Angola Part 3 - Our Compass Set - Ever North To Luanda

Oh, happy days. Let’s pull ourselves back into the Honey Badger; she’s rearing to go. The tanks are full, the dreaded wheels are pressured, and the engine is pumping. Luanda, here we come.

The thrill of this journey lies in our spontaneity, as we follow our instincts and have no expectations or preconceived notions. This sense of adventure and openness to new experiences is what makes our journey through Angola so exhilarating. On this journey of discovery, Angola holds all the cards, and she’ll reveal her hand as she sees fit.

A few days before this leg, I bought and downloaded the Bradt Angola travel guide (on Amazon for Kindle) for clarity and some travel tips. However, the breathtaking beauty of Angola’s landscape, with its rolling hills, haunting cliffs, and azure skies, truly captivates us and inspires us to explore more. Even the Honey Badger seems eager to reconnoitre and sets off at a vigorous pace.

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The skies are cobalt blue, and the ocean sparkles, as if the sun has strewn handfuls of diamonds all the way to the horizon. These sunny days lift my spirits, turning what may seem like a slog into an exhilarating encounter.

Baia Farta is known for manufacturing salt and extracting sulphur. On iOverlander, we’re recommended a wild camping spot for the night and soon pull into a beach resort.
Praia Lucira, situated on the beach, has the red carpet rolled out for us! Baía Farta is a seaside village and municipality in Benguela.

We could see endless beaches from the deck, offering guests a picturesque coastal escape. Stretching along a considerable length of shoreline, this stretch of sand and shells provides ample space for relaxation and recreation.

All I wanted to do was dig my feet into the soft sand, take a dip in the crystal waters and then flop down to nap in a sun lounger like the guests below us relaxing on deckchairs under thatched umbrellas. These must be the guests invited to the evening’s banquet. We reckoned sunset would feature a beautiful golden hue that adds to the beach’s charm.

In the banquet hall, the tables were decked out with the finest table napkins, cutlery, and crockery. The theme reflected the ocean and lived up to the name Praia Azul, and the white bouquets suggested a wedding celebration.

Butch and I do not have the wardrobe to gatecrash this party and promise the manager we’ll spend a quiet evening in the Honey Badger! He is visibly relieved, and with a sweep of his outstretched arm, he offers us the caerulean seascape before us.

But it was still early in the day, so we decided to head to Benguela.

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Benguela

Benguela is the capital of Benguela Province and western Angola. It is one of the country’s most overcrowded cities.

Benguela was founded in 1617 by São Felipe de Benguela by the Portuguese under Manuel Cerveira Pereira, 8th Governor of Angola (1604–1607). It was long the centre of the slave trade to Brazil and Cuba (hence the strong ties Angola has maintained with Cuba).

Ships anchored about 1.6 kilometres offshore, in depths of 7 to 11 metres and transferred passengers and cargo in smaller tenders, anchoring at five or six jetties along the coast.
By 1911, only a few stone-built houses existed besides the churches of S. Felipe and S. António, a hospital, and the fortress.

Portugal built the Benguela Railway in the early 20th century to connect the city and Lobito to the interior. It achieved great success when linked to the Copperbelt of Katanga, DR Congo, (Belgian Congo), and Zambia (Northern Rhodesia).

Unfortunately, Angola’s history is always linked to the bitter Civil War, and the effects are still present. During the early 20th century, Benguela attracted, developed, and incorporated businesses and professionals into its growing economy. The sisal and fishing industries expanded, and the financial, construction, and services market boomed until 1974.

In 1975, after the April 1974 Carnation Revolution in Lisbon, the Portuguese “Overseas Province of Angola” gained independence.

During the civil war (1975–2002), which lasted more than 20 years after independence from Portugal, the Benguela railway line closed, with only a short distance of 30 kilometres between Benguela and Lobito remaining operational.

During the civil war, the city’s population increased considerably due to the influx of refugees from the countryside, who still live in very low-cost areas and vast slums.

Driving through the city, we were captivated by the colourful, handsome buildings, each telling a story of the city’s rich history and culture.
The city remains a bustling commercial centre between western and eastern Angola.

Benguela’s local industries, including fish processing, sugarcane milling, pottery manufacture, soap making, coffee, corn, sisal, tobacco, and tool production, showcase the city's productivity and significant contribution to the region's economy.

Foreign trade is handled through the deep-water port of Lobito.

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A few hours later, just before sunset, we reached the busy seaside city of Benguela, where the local Benguelans were flocking to the beach to enjoy a companionable Sunday evening catching up with friends, children ran along the water’s edge, and youngsters were teaming up to play multiple football games. Joggers were jogging, volleyball players were pounding balls over the net, and the elderly strolled along the promenade or sat on ancient benches enjoying the frivolities and an ice cream or beverage sold by vendors pushing carts.

The scene reminds us of a sunset we experienced on the west coast in Beira. Was there a guy selling pineapple juice? In my mind’s eye I could conjure up the sweet tarty tutti-fruity scent of pulpy pineapple juice chilled by a handful of crushed ice.

Our recommendation for the night was the Diner Club restaurant. We were offered a spot in the parking area with the proviso that we enjoy dinner in the restaurant. That posed absolutely no problem, and after settling in, we joined other diners for a scrumptious meal in the modern, well-appointed dining room.

The prawn pasta dish I ordered was a revelation. Seasoned with a twirl of Saffron, generous dollops of fresh cream, and a sprinkling of parsley, it was a perfect blend of flavours. I was so engrossed in my dish that I didn't notice Butch’s plate, but judging by his expression, he was equally delighted.

There’s nothing like ending a good meal with a scoop of rich, creamy homemade vanilla ice cream and a crispy almond wafer biscuit.

The disco ball was not rotating on the patio, but the lights cast a festive glow on the adjoining dance/party area. The staff were relieved; they needed a quiet night; the friendly night receptionist assured us before we set off to our abode.

Early the following morning, we were jolted awake by the buzz of a swarm of motorbikes as business started up. We needed to get moving too Butch said, reminding me of our appointment at the tyre joint before the traffic became too hectic. Remember, we urgently needed a new tyre after our side wall puncture while travelling from Namibe?

Unfortunately, we could not purchase or source a 17-inch tyre here. But in times of need, our online community came to the rescue. We posted a request for a tyre on Facebook and the Angola group chat; the response was overwhelming. Within a few hours, we got a quote from Rolling Wheels in Namibia. Logistics, though, would prove difficult, and our search continued until Marina Kruger came to our rescue.

This lady is a firecracker and part owner of Camp Yetu, a fisherman’s paradise located at the Rio Longo mouth in Central Angola. Not only that Marina is an acclaimed angler and the leading hook for Henties’ Bay & Angola Angling Tours.

I copied a picture or two from Marina and Camp Yetu’s Facebook page. All credit to the photographer and Marina. She holds an Indian Mirror fish weighing 7.5kg caught on 28 April 2025. She says, “Some have stories; we have legacies.”

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Lobito

Lobito lies 32km north of Benguela, and we decided to head off immediately.

All the reports we received suggested we set up camp on the beach adjacent to the Alfa Bar, where the generous owner, Alfredo, welcomed us. Yes he said we could park right there on the beach. 

Lobito is a Benguela Province municipality on the Atlantic Coast north of the Catumbela Estuary.

Lobito boasts one of Africa's finest natural harbours, protected by a 5 km-long sandspit. This unique geographic location was sure to pique our interest.

The old municipality (concelho) of Lobito, established in 1843 by the Portuguese administration, holds a significant place in history. The town's foundations were approved by order of Maria II of Portugal, and its harbour works began in 1903. The area was once known as Catumbela das Ostras (Catumbela of Oysters), adding to its historical charm.

Under Portuguese rule, Lobito flourished as a bustling port. The completion of the Benguela Railway in 1928 was a turning point, connecting Portuguese Angola with the Belgian Congo. The port became one of Angola’s busiest and most productive in Africa, exporting agricultural produce from the interior and handling transit trade from southeastern Belgian Congo and Northern Rhodesia (Zambia) mines. Fishing, tourism, and services also thrived, making Lobito popular.

The Port of Lobito, located in Lobito Bay and protected by the sandspit, is a beacon of modernity. Administered by the Empresa Portuaria do Lobito, the port handles 2,000,000 tonnes of cargo and 370 ships annually. With ongoing economic development in the Benguela region, port facilities are under expansion, promising a bright

Lobito is twinned with:
• Sintra, Portugal (one of my favourite cities in Portugal)
• Lowell, Massachusetts, United States

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I may spill the beans right now. Our encounter with Lobito was like love at first sight. Butch and I were smitten and if all things were equal, we might’ve put down roots there.

From our spot on the beach adjoining the restaurant, we could hook up to electricity, use the facilities, and even shower. The waves crashing against the shore provided a soothing backdrop to our camping experience.

The only requirement was to enjoy the occasional meal, drink, or snack at the restaurant. But the perks didn't stop there. We had access to Wi-Fi, and I could fire up my laptop and write in the bar, where an electrical point was made available. This, I tell you, was a luxury that made us feel pampered and indulged.

We were in no hurry to set off and decided to stay for a few nights.

After setting up our campsite, we enjoyed a late luncheon at the restaurant.

On the Menu was grilled Octopus and although I tried, I could not dissuade Butch from ordering this delicacy. A few months previously, he’d made me promise that should he ever order Octopus again, I was given carte blanche to knock his block off. I tried dissuading him but, in true Butch style he ordered the octopus.

Voila! After almost two years, his search for the perfect grilled Octopus came to fruition.

On his plate, he said, was the most succulent, tasty and perfectly prepared Octopus garnished with coral threads and the fruit of the Baobab! He smiled and remarked, “Marrow couldn’t be more tender nor silkier”, before dabbing his glistening lips with his napkin.

Later, the chef shared his recipe using the same method as the tanned, wiry, tattooed Italian chef in Kenya had instructed when he shared his secret recipe with me! Butch has waxed lyrical about his dinner for months. A triumph he proclaimed.

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Lobito had a few surprises in store for us. The first was the novel shower, which was situated a few meters from the restaurant, the beach volleyball pitch and the entire seafront.

There were two cubicles, each with a bench and a few hooks for towels and clobber.

I entered the spacious cubicle, hooked up my belongings, and turned to close the door. Alas! There was no door, nor was there a shower curtain. I kid you not. The cubicle had a 180-degree view of the restaurant, volleyball court, beach, and parking area, from which the Honey Badger had a clear view of the proceedings.

Flummoxed, I considered my options and decided to man up and get on with it as I’m sure a thousand before me have done.

Facing the wall, I stripped, turned on the tepid tap water, and showered, deciding that in a country where most people lacked privacy, I was in good company. To my astonishment, conversations didn’t stop. I continued to hear the volleyball bobbing over the net and players shouting instructions. Dogs barked on the beach, and the sun didn’t set. I am invisible after all. No one noticed me, and I was unaware of other guests showering during our stay either.

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Sixty might be the new fifty and seventy might be the new sixty, but nine pm is the new midnight with us, so off to bed we’d go when most diners arrived for dinner.

One evening, we watched staff arrange candles and flowers prettily around a big heart on the beach. We anxiously awaited the couple's arrival, and when she accepted her nervous beloved’s proposal, we all cheered joyfully.

With the waves crashing onto the beach, we retired. We enjoyed balmy, clear, starry nights, and as I watched exciting episodes of Slow Horses on Apple TV, I felt safe and secure. I contentedly floated off to sleep with the blissful sounds of diners enjoying their meals a few feet from our door. Angola has adopted the late-night capers of the Mediterranean. Until the early morning hours, I heard whispered conversations, music, laughter, and the occasional car start up and drive off.

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Most mornings Butch and I explored Lobito on our bikes.

The buildings, reminiscent of colonial times, boast typical Portuguese architecture with vibrant, colourful walls. Pink, yellow, and sand are the favourite hues, adorning steeples, churches, and staircases. Like most buildings in Portugal, red clay tiles are popular on roofs. Traditional Portuguese tiles are still visible, and the remains of murals and graffiti add character to some neglected, weathered walls.

As we pedalled through the city, we were greeted by clean, swept streets. Ancient Ficus trees shaded the pavements, and palm trees swayed rhythmically to the breezes at the water’s edge and along the promenade.

We indulged in a few sweet treats from a local youngster who went from house to house selling his mother’s fried pastries. We also made a fortuitous stop for the famous Pasteis de Nata at a bakery tucked away on a side street.

I almost succumbed to a crocheted skirt and top, but decided I might be mutton dressed as lamb at a pop-up shop selling swimwear and beach toys.

Shocked at seeing our laundry spread out on the beach, I felt a momentary chill, but once again, I knew I had to go with the flow or do it myself. That evening, our laundry was returned neatly flattened and folded without a grain of sand lodged in a seam. One can’t teach these ladies anything. They know every trick in the book.

While standing in queues at the ATM, we were privy to corporate life in Lobito as men in suits and ladies in high heels came to draw cash. A friendly security guard at every unit helped clients like us who struggled to withdraw our cash from a Portuguese-speaking machine.

We’d walk along the water’s edge in our bathers on alternate mornings. Butch turned berry brown, we felt energised, healthy and quickened our step as we put in the kilometers knowing that in Cape Town the weather was conducive to boots, beanies gloves and wooly scarves.

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Sunsets were magnificent. Saturated golden skies were enhanced by the many fires families lit at night for cooking or comfort. Out at sea, small fishing boats chugged past us heading for the fishing grounds, a lone fisherman silhouetted as he charted his course.

 

 

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Given the diverse and delightful menu, our return to the restaurant was inevitable. From the tantalising LM piri-piri prawns, fresh fish, pizzas, and pastas to the samosas that were to die for and the delectable crispy toasties for tea, the variety of dishes left us eager for more.

A visit to the Alfa Bar on a Thursday is a unique experience when the chef prepares a time-honoured tripe dish, a speciality served to a select group of guests. We were among the privileged few, welcomed to the table to partake in this simple yet heroically flavoured peasant dish.

A no-frills, much-loved and used saucepan of delicious, tender tripe, trotters, and other bits and bobs in a long gravy was placed on the table, and then we were invited to tuck in. We did. With this dish, our status went from strangers to family, as we shared this humble yet delicious meal with the other guests, feeling a sense of camaraderie and belonging.

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We were never alone on the beach for long; one or two new arrivals would join us in the late afternoon, enriching our journey with their unique stories and experiences. No matter the language we spoke, the continent we’re from, or the countries or routes we’ve taken, our love of Africa and the road was our commonality. We soon had something to chat about, and we’d share routes, places to stay, roads to avoid, super spots to see, and some that were underwhelming.

We were told distressing stories that made us pause on only two occasions. These stories only confirmed Butch’s hesitation to visit French-speaking countries or to venture further than the Congo River.

An elderly couple had been held up at knife point in Senegal, and the husband received a nasty slash on his upper arm. He was denied treatment at the local hospital, which necessitated them returning to Amsterdam for medical treatment. His recovery took many months, and unfortunately, the injury has affected the use of his fingers. However, this did not stop them from resuming their journey, and they are determined to continue to South Africa.

One day, a young Belgian man walked past us, greeted us, and stopped to chat after numerous to-and-fros. He shared his chilling experience.

Pulling up his camping chair, he told us he and his travel companion were stopped at a roadblock in Chad. They greeted the officers by keeping to protocols, but the officiers militaires had other plans. No sooner had the formalities been taken care of than the two men were arrested, their passports, wallets, credit cards and all electronic equipment were confiscated, clearly marked with their names and passport numbers and bagged. The men were blindfolded and shoved into a vehicle and taken to a secret interrogation facility.

After days of interrogations, they were eventually released. This was an official military arrest, they were told, they had been under suspicion of spying and being press reporters.

All their personal belongings were returned to them, and they were set on their way.

Unfortunately, not everyone reacts similarly to such an incident, and the two trippers could not continue their journey together. We were told his friend was deeply affected by the incident and suffered severe PTSD and decided to quit travelling. Regrettably, this affected their acquaintance too.

I’m pleased to report that these were the only negative stories we’d ever heard. Our journey was filled with more positive experiences, and these far outweighed the cautionary tales, reminding us of Africa’s beauty and resilience. But these incidents highlighted the importance of being aware of the potential consequences of one’s actions or, in politically troubled countries one’s naivete.

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With a cake box of deliciously warm Pasteis de Nata on my lap and a promise that we would return to Lobito on our return journey, we departed Lobito to continue our 360km trek to Luanda. This time, we’d skip the coastal road and take an inland tarred road before turning west again.

The city’s outskirts provided us with a clear view of the harbour and informal settlements. Then, we left the desert behind, climbing and dipping along rolling hills. After a few kilometres, we observed a change in the landscape.

We were enfolded in ancient Baobabs, larger shrubbery, indigenous trees, and grasses as the earth turned green with abundant new life.
Green bananas were ripe for the picking, signaling the start of a tropical climate. Buzzing markets along the road were a pop of colourful umbrellas shading fresh tropical fruit and vegetables grown by subsistence farmers.

After the floods, rivers swelled, and flood plains were carpeted in new green grasses. Later, in the dry season, Angola’s summer rains would flood these plains once again, drowning all the greenery.

When we drove into Sumbe, we decided to stop for the night. Enough was enough, we agreed.

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Sumbe

Sumbe is a tropical, coastal city in the province of Kwanza Sul, on the Atlantic Ocean. The city is known for its beautiful beaches, rich culture, and history and is an important commercial centre. The Sumbe municipality stretches north to the Queve River, south to the Balombo River, west to the Atlantic Ocean, and east to the Conda Municipality.

The sheer cliffs of Rio Quicombo took our breath away, and a reminder of my paddle down the Orange River a lifetime ago. My beloved did stop this time, and it was by sheer chance that I managed to snap this the only picture! My trigger finger is ready to shoot at a nanosecond’s notice.

Sumbe's historical importance as a trading hub between the hinterland and the coastal region is significant. Salt, fish and European textiles were among the primary commodities traded here. The sale and transfer of slaves also occurred at Sumbe.

Where there is a brisk trade and precious cargoes are shipped, there inevitably are pirates. The Portuguese colonial authorities soon needed to defend against incursions by English and French pirates who coveted the copper shipped from the port.

In 1648, the Portuguese Brazilian Salvador Corrêa de Sá d Benevides landed on shore from Brazil and prepared an expedition to expel the Dutch occupying Luanda.

Notably, Novo Redondo was the first Angolan town to be electrified from the hydroelectric dam on the Cambongo River. This significant development brought modern amenities to the region and facilitated its growth.

Our one-night stay in Sumbe was a perfect blend of relaxation and exploration. We admired the grand colonial architecture of the provincial buildings, strolled along the tree-lined boulevards, and witnessed a breathtaking sunset from our seat on the palm-tree-lined promenade.

After a search for a suitable camping spot, we were granted permission to remain where we were enjoying the sunset. The spot, located a stone’s throw from the police station, suited us perfectly. As the sun dipped below the horizon, the sky was painted in a myriad of colours, casting a purple glow over the palm trees and the sandy beach.

Supper was a treat. We ventured down the road to a resort and restaurant where we ordered platters of butterflied crayfish tails. We couldn’t be happier.

That night, somnolent and sated, I lay in my favourite bed, listening to the sway of palm fronds and the gentle breaking of waves on the white, sandy beach. Looking up through my open window, I spotted a gazillion stars, a waxing moon, and the occasional satellite streaking past.

The streets were quiet, barring the occasional soft chatter of two cops on the beat passing our Honey Badger, a comfort that ensured our safety (not that we ever doubted our safety).

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The next morning, after coffee, a peek at the map, and a perusal of our newly acquired travel book, Angola, we were off to see a waterfall.
Our destination was Gangula, upstream from Porto Amboim. The road wound its way between the two districts.

Beautiful and unspoilt by tourism, the off-the-beaten-track, old 20-arched railway bridge spanning the river, and the Gangula waterfalls are among Angola's many highlights. 

The trip takes time, as the roads are badly potholed and slow, but getting there is well worth the effort. The landscape makes up for any inconvenience along the way.

The bridge, a relic from the colonial era, was a victim of the civil war that ravaged Angola. Its scars, a testament to the country’s turbulent past, now add to its allure.

The village, untouched by modernism except for the presence of cell phones, exudes a serene tranquillity. The streets and riverbanks are adorned with magnificent flamboyant trees, their bright red and orange blossoms with the longest stamens casting a peaceful aura.

One of the village's most charming aspects is the age-old custom of women and girls gathering at certain points along the river to do their daily laundry. Brightly coloured plastic laundry baskets, clean washing draped over small bushes, rocks, or grass-bedecked banks, and the happy voices of women’s chatter fill the air, creating a sense of connection with the local culture.

A majestic sight awaited us a few hundred meters from the weathered stone bridge. There, the raging river plunged thirty meters over the edge of a rock face, pooling below in a cloud of spray and mist, only to quieten and resume a gentler flow towards the sea. We set up our camp on the embankment, spending a quiet day in awe of the thunderous falls and the river's serene beauty.

Even in this remote corner of the world, the vibrant colours and intricate designs of the local fabric, known as capulana, are integrated with fashionable items from around the globe, adding a unique charm to the local fashion scene. It's a beautiful blend of tradition and modernity, and a testimony to the global influence on local cultures.

Our campsite on the riverbank overlooking the waterfall.

Next to us, a couple with their two young sons from France were camped. We could only have a brief conversation as the dog-tired parents were very busy keeping up with the two lively boys, who were relishing the freedom of the outdoors, dipping into the river when they were hot or playing football with the local children, day-trippers who were picnicking under the trees with their families.

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The next morning, we were back on the road via Porto Amboim, Dembo Chio, and Muxima. We were cruising along the coast, enjoying the last stretch of road to Luanda.

Porto Amboim is a port town in Cuanza Sul Province. In the past Porto Amboim was connected by an isolated 123 km narrow gauge railway to Gabela, until it closed in 1987 due to the civil war and to the abandonment of most coffee plantations in Gabela.

Originally Porto Amboim was known as Kissonde, which became Old Beguela, and finally in 1923 the town was renamed Porto Amboim.

Today, Porto Amboim is one of the growing areas for the offshore oil industry. Due to these developments, the demand for skilled labour is growing. We were assured that the present government is working hard to improve education and employment opportunities.

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The district of Viana would force us to stop in our tracks. The scene before us captured our attention.

Known as Miradouro da Lua, this scenic viewpoint is about 90 minutes from Sumbe and is known for its unique lunar-like landscape.

Miradouro da Lua is a set of cliffs 40 km south of Luanda, in the municipality of Belas. Over thousands of years, erosion caused by wind and rain has created the lunar-like landscape. We were speechless, highlighting that we knew so little about Angola.

The Miradouro da Lua is a must-visit tourist spot for those heading to or from Luanda to Barra do Cuanza or the beaches of Cabo Ledo. At sunset, this landscape is overwhelming, and it should be one of the most visited spots in Angola.

This extraordinary landscape was the setting for the 1993 film "O Miradouro da Lua" by Portuguese director Jorge António. It was the first Luso-Angolan co-production, filmed in 1993, and received the special achievement award at the Gramado Festival in Brazil.

Before setting off, we were introduced to a quiet young man passionate about trucks. Of course, the Honey Badger caught his attention, and he wanted to know all about her vital statistics, history, and journey. After a reasonable investigation and perusal led by Butch we were on our way to Luanda.

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Luanda

Finally, the last leg to Luanda.

We made it to Luanda without any hassles. Like all cities, the streets were busy but not as congested as we’d been led to believe.

Our mission, though, was to set up camp at the Clube Naval, and we would explore the city at our leisure in the forthcoming days.

Without much preamble, we were welcomed and waved through the gates at the Clube Naval. The gate attendant instructed us to park in the designated Overlander camping spot, and that was it.

We were home and dry with a magnificent view of the cityscape and multimillion-dollar yachts moored in the yacht basin. As the lights came on and the children sailed their dinghies back to their clubhouse Butch, and I took our seats at a table with a view. Dinner would be cocktails and line fish and chips.

It was time to pause and take stock of the people, places, and landscapes we’d been introduced to. Luanda could wait until the next day. Lying in bed, with a view of the lit-up skyscrapers and superyachts, we felt like billionaires.

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Butch is convinced that by now everyone should have Angola at the top of their bucket list.