Managed to snatch a bit of sleep overnight. Arrived at the RSA/Zim border at just gone 5.30.
Leaving South Africa was very easy: As usual everything was very efficient. Trying to get into Zimbabwe was another matter. I was dealt with by a woman and there were no problems. Olly, despite his credit cards, his US$300 worth of travellers cheques, and his ticket to Nairobi, was having no such luck.
As I was queuing I had noticed one of the officials giving us evil stares. He seemed to be saying "I don't think you're coming into this country, matey."
Yes, this was the jumped-up little shit Olly was lumbered with. He couldn't see any way that Olly could enter the country without knowing which hotel in Harare he intended to stay in. I don't know if he was just trying to shit Olly up, or what, but when I turned up and it was clear that I had got through OK he said to write "The Oasis" and let him through. Whatever the case, he was an evil-minded fucking areshole and I would like to see him die slowly, perhaps simmering in a vat of urine.
After sitting around for ages waiting for customs to remember what planet they were on and come and check our luggage, we drove the short distance to the Beitbridge Inn for breakfast. We didn't leave until gone 10.30, and due to the state of the bus, which seemed to be reduced to 15 bhp, we didn't arrive in Harare until 7.00pm.
Because the city is dangerous at night and every other hotel in the 'phone book was full, we ended up getting a taxi to the Russel Hotel. It cost Z$150 for our room, but it was pretty swish by our standards. Our room turned out to be a suite, including a well-furnished lounge, a kitchen, a bathroom, and a double bedroom. There was also a balcony; but that goes without saying.
Before the demise of Ian Smith, it was probably a really smart hotel. Now, though, the kitchen had floor tiles missing, the bathroom was slightly grotty, and the beds were uncomfortable. Our balcony looked over the hotel garden. It had a pool that was so dirty that only the first few steps at the shallow end were visible. There were also benches situated around the swamp; no more than 30% of their slats were still present.
After a couple of beers at the nearby Bronte Hotel, we turned in and had a well-earned night's sleep.
Leaving South Africa was very easy: As usual everything was very efficient. Trying to get into Zimbabwe was another matter. I was dealt with by a woman and there were no problems. Olly, despite his credit cards, his US$300 worth of travellers cheques, and his ticket to Nairobi, was having no such luck.
As I was queuing I had noticed one of the officials giving us evil stares. He seemed to be saying "I don't think you're coming into this country, matey."
Yes, this was the jumped-up little shit Olly was lumbered with. He couldn't see any way that Olly could enter the country without knowing which hotel in Harare he intended to stay in. I don't know if he was just trying to shit Olly up, or what, but when I turned up and it was clear that I had got through OK he said to write "The Oasis" and let him through. Whatever the case, he was an evil-minded fucking areshole and I would like to see him die slowly, perhaps simmering in a vat of urine.
After sitting around for ages waiting for customs to remember what planet they were on and come and check our luggage, we drove the short distance to the Beitbridge Inn for breakfast. We didn't leave until gone 10.30, and due to the state of the bus, which seemed to be reduced to 15 bhp, we didn't arrive in Harare until 7.00pm.
Because the city is dangerous at night and every other hotel in the 'phone book was full, we ended up getting a taxi to the Russel Hotel. It cost Z$150 for our room, but it was pretty swish by our standards. Our room turned out to be a suite, including a well-furnished lounge, a kitchen, a bathroom, and a double bedroom. There was also a balcony; but that goes without saying.
Before the demise of Ian Smith, it was probably a really smart hotel. Now, though, the kitchen had floor tiles missing, the bathroom was slightly grotty, and the beds were uncomfortable. Our balcony looked over the hotel garden. It had a pool that was so dirty that only the first few steps at the shallow end were visible. There were also benches situated around the swamp; no more than 30% of their slats were still present.
After a couple of beers at the nearby Bronte Hotel, we turned in and had a well-earned night's sleep.
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