Lameck's Village to the Luangwa River "Bridge Camp"

"Don't worry, your mother is cooking Nshima," said Lameck as we packed up our tent and got ready for another long day of bicycling; fortunately for us, we had Lameck's wife to cook us another round of Nshima with a side of vegetables. Nothing like some home cooked Nshima to get the day going... After stuffing our stomachs with Nshima, and fixing Aaron's flat from last night, we said goodbye to Lameck and his family, thanked them for their hospitality, and got back on the road. Today's destination was pretty ambitious, we were to reach a supposedly nice lodge on Luangwa River, only 130 kilometers down main road filled with what seemed like many more ups then downs.

Nevertheless, we were determined to reach the lodge and get a decent meal and hot shower, that is what fueled me at least. With each ten mile break, the chances of getting to the river looked better yet our legs were tired and the clock was ticking. We decided we were going to make it regardless of our bodies weariness or the time, if this meant a little riding at night, we were going to get there.

Throughout the day's ride, we were constantly shouted at by children yelling "azungu, azungu" or "mazungu, mazungu" (white person if you didn't already pick that up); this was cute at first because we enjoyed the attention and it kind of felt like we were celebrities of some sort, but after hearing it for the 300th time it did not quite have quite the same effect. On the same level, whenever we stopped at a town to get some food or something to drink, literally the whole town would stop what they were doing and just stare at us like we were from some other planet. Granted we were probably some of the only white people that many of these local people ever see, it was still a bit bizarre sitting down with so many faces pointed in your direction. This made it difficult to interact with anyone because almost everyone seemed to be unsure what to do or if they should try to communicate with us. Luckily, when we stopped on the sides of roads outside of towns, people were more approachable and more able to comprehend our presence.

 

It was around 5pm when we reached our 50 mile break, we knew we were about 25 miles out from the Luangwa River, but I desperately wanted to get to a real bed and hot shower so for me there was only one option: keep bicycling. I think Aaron felt the same way because he started to pick up his speed as well and we cruised to 60 miles. As the sun went down, we put on our lights and reflectors, bicycling harder and harder until we heard noises and lights that looked like a bridge was in the distance.

 

We had reached the Luangwa River, it was a great feeling but that didn't last long because it was pitch dark and we had no idea where the "Bridge Camp" was. We had heard that it was right next to the bridge, and that seemed like a safe bet considering its name, but when we rode down to the bottom of the river where the bridge starts, we were told the lodge was all the way back up the road, across a different bridge that we did not know existed.

 

Determined to make it to the lodge, we got back on our bicycles and road back up the hill, saw the tiny sign that indicated the camp was 2km down a dirt road. This was not your average dirt road, there were no smooth patches, it seemed like one bump after another and rarely did we know when the bumps were coming because all we had were a few flashlights. We finally reached the "bridge" that everyone was talking about, it was about 20 feet long, not exactly what we were expecting, but that did not really matter at this point. Some motorcyclists and a truck sped by us and turned into a place with lights so we knew we were close by, and a nice meal was awaiting us!

 

The "Bridge Camp" was certainly a very nice place, put together and well decorated. The owners were a Dutchman and a kind British lady. We immediately sensed some tension in the place as the Dutchman would yell at his Zambian workers for the pettiest of mistakes or things they forgot to do. This created a very weird and tension filled environment at the lodge; there was another group staying there as well and they sensed the same thing. When we were seated down for dinner, the whole time we would hear constant shouting in the kitchen, followed by the Dutchman's wife coming out and apologizing for his behavior.

 

Fortunately, the steak I ordered was very good, although I think anything that was not Nshima I would consider excellent at the time. Aaron ordered the same thing as me, but his steak came back well overdone. We knew the Zambian cooks would hear it about the steak, but we had no choice but to send it back. Aaron informed the British lady, who was able to get by into the kitchen without her husband noticing, I think. Soon a new steak was brought to Aaron; this time the steak was incredibly rare. Aaron did not want to send it back again, and proceeded to start eating it, but I told him that he could get sick from eating meat so rare, especially since his stomach had been very sensitive throughout much of the trip. Once again, we told the British lady who showed it to her husband and he agreed it was the steak was far to rare. Fortunately for everyone at the place, he had calmed down, and did not throw a fit at his workers.

 

Aaron got his steak, and everyone was happy; well, the workers were probably not very happy, but I think they had learned to just ignore the yelling, which definitely did more harm than good. I think most people would much rather take orders from someone who treats them as an equal, then someone who constantly berates them and shouts in their face. That's just my opinion though. 

 

Anyway, we retired to our room shortly after that as we were both very exhausted. We showered and immediately fell asleep. The next day would be no easier, the goal was a mere 75 miles. 

 

-Eric