated rondoval indoor section to overlook a centerfold riverine panorama that could convince a person, neat whiskey in hand, that the rest of Maun doesn’t exist. Other than that, I direct you to their website.
On our way over to Island Safari Lodge, Hugo and I were reminded of an important thing to remember in Africa- drive a 4 x 4. The ground here is pure sand. There is nothing else. NOTHING ELSE. And you won’t just encounter it out on safari. The “highway” system through Botswana consists of a series of roads that begin as tar roads close to the cities and then end abruptly, often sending your car flying out onto a sandy section that could last for well over a hundred kilometers. Patches of city road remain unpaved, as well. A bridge just before Island Safari Lodge was under construction so traffic was being diverted through the dry river bed below it. Halfway across, the little sedan Hugo’s been renting from a taxi ran its low belly onto the sand and gave up. The motor died and Hugo sighed, “Putain.”
He turned the car back on and tried throwing the wheel back and forth to set the car loose but it was stuck pretty tight. The front bumper was completely dug into the sand. We were going nowhere. I started laughing and looking around. My laugh was returned by several men on their ways to work who had witnessed our unfortunate situation.
Now, here is the beauty of this country. Give the people an opportunity to make community with a stranger and they’ll take it. Just like not looking at people is the social expectation in New York, being friends with next to everybody is the social expectation in Botswana. The guys who had been on their ways to work ran down and immediately started to fix the situation, patting me on the back and making jokes. “River too deep?” said one guy smiling. “1,2,3.” said another and we all lifted the car as much as we could. Spraying us with dirt, Hugo was able to reverse into a more maneuverable patch of sand. Everyone cheered and continued with the day.
We met our guide, John, at the reception of the lodge. He led us to the horses, got us mounted and we hurried off. From the stables we rode down the lodge’s 1.5 km long entrance drive. Apparently, the lodge has had problems with aggressive drivers…expressing themselves on the local squirrel population (see picture). Along this road, John gave us a crash course in horseback riding. I remembered a lot of this from the smattering of rides I have been on- spur the horse with your heels to walk, spur urgently to canter, again and with a “Yeehaw!” to gallop and pull on the reigns with a “Whoa! Boy!” to stop (the “Yeehaw!” and “Whoa! Boy!” were my stock additions to John’s instruction but come on! Riding horses through rural Botswana with a French guy who thinks I’m a cowboy and I’m not going to have fun with it?).
The ride itself was lovely. We rode down the dry river bed that Hugo and I had been stuck in, around some of the deep residential dirt roads several kilometers from the tar road and along a small tributary of the Okavango. I made a short video on my iPhone using Vidify. The song is Life is a Carnival by The Band and you can find it to the side.
One thing that is not in the video that I want to tell you guys about real quick before I log off: the Maun Ricefarm. We were riding along, just as pleasant as could be, us three cow pokes. All of a sudden a bulldog of a 4x4 comes barrelin’ up the road behind us. Barely do we have our horse’s tails out of the way does it come whizzing past us, in a hurry to stop at a big razor wire crowned gate just up ahead. The four men in the truck, two in the cab, two in the bed, were dressed in slacks and white button up shirts with shined leather shoes and black leather jackets.
While the feller in the passenger’s seat opened the gate, the two fellers in the bed of the truck stared us down. I realized that they were both ripped underneath their natty threads. The truck drove through the gate and the passenger side fella’ closed it behind and climbed back in the cab. They hurried on just as they had come. We continued riding.
For a kilometer, the barbed wire fence that was attached to the gate continued next to our route. Watching the tiny blades running round the coils of wire, I tried to guess what had been behind the gate, where the notably attired gentleman had been hurrying to. Military base, super-villain lair, GQ’s Botswana office, were all guesses that went through my mind. When I asked John what was behind that fence and he answered, “Oh, that’s a rice farm.” I knew that it was either guess #1 or #2.
Wow! That was awesome! You really seem to be living your life to the fullest! I am so proud of you.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Mrs. Kingston! To the fullest is all anyone really can do with their lives, isn't it? Most of my class graduate this Spring and I am really happy to see how many people seem to be living very full lives.
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