Another truck day really.
It had started early, very early. The group, especially AF, has lost confidence in the tents' waterproofing. Thus, when it had started raining yet again, shortly after pitching Nyala last night, I had completely ignored its presence, and moved everything into the boma instead, alongside the kitchen equipment and dining tables. Some certainty established. Some sleep ensured? Wrong.
I lasted until 0125. Unable to sleep, with no idea why, I was up and dressed again, doing blog and stuff, with only mozzies and moths sharing my headtorch. Except, that is, the creature that came in to share a co-camper's mattress for the remainder of the night. I had heard the rustling noises - presumably so had she - and was wondering how threatened I should feel by the vicious carnivore out there somewhere. Until the owner's Jack Russell waltzed into my torch beam and took a fancy to an AIF mattress.
Taking down soaking-wet tents, and packing them, is no fun, and there is little point having had a shower before doing so. You need another afterwards. We got away bang on time, 0630, yet again. Like a Swiss watch, that Gary.
He got one of those spurious roadblock checks about an hour into the journey, and left a few kwachas lighter. It happens. See my earlier remarks about standards and a nation's status. Livingstone was not long away, and the Zambezi Waterfront Site easy to find. It's not exactly handy for town, though, given that we are here three nights. On offer on arrival were glamping tents, larger than ours, on hard standing, and with proper beds, light and power. Everyone jumped at the upgrade. I wonder if our crew has picked up our opinion of the default canvas.
An evening 'cruise' caters for dinner and a few drinkies. It's New Year's Eve, so there is the usual raucous-laughter-and-fireworks combo to put up with before bed. Bah humbug. Or does that apply only to Christmas?
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