A Town Without Pity and Other Traveller's Tales.

By Robert Findlay

24 of the best travel stories you've ever read! The kind of travel adventures you'll pray you'll never have yourself. South Africa and Lesotho, Canada and America, Tonga and Fiji, Wallis and Futuna, England and France, the Cape Verde Islands and Malaysia, Jamaica and the Dominican Republic; all parts of the world present the author with the opportunity to bumble from crisis to crisis, fighting strangers, animals and local bureaucracy across the globe whilst exploring both well known and little known corners of the world. One hundred and twenty countries, seven civil wars and two gun shot wounds later and I couldn't give a hoot if I never fight a dog, get assaulted by machete wielding maniacs, get horrible diseases, get stuck in the Yukon, get lost, go 27 hours on an African bus, herd cattle through a campsite or eat gorilla's hand and rice ever again!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Mar 29, 2011
• ISBN: 9781447554226

Book preview

Foreword

Many of my friends have asked me whether my stories actually happened and I tell them more or less that they are all true. I have of course changed some of the names, can’t remember some of the names, taken a bit of artistic licence with names, places, dates and events; and that may qualify some of these stories n the sceptical readers eyes as made up. And in some cases they may be close to being correct! But I will still maintain that the essential elements of all these tales is in tact and just changed to increase the enjoyment of the telling.

But after 120 countries where I have been shot twice, attacked by people and animals so many times I count the species not the instances, had encephalitis and dengue fever and any number of minor tropical illnesses, half a dozen car crashes, been through 7 civil wars and survived countless hideous adventures does anyone really think I wouldn’t have at least a few stories to tell?! The hard part was working out which tales to put in here but this covers the range of places and adventures I’ve had. I’ve picked the best from South Africa, Tonga, Fiji, Lesotho, New York, Wales, Cornwall, Bahrain, Malaysia, the Dominican Republic, Martinique, France, Jamaica, Morocco, Canada, Wallis and Futuna, the Cape Verde Islands, England, the Virgin Islands, Iceland and Rarotonga.

I hope you enjoy these 24 stories; I have plenty more where they came from.

Oh, and if anyone recognises themselves in these stories and disagrees with the facts; if you can tell it better let me know!

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This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the author’s prior consent in any form or binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

Tsitsikamma Trail

TSITSIKAMMA TRAIL

To cut a very long story short I had met two South African guys, both merchant seamen, called Woody and Kenny, in Namibia and they had told me, after two weeks travelling around together, and a short spell as cell mates with a Portuguese drug smuggler, all just a big mistake of course, to look them up when I was in Cape Town.

As it happened, the day I arrived in Cape Town, the boys were about to set off on a trip on the beach to Plettenberg in Woody's new Land Rover. The very circumstances of this trip should have tipped me off that this was not going to be a problem free trip. Woody had just dumped his girlfriend who the night before had thrown red and blue paint all over his new white Land Rover to teach him a lesson. Presumably the lesson was to garage your car before dumping someone, and Kenny was on the run from his family for getting his 79 year old grandmother arrested for smuggling porn. I never really looked too deep into that story.

So, it seemed like my kind of a trip. I signed up and the next day we all met up at Woody's colourful Landie and prepared to set off. The preparations were speeded up when Woody's ex came round with her dog to give him some more abuse.

In you jump lads, we're off! shouted Woody. We jumped in, he started the car, we reversed over the dog.

Oh Jesus! shouted Woody. He jumped out took one look at his ex, who was now unconscious on the floor, then one look at the dog, which he had cut nearly in two and promptly fainted.

Oh great said Kenny, who I should tell you was actually Scottish South African, so just imagine that accent Well there's no bloody way I'm getting out of the car

At this point the dog is still somehow alive and making a noise that will haunt me to my grave. The only thing holding it together was its spine and otherwise - well imagine a plate of spaghetti and we'll leave the description at that. So I reach back into the Landie find a blanket and a wheel iron go out, put the blanket over the dog's head and then smacked it on the head with the iron. Thank god, one blow was enough.

Feeling a bit faint but slightly heroic I turn round to see Kenny shaking his head, saying,

Look at the fucking state of my blanket, you cunt!

Not the praise I was seeking but about a million times better than the shit I got from Woody's ex who when she woke up blamed me for killing the dog !!! Bloody hell, Dr Doolittle and a tub of araldite couldn't have put that thing back together again! How was I to blame?

Strangely it got Woody and his ex back together again and in a bizarre turnaround of events she decided to join us on our trip. After we buried the dog. Not exactly a problem free task. It was hard to keep it together, emotionally and physically, as it broke into two parts and we had to bury it in two plastic bags and then tip the bits left on the drive on top.

By this stage we were three hours into our trip and hadn't even left Woody's fucking drive. One hell of a trip, so far. Anyway, so off we set. I’d like to tell you the exact route but I spent the first hour trying to explain to Kenny that Ozzy Osbourne was not antipodean, so somewhere about an hour into the drive we drove onto a beach and set off along the shoreline.

Right lads! said Woody Here we go, next stop Plettenberg Bay!

Or how about the very first bit of soft sand. What Woody hadn't told us was that he hadn't even driven a Land Rover so had about as much ability at driving it on sand as I had of Ice Dancing. In the next hour Kenny and I must have dug that frigging Landie out of the sand a dozen times. It wouldn't have been half so bad except that Jan, Woody's ex, refused to get out and help so just making the bloody Land Rover just that little bit heavier. God we cursed as we dug. I wish I used the bloody wheel iron on her.

Still we persevered on and before sunset we had found a lovely spot to camp. Beautiful dunes, the sound of the sea, baboons barking in the distance, Jan whining on about the lack of a bed. Christ sakes what did she expect on a camping trip? An ensuite bathroom? Still we wandered out to a point and stood and admired the view - marvellous - how could it be better? As Woody said,

We are a million miles from the problems of the world

When we got back we found the baboons had trashed our camp. We blamed Jan; if she had covered his car in green and black paint they would never have found the Landie. And they say women have a better sense of colour schemes.

Actually, when we got back they had knocked down the tents, shit on our shoes, eaten our food, had pots on their heads and were generally having a whale of a time. They had taken the mirrors of the Landie, let the tyres down on one wheel, emptied the spare fuel can, and four of them were eating our food on top of the Landie with Woody's sleeping bag around them for warmth! Thank god they hadn't found our beer!

Bad news lads said Kenny, as we rifled through the remains of the camp I've forgotten to pack the beer

Good news was that my tent had emerged unscathed - thank you Snow and Rock salesman who persuaded me to go for storm proof tent - also baboon proof. So I had a great night's kip safe in the knowledge that the next day could only be better.

The next day Jan got stung by jelly fish; not just a little sting on her foot but all over. She was covered in welts. Woody was beside himself with worry; Kenny and I were beside ourselves with laughter. Served her right to be frank. Kenny had told her not to just dive into the sea but she wouldn't listen. She was certainly listening when he suggested we go to the hospital.

Problem with that idea was that we hadn't pumped the tyre up from the baboon intervention the previous day. No pump you see. Good old Woody had prepared for a trip across the wilderness of southern Africa by packing absolutely no emergency equipment. Good thinking mate. Still, on the plus side, Jan was shouting at him, not us, when Kenny suggested pissing on her. If there was ever anyone I could piss on it would have been Jan that day but she wasn't having any of it so we had to walk a couple of miles to the road, flag down every motorist until one with a tyre pump for a land rover came along. Surprisingly it only took two hours until an obliging motorist stopped and gave Kenny and I a lift back to the beach where, by now, Jan was just about better. Damn it!

So soon back on our way; hurrah! Woody said he knew what would cheer us up -a private game reserve! Uhmm, lots of nice African animals for our entertainment. Yes please to lions, no thanks to baboons. We had no problem getting in to the park, had a nice day, but on the way out the gateman wouldn't let us out.

You need a letter

What do you mean we need a letter?

I can’t open the gate unless you have a letter

What sort of a letter?

A letter that lets you out

Yes, good, but why?

So you can leave

Yes, I know why I need the lette,r but why is it a requirement to leave the park?

So you can go home

Kenny lent over to me and said

Get the blanket and wheel iron, Bob; I feel another accident coming on

Alright said Woody where do we get a letter?

From the office

But the fucking office is outside the park! How do we get there?

You need a letter

I know I need a fucking letter! How the fuck am I supposed to get one?!

From the office

That's it! cries Woody and proceeds to throw off his coat onto the floor and try to climb the fence to get to the office.

Forty-year old men should not try and climb 15 feet high fences with barbed wire on them. I shall never attempt it having seen Woody's pathetic attempts, his squeals of anguish as he finally reaches the top and gets stuck in the wire and falls 15 feet down the other side into a pile of rocks, in his ripped clothes, torn arms and legs, blood everywhere.

However, as he was doing this Kenny had a great idea of grabbing a scrap of paper, writing 'let these people out' on it and handing it to the gateman saying

Oh I just remembered they gave us this letter at the office

No problem

So we drove out the now open gate in time to pick Woody up from the other side of the fence.

Where's my coat?

Back inside the park

How the fuck am I going to get that back?!

May I suggest a letter from the office?

So now we have Woody and Jan sitting nursing each