It is a very early wake-up call as I am unsure what customs authority complications await. I arrive at the same customs office and I explain that I had been there the day before and that I have keys and documents with me. Perhaps it was late in his shift, perhaps it was early in his shift, perhaps he did not have coffee yet, but he waves me out of the office, only to return if the passport guys at immigration give me hassle. So again, I set out unusually early to pass the checks and nothing happens at all. Even after a month I should have figured it would be like this, and I should have perhaps left the bike with Mikou’s friend, but you never know, enshallah, it will be safe.

Damage list: New back tire, Bridge of windshield – palmeraie, Rear wheel cover – gallop of camel, Right mirror – palmeraie, Right Touratech cylinder cover – Tar grind, Right pannier – tar grind, Windshield extension – tar grind, Lost battery of Kodak video, Sunglasses caught in car door

Too much of: T-shirts, Towels

Too little of: Soap / shampoo / shaving cream (but who really cares), Ibuprofen for the locals, Gifts (Pens, Electrolytes, Betadine, Video equipment, BMW diagnostic SA crack system, Data space on IPad, Cover for hooter (very annoying hooting in the most beautiful tranquil of moments), Backseat bag touratech, Km’s with the Karoo tyre, try TKC, check blogs, Book, Coffee maker as a superfluous luxury, Plastic tie-downs, Thick tape.

Spot the sign: Only in Africa!

As I land in Malpensa, unshaven but reasonably fresh smelling, the border officer stops me. I likely have the look of a serious dope smuggler. I warn him of opening the water tight bag lest he does not want to kill everyone else within a mile, after all, in that bag are weeks of clothes that have occasionally been hand washed, but the stench bothers even the owner. He insists, and to his own peril… 🙂