After just a few kms, we encounter our first big river crossing. The boys go ahead to scout it out. It seems to be OK. Céline dives in, water up to her chest. I start crossing and end up both feet stuck in several inches of thick mud, water up to my waist, a tiny bit stressful! After a few trips back and forth, we manage to get all the stuff across.
This was the first of a long series…
No tarmac anywhere of course. The “road” often disappears under water, mud, sand or the occasionnal landslide. When there’s no mud or sand, there are rocks. The small streams or mud puddles that come before each sandy part are the worst… The transmission and brakes squeak and screech. I’m glad I don’t have rim brakes !
Some rocks :
(or the other way round, I don't remember)
Everywhere we stop, it seems like we are the attraction of the day, especially near schools. People always love trying the tricycle.
On the last day, we rush as fast as we can (which is not very fast…) to get across the border in time. Everyone is longing for a shower and a good beer. At 4.15pm, 500m from the border, a car stops. It is the bloke from the passport control: “Border close 4 o’clock. Come back tomorrow”. Bad luck ! We have to climb the rocky road all the way back to the guesthouse, and wait yet another day for the well-deserved beer…