How to describe Zambia? Hot (touching 100 F whilst we've been here). Dusty (they've had no rain for 6 months). Expensive (especially for the essentials - fuel and beer). Heart-breaking (it's the place where we broke our car…)

It all started as we sped out of Malawi, excited at leaving at last. Not because we disliked Malawi, far from it, but because it meant we were directional again after six weeks of going round in circles. Hooray, we said, let's cover some ground so we can really feel like we're getting somewhere. Besides, there's nothing to see between the border and Lusaka (the capital).

So we drove and we drove and we drove. The first day was a long one and we pulled in at dusk to a riverside campsite that promised a peaceful night but was unfortunately full of bizarre ex-pats (pub troll to come on this subject!), prompting us to leave early the next morning after only a cursory check of the car. The radiator needed topping up by a couple of litres - the same as every day since the radiator bypass hose had developed a split - but everything else looked good. We were hoping that we would have more luck sourcing a replacement hose in Lusaka than we had experienced in Malawi.

It was a shorter drive the next day but we decided not to stop en route because we wanted to get to Lusaka in time to see the football (Eng v Russia - rubbish) and the rugby (beat the French - great). We made it, although unfortunately the backpackers we were staying in was full of more drunken ex-pats and we had to camp in the car park. Still, the purpose of staying so centrally was to be close to the embassies so that we could work on getting some of our visas for the central African countries, our current biggest worry and potential stumbling block for the route we had planned (or so we thought).

Four days later and we had our DRC visas plus new haircuts, books and stocked-up groceries (we had to fill the time somehow!). However, we'd met a brick wall at the Angolan embassy and, knowing that we stood a better chance at the embassy in Oshakati, northern Namibia, we decided to push on. Wasn't there something else we'd meant to do in Lusaka? Oh, that's right, the radiator bypass hose. Never mind, we knew there were Land Rover mechanics in Livingstone, our next stop, so we could sort it out there. After all we'd been driving with it like that for 6 weeks without incident.

Thursday 18th Oct was the hottest day of the year yet in Zambia and the road we were travelling was good tar. Not a great combination for keeping a car cool. We stopped every hour and a half or so to let the car cool and add more water, alarmed each time at how empty the reservoir was. It had gone from needing two litres at a time to four, six and finally eight. And, of course, there was not a drop of coolant left. The towns were few and far between and the roadside treeless, so the stops got shorter and shorter as our stamina waned and the water spitted and boiled as we poured it in.

At about 4:30 and only 30kms from Livingstone the smell coming through the blower prompted us to stop again. As we turned the (extremely noisy) blower off to stem the stench we heard a strange knocking noise and I stalled it (or so I thought) as I tried to stop abruptly on the side of the road. We lifted the bonnet and made a cup of tea as we waited for it to cool. Nearly there. We vowed to take it to the garage first thing in the morning and get the bloody hose fixed. An hour later, after much waving on of potentially helpful drivers, we filled her up and turned the ignition. Cough, splutter, cough. Shit, maybe we've damaged the fuel line somehow? Another hour and some misinformed fiddling later and we're in the dark (literally and figuratively) and have no-one to call as the Livingstone garages have all finished for the day. We contemplated sleeping on the side of the road, but after five or so enormous trucks with inadequate headlights have trundled far-too-closely past us, we decided it might not be wise.

By 8pm, we were being towed into Livingstone by a tow-truck found by the mechanic that we found by ringing round the hostels. By 11pm we were in an expensive hotel for the night and Connie was a few streets away in the mechanics back yard. As Snoop Dogg once said, "If it ain't one thing it's the mother-f***ing other" and over the next two days, events conspired against us. No hose to be found anywhere in town; the cylinder-head removed to see if the gasket needed to be changed - oops, piston one was melted, that meant the injectors were probably gone as well. Maybe we should send the cylinder head off to Lusaka to be tested for cracks and warping? Not sure, let us think about how much we can spend….OK, do it, send the cylinder head off (and hang the expense!). Sorry Sir, no need, as soon as I took it out I could see it was buggered...and so it went on.

One week, a few crying fits and lots of consoling beer later and we hope to have found a cure. It's been a roller-coaster ride of 'should we, can we, do we even want to spend all this money to carry on' and we've considered everything from flying straight home to backpacking the rest of the way, to buying another car. Now we've emerged the other end absolutely certain that we're having far too much fun to stop and that we need to get Connie home if at all possible. Meanwhile, Nick Selby, formerly of Peterborough (!!) and now MD of Foleys Africa, has found us a second-hand engine, dropped it in to the gaping hole under Connie's bonnet and tested that it's working (it's OK).

And so the upshot of our short, hot, stressful Zambia transit is that we expect to leave in a week or so with our beloved Connie, ably fitted with an engine that is younger than the one we started with and fully serviced ready for the challenges ahead. We have a civilised Namibia (in terms of garages and parts) to test out this 'new' engine and get ourselves confident again before heading into Angola. But more than anything this has reminded us what an immense thing we're doing, how much we're enjoying doing it and how desperately we want to carry on.