The fuel shortage in Zimbabwe is taking its toll it seems; The driver of the guest house took me on a bus ride to the train station, to catch a bus into Botswana, and he was running on empty the entire way there. Praying to the gods that we make it, hoping that he wouldn't have to go and line up for eight more hours to get gas. And despite all of the problems in Zimbabwe right now, as a tourist none of them really seem to affect me.
And then into Botswana I went. Botswana is almost entirely flat, with lush and stout green scrub stretching as far as the eye can see. There are some hills but no real mountains per se. The people here are different as well; if you ever want to get a good look at the people of a country, take a five hour bus ride with them.
No one is starving here - there are even some fat women. And they are slightly arrogant, a bit self centred; the differences in the way they treat people, compared to the Zimbabweans, are noticeable. People will not hesitate to brush past you or bang their shoulder bag against you; there are very few "please" and "thank you"'s coming from these people. Certainly they are helpful when you ask, but no one is bending over backwards for a foreigner as they were in Zambia, Namibia, and Zimbabwe.
Francistown is desperately western, and could be small town anywhere in North America. I decided to spend all of half an hour there because of this fact - also, the Loser Planet book mentioned that there was nothing worth seeing in the town, which solidified my decision.




And then onward to Gaberone in the crowded bus, listening to their African music - at least they aren't listening to Shania Twain as they were in Zambia. The endless expanse of rolling scrub sprawls for hours around us, in a long but new passenger bus.





Gaberone
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