Top Gear Botswana Cars

Top Gear Botswana Special is widely considered the episode that defined the show’s legendary "special" format. Tasked with crossing 1,000 miles of African terrain in two-wheel-drive cars bought for under £1,500, Jeremy Clarkson, Richard Hammond, and James May chose vehicles that became more than just machines—they became characters with their own distinct narratives. The Three Contenders

The Three Wreckers of the Makgadikgadi

The sun over Botswana wasn't just hot; it was aggressive. It was a hammer trying to drive the whole world flat. And somewhere in that shimmering, endless nothing, three men were dying of shame.

Jeremy Clarkson, slumped against the bonnet of a 1981 Lancia Beta Coupé, was watching the bodywork dissolve in real-time. "It's not rust," he mumbled, gesturing to a flaking door panel that crumbled like a dry biscuit. "It's a structural time-lapse. I've owned a cheese sandwich with better integrity."

Behind him, a cloud of flies and optimism announced the arrival of Richard Hammond in a 1963 Opel Kadett. The little car was held together by prayer, beige paint, and a single, heroic coat of under-seal. "She’s screaming," Hammond said cheerfully, patting the dashboard, "but it's a happy scream. Like a terrier that's seen a postman."

Then came the sound of absolute mechanical contempt. A low, guttural thrum that vibrated through the soles of your shoes. James May’s 1974 Mercedes 230E, the "Rolls-Royce of rust-buckets," rolled to a stop. It was boxy, grey, and utterly unkillable. May got out, adjusted his cuffs, and said, "Mine has developed a slight hesitation in the middle-lower rev range. I've diagnosed it as 'drama from the other two.'"

Their mission, given by a producer who clearly hated them, was to cross the Makgadikgadi Pans—a salt flat the size of Portugal with no shade, no water, and no mercy.

The Lancia lasted three miles before its electrics surrendered. A cloud of acrid smoke rose from the dashboard. Jeremy yanked the stereo out. "It's fine," he said. "I've bypassed the ignition. I'm now starting the car with a live wire and a prayer." He touched two bare wires together. Sparks flew. The engine coughed. "SEE? Engineering!"

The Opel Kadett's problem was less dramatic but more humiliating: the suspension was made of wet newspaper. Every pebble sent Hammond's spine into his skull. He solved it by filling the rear footwells with boulders. "Ballast!" he yelled over the crashing noises. "It's a rally technique!" top gear botswana cars

Only James May was serene. The Mercedes, despite sounding like a sewing machine full of gravel, simply went. It did not overheat. It did not complain. It just absorbed the corrugated dirt tracks with Teutonic indifference.

On the second day, they reached the edge of the salt pan. It was a blinding, white wasteland that stretched to a curved horizon. The heat haze made ghost lakes that danced and vanished.

"Right," Jeremy said, sweating through his shirt. "The rules of the salt pan: Do not stop. Do not turn sharply. And for the love of God, do not crack the sump."

They set off. The Lancia, now running on a twisted coat hanger and Jeremy's sheer will, left a trail of blue smoke. The Opel Kadett bounced like a frog in a blender. The Mercedes followed, windows up, air conditioning on (a miracle), with James May listening to a tape of Baroque concertos.

Halfway across, Hammond’s Opel died. Just… stopped. Fuel starvation. He got out, kicked a tyre, and immediately regretted it as his boot sank into the burning salt. "It's like a giant's frying pan!" he shrieked.

Jeremy, seeing an opportunity, turned around. The Lancia’s front wheel dug in. CRACK. The sump hit a hidden ridge of salt rock. A black slick of oil spread across the white pan like an inkblot.

Silence.

Then, the low growl of the Mercedes. James May pulled alongside, wound down the window, and looked at the two broken cars. He didn't gloat. He just sighed.

"Right," James said. "Here's the plan. Hammond, you get in the back. Jeremy, you tie your Lancia's front bumper to my tow bar. We drag your corpse to the other side."

"Will it make it?" Jeremy asked, suddenly humble.

James looked at the Mercedes’ temperature gauge—rock steady. He looked at the fuel—half a tank. He looked at the salt pan—endless and cruel.

He smiled. "It's not a question of 'if.' It's a question of 'how boringly inevitable.'"

And so they crawled across the rest of the pan. The Mercedes, towing the dead Lancia like a sled of shame, with Hammond's Opel tied behind that, forming a three-car train of catastrophe. The sun set. The salt turned pink, then purple, then black.

Three hours later, they rolled into a village on the far side. The Mercedes’ headlights cut through the dark. It was still running. It had never, for a single second, looked worried. Top Gear Botswana Special is widely considered the

James parked. Killed the engine. The silence was profound.

Jeremy got out, walked to the front of the Mercedes, and knelt in the dust.

"I'm not worthy," he said.

Hammond limped over. "You know what? That car is better than all of us."

James May opened the bonnet. He stared at the oily, ancient, unstoppable engine. He didn't say anything clever. He just gave the valve cover a single, affectionate pat.

And that, as Jeremy would later write, "was the moment we learned that you don't buy a car in Botswana. You adopt a god."

The Kalahari Bush

Leaving the salt pans, the route headed into the Kalahari. Here, the challenge wasn't getting stuck, but surviving the environment. The cars had to navigate dense bush, fighting against thorns that shredded tires and overheating engines. The Kalahari Bush Leaving the salt pans, the

It was during this leg that the Lancia finally began to die. The heat was too much. Yet, in a display of mechanical sympathy that defied logic, Clarkson managed to keep it running. He famously discovered that the car would only start if he poured water over the starter motor, a routine he performed daily.

Renault Clio

Conclusion: Fun for novelty and challenge but impractical for serious Botswana expeditions.