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Well well. It's New Year's in Harare, and what an odd country Zimbabwe is. For the record, Mozambique was uneventful, although at the Malawi/Mozambique border Iain and Hayley had a haggling competition to see who could get the best woodcarving for the least money. Iain got a small rhino for 395 Kwacha (Malawi currency: 250 = one pound Sterling), 2 US dollars and ten cigarettes. Hayley got a nicely carved bowl with a lid for 350 Kwacha. We voted that Hayley won. I then decided to see what I could do, as guys were coming up to the truck selling stuff. I got a carved rhino, twice the size of Iain's for 230 Kwacha. I am clearly a haggling god. Much amusement (and amazement) all round.

Mozambique was uneventful, although whilst we were pitching our tents a couple of the girls found some scorpions. Cue much squealing, swearing and flapping. Very tedious. And it rained all night. Er, that's it.

In keeping with the rule I mentioned last post, the border post into Zimbabwe was... interesting. Normally Kate can collect our passports, go get them stamped, then bring them back to us. And that's it. In Zimbabwe we all have to queue up to get (obviously very large and ornate) visas in our passports, then we HAVE to buy $20 in Zim Dollars and get a receipt. Then we have to cart all our bags off the truck to go with them through customs. And just for good measure, they search the truck too. And then they check to make sure we all have yellow fever vaccination certificates.

For a bit of background on Zimbabwe, have a look here: http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/africa/country_profiles/1064589.stm

Before getting to the campsite, the cook group had to go shopping. I'd read that the inflation rate was about 1000%, so I was curious as to what we would find. At the official exchange rate US$1 = Zim$250. Looking round the supermarket I realised that all I could afford to buy with my Zim$500 was a few sweets. A can of ham cost twenty pounds, a one litre carton of juice cost 14. How on Earth can people afford to eat? The cook group eventually emerged from the store in a daze sporting 2 loaves of bread and two cans of peaches.

Anyway we got to the campsite, giving our tour leaders the opportunity to go and change some cash on the black market. The rate they got? US$1 = Zim$2200. Nearly ten times the official rate. The government knocked three noughts off the back of the notes in the summer and printed a whole load of new ones. You know that an economy is in trouble when the notes they print have an expiry date. I kid you not. Printed this summer, they run out next summer. Talking to the lady that runs the camp site, it turns out that inflation is nearer 1200%. About 10 years ago a beer would have cost maybe 5 dollars. Now (if we keep those three noughts they dropped from the currency) the same beer costs two million. This is only good news if you have a) a mortgage, b)foreign currency with which to pay it and c) hope for the future. How anyone can get through this without developing mild insanity is beyond me.

On to matters celebratory. We did a kind of secret Santa fancy dress thing where you have to get the outfit for someone else on the truck. What did I get? Go on, guess. I got dressed up as a granny, complete with thick glasses and knitting. Damn I looked good. It was all going really well, right up to the point when I fell off the bar on which I was dancing barefoot (I must stop this dancing on bars thing, it's undignified for one of my age) and landed on the concrete floor. Luckily I put my right heel out to break my fall, which worked, but it may have broken my foot as well. So, an early night I think, seeing as a) I can no longer move unaided and b) I have to get up at 5 to catch my flight.

I've really enjoyed these last three weeks, but I'm so looking forward to Cape Town that any sadness I feel about leaving this marvellous bunch is more than countered by my excitement about going back to the Cape.