This is a short summary of my four-day tour of Swaziland on the back of a motorcycle from December 17th to 21st. I’ll divide this post into four sections with a summary of each day and a fifth section with my closing thoughts. I hope you all enjoy this.
Day 1
The trip started at 04:30. I was running on three hours of sleep. My father and I were to rendezvous with our partners at a nearby petrol station. They were late; the plan was to leave at 05:00, but we only hit the road at 06:00. Thankfully, my father had the route planned with delays in mind, so we weren’t affected much. This was my view.
I never knew that a petrol station outside of a small town could be so beautiful. This day wasn’t really eventful with most of our hours spent on the road, but we had a few highlights like swimming in some random dam and taking some awesome action shots. Here’s my favourite picture of the day and a strong contender for my all-time favourite.
This mimics an earlier motion, where my father and uncle rode on the edge of the road creating a gap for my cousin to slide into. Seeing three iron horses flexing their muscles in unison under the sun was one of the most beautiful sights I have ever seen; this picture follows the same formula, but seeing it first-hand is a totally different ballgame. I spent the whole day with my visor up, much to the disappointment of my ears, but it was worth it being able to capture shots like this. Here are some more photographs from our various stops along the way.
Day 2
After spending our first night at camp, we hit the road en route to the mountains. We were all comfortable with dirt roads and the bikes were all three more than capable of traversing tricky terrain. Swaziland had something totally different in store for us. The first hiccough was accidentally stumbling into the gate to a palace. The GPS directed us to go through there, but a massive grandiose gate guarded by an R1-armed security guard put an end to that. Only my cousin, father and I ended up at the gate, my uncle took a different turn. We were asked a few questions and the guard still had some of that Swazi hospitality that is unlike anything I know of back home.
This was the second hiccough.
We rode into a cloud. You dont get to say that every day. Dry, compacted mud turned into snot. The terrain grew trickier and trickier, until my father and I had a little slip. Both of us, along with the bike, sustained no injuries. The pillion seat is a lot higher than the normal saddle, so I managed to jump off as the bike went to its side without taking a hard fall. My father rode down the rest of the hill solo. We sat together as a group and came to a decision: the rain was not going to stop, we were literally inside of a cloud and the terrain was getting trickier, so we decided to turn around and head back to the tar road.
After taking a breather at a petrol station, we headed to a little restaurant for a pizza and a beer. We each chose a pizza and had two slices of each. I can tell you with full, unwavering confidence that the Swazi Meat Pizza at Pizza Vesuvio is the best I have ever had. While I haven’t been to enough places to declare it a world champion, I bet my legs that you’ll at least enjoy it. I would crawl to Swaziland just for that pizza. The beer is awesome too. I’m not much of a beer-drinker, unless it’s really hot out, but the local specialty, Sibebe, makes everything else I’ve had taste like unfiltered urine, especially stout. Beer aficionados will criticise me for comparing a lager to a stout, but I couldn’t give a damn. I never want to touch stout again.
Day 3
The third day started early with us packing up our camping goods. We hit the highway to the lodge where we would spend the night. Our journey took us through the city of Manzini, which was a constant buzz and full to the brim with cars and taxis. Sidenote on the cars: almost all of them are obscure Japanese models. The car known as the Mazda2 in South Africa is the Mazda Demio in Swaziland; why they would change badges for essentially the same market is beyond me. I also spotted a Nissan Cube, which is quite a rarity.
Anyway, Manzini is as large, busy and soulful as any African city of its age. One thing sets it apart from the rest that I’ve seen: it’s clean. My hometown of Fochville is dirty, especially near taxi ranks. The larger, neighbouring town of Carletonville is filthy to the point of it causing genuine sadness in me. I haven’t been to Johannesburg CBD for fear of wanting to commit suicide as a result of the state of it. Swaziland is completely different. I would be lying if I said that I didn’t encounter litter, but it was to such a limited extent that seeing an empty milk carton on the side of the road caught my attention.
Our navigation system fooled us around a bit, so some time was lost going in circles and taking wrong turns. Once we had a decent route set out, we rode along until we had to rest. An empty bus stop was a good rest stop and we bought ice from a man’s wheelbarrow. I didn’t have one, but I heard it was rather good. Another surprising fact about Swaziland is the lack of graffiti phalli on bus shelters. Almost all “graffiti” was in what looked like chalk and likely from when the bus stop officially opened. What did these rebels write? Positive Christian slogans and the names of themselves and loved ones. The highlight of this stop was a rapper, Petros, (which isn’t his stage name) who was walking by. He offered to freestyle for us if we supplied a beat. Being the fun and quirky guys we are, we played the classic Afrikaans song “De La Rey,” which is a tribute to general De La Rey from the Anglo-boer war, i.e. not something one could easily freestyle to. Petros killed it. We gave him some cash and and ice in support. Being such a positive and pleasant guy, I really want to see him make it big one day.
The last dirt road to the lodge was on a fairly steep decline, so we shut off the engines and coasted down. Just the sound of six tyres and three driveshafts whirring away were all that accompanied the sound of the wilderness. Words cannot describe the scenery. Two brandy and Cokes, two beers and a hilarious and wise conversation later, I was asleep.
Day 4
The final day was the least interesting. All it contained was a 600km trek back home. We rode through Bulembu, which is largely abandoned. It used to be the home of a Havelock asbestos mine that used cable cars to transport the asbestos for further processing and sale. It’s a surreal experience riding through a ghost town. There are a few people still there and there is a foundation trying to bring the town back to life, but for the most part, everything is empty with just some houses, cables and a big pile of rocks left.
Just beyond the border post lies a section of road that is, well… orgasmic. Twists and turns and curves and sweeping bends. This is ideal if you have an adventure bike, because some patches have potholes and sand sprinkled on the surface, although any sort of vehicle that is pleasurable to pilot will put a smile on your face here. It always felt like we weren’t leaning far enough. I was always yearning for another degree. At a rest stop we saw that our tyres were almost void of “chicken strips,” which, in motorcycle terms, means we leaned a lot.
After that, it was highway riding all the way. To summarise it, I never knew I could swear so much. In Swaziland, ninety-five per cent of the time people move into the left lane if you’re behind them and want to pass. In South Africa it’s the inverse. Shame on you, South Africa. After arriving back, sweating through every article of clothing I had on me, I fell onto my bed and rested. This trip was one of the best I’ve ever had, but it took a lot out of every single one of us.
Closing thoughts
I bet you forgot that this was actually about watches, huh? Well, it isn’t really. This is more about an awesome experience with family, human and machine alike. I did put a lot of thought into the watch I chose though. My Camy Club-Star is a vintage dress watch, it isn’t exactly what comes to mind when one thinks of something suited to a cross-border motorcycle trip. Rain, mist, dust, dirt, shock and vibration, all relentless, couldn’t hold a candle to my Camy. It was as accurate as ever, not missing a beat and not looking half bad on a NATO. It’s back on a proper leather strap, where it belongs.
The moral of my little tale is that you shouldn’t worry about taking a fifty-year-old dress watch exploring. If you keep it clean and take it off before hopping in the pool, you’ll be fine. There are far too many people who think wristwatches are delicate, fragile little things and if that’s the case, then they really don’t make them like they used to. Don’t be afraid to use your watch. Go out there and make memories.
(This section is reserved exclusively for King Mswati III, so if you’re not him, no need to read this. You’ve done well, your highness. Your water tastes awesome and your people are the best. I also like your Rolex Day-Date. The rest of your watch collection is a bit out-there for my tastes, but cool nonetheless. Please try and finish that big building that has costed something like six billion Emalangeni, because it looks really really cool. Best regards, RM Schwartz.)
The Escapement Room 