Nothing too obvious changed when we crossed the border from Namibia to Botswana through the Trans-Kalahari highway. The bathrooms got worse. The tar roads had more potholes. Animals sauntered into the road with more frequency. Warthogs, goats, horses, donkeys, cows. The cows were the middle-aged mini van drivers: seat belts on, never crossing the road without looking both ways. The elephants, in their leather jackets, sons of anarchy, crossed whenever and wherever they pleased. Loud footsteps save lives.

Our campsite in Maun had no address. All we knew was that it was seven kilometers outside of town headed towards Shorobe village. We knew from pictures that it was on the banks of the Thamalakane river. We drove seven kilometers from a random point that we arbitrarily designated the "end of town". But no signs, no indications for a turn off. We went to the Old Bridge Hostel and they gave us directions - turn left down the sandy road, left again on the main road and left again 400 meters down - unfortunately this still didn’t get us to our destination. We finally saw a woman walking in the middle of a back road and asked if she knew where we could find Maun Rest Camp. She pointed to a green sign directly in front of our car which read: "MA    EST  AMP" with an arrow to the right taking us further down the sandy side street.

Maun Rest Camp was much like the sign foretold: falling apart. But the sunset was beautiful as we walked on the banks of the river from our campsite to the nearby hostel for dinner. It was Saturday night and locals were gathered by the water drinking beer, taking lots of selfies and celebrating. Music, balloons, potlucks. Everyone was dressed up. Women in tiny mini skirts with sequins, skin tight strapless dresses, big chunky earrings dangling to their shoulders. 

We walked over a small wooden footbridge and arrived at the hostel. Tables filled with travelers and backpackers. People were already drunk and singing along to U2, strangers were already best friends for the night. The hot red sun was just falling below the canopy of trees but no one cared. A group of men began cheering by the pool table as one guy stripped naked, ran around the bar and then plunged into the hippo ridden river. A backpackers lodge indeed.

Tom and I sat by the fire on our own for a bit to take advantage of the internet while I scoped out my targets to socialize with. Unfortunately the Dutch couple I'd eyes were taken by the time we were done with our computers. We sat down and ordered food nearby. Tom and I fought about some of the difficulties of the trip so far. I think we were both exhausted and tired of playing catch up. Also: this trip is hard. Tom needed time to recharge after the long drive. I didn't want to stay at the shitty campsite but wasn't being proactive about making an alternate plan. Our moods clashed. We were soon joined (rescued) by an Indian / African couple who we spoke with for the rest of the evening. It was good timing as it cooled us off. We made some tame jokes and learned about birding. Maybe we'll see Shoebills in Zambia. Or the bat migration, which is apparently a thing people like to see.