Impromptu Events

Though the frigid air of my unheated room didn't motivate me to get out of my animal fur bed, I resisted the urge to sleep forever and forced my feet to make friends with the cold concrete floor. My strong constitution was rewarded with a steamy, though salty, shower. Apparently the groundwater under the Kalahari is far from fresh, making it almost ocean like in its saline taste. The water's heat, though, drastically outweighed its saltiness and I enjoyed the shower before getting dressed and packing my stuff up once again.

I had to start the car about 5 minutes before leaving because lately when Aslan's been sitting out in the cold, it starts to squeak when I turn the wheel- a side effect of the new fan belt, I think. However, after heating up there emit no noises from under the hood. I saw Jill again and said my goodbyes and thank yous, happy to know that she was heading to town soon after me, a handy assurance against my getting stuck in the sand for too long. However, my worries proved unwarranted as myself and the car propelled ourselves through the sand without incident. A victorious start to the morning, indeed.

In Tshabong I stopped at another Barclays where I withdrew enough gas to then fill up the car for the long ride ahead. I had to consult a couple of locals about the way to the border, but eventually I was passing through the gates of Botswana departure immigration and entering the slightly higher-end South African border post at McCarthy's Rest. I was the only traveler there and the officials seemed slightly reluctant to drag themselves into the cold to inspect my vehicle and do my paperwork. They eventually did do it, and with a positive attitude to boot. They gave me another stamp in my passport, asked some questions about my intentions, and let me go.

From there it was an hour on a well maintained dirt road before I arrived in a small mining town. I didn't find any place to grab a cup of coffee, but I did find an ATM and enjoyed a quick car tour around the town, which was almost entirely built and managed by the mine. Like an African version of Del Webb, the mine had posted street signs, build accommodation, and provided health clinics for the residents. As far as I could tell, it was quite well maintained and organized.

Mining Town

Soon I was once again cruising on a paved road, this time eastward towards Upington. I had decided to bypass Upington, since I was to be staying there on Thursday and Friday, and instead go to Agrabies Falls, a national park that the head of Joe and Janice's tour recommended to me and had a nice blurb in my guidebook. On the way, I called a hostel near the falls and booked a bed. It turned out to be a long drive, and I decided to stop in Upington to rest and update the blog. I resisted the temptation to explore the town, though, since I wanted to save some exploration for my two day rest in the town.

Upington

It was another hour of driving before I reached the turnoff for the Agrabies Backpackers Hostel, which lay along a curvy dirt road amongst some farms and orange orchards. My arrival was immediately heralded by two large dogs on the property and I was directed to the parking area by some long-haired German guests. I then met the manager, who was a tall, grey haired man who had the look and demeanor of a still-recovering child of the 70's. He told me about where I would sleep and, after lending him my Botswana map, I soon headed out once again, this time to the park itself.

I had called earlier to reserve a half-day canoe. hike, and bike trip that the park offered, but found that I had to have a minimum of 2 people to make it happen. Disappointed but unfazed, I asked about the night game drive, for which I found I needed four people to make happen. The receptionist informed me, to my delight, that that very same evening there were enough people signed up for the game drive and I could sign on. Saddened by all my planning for the next day exploded but excited at the prospect of a night game drive, I agreed to go that same night.

At about 5pm I arrived at the park, where I was agitated to hear that I had to pay the 10 dollar park fee on top of the game drive fee, despite the late hour of the day. I begrudgingly paid it and made up my mind to get my money's worth out of the park. With that in mind, I parked and proceeded to enjoy looking at the gargantuan falls from all the provided lookout points as the sun counted down the minutes of enjoyment I had left.

Though the falls are not the largest in Africa (that title belongs to Victoria Falls) Agrabies is definitely a sight to see. Raging white water careens through the slick sides of the solid rock canyon before the largest falls leave the water tumultuously lapping up the sides of a sheer gorge. It was especially beautiful to see the setting sun's rays bounce off the mist that rose from the point of watery impact. I shared these dramatic views with a bunch of foreign senior citizens, who looked at me and my young solitude with puzzlement.

After eating my usual dinner, this time with the shocking addition of sardines, and making some phone calls, the night drive truck arrived and a German family of four joined me in entering the too-large compartment. I lamely attempted some German discussion with the family, whose paternal units weren't too adept at English, but I was grateful when the truck's engines became too loud for bilingual conversation. Our two native guides drove us through the park, holding powerful spotlights up to the darkness, hoping to spot the reflection in the eyes of some animals.

It was a successful time, and we got to see a porcupine, jackal, zebras, and a bunch of different types of antelope. Unfortunately, due to the darkness, I don't have any photos. I guess you'll have to take my word for it. In addition to game spotting, the guides also took a couple minutes to stop the truck and point out constellations in the easily-seen stars above. It was a great outdoorsy experience. After about two hours, we were back at the reception and I made my way home through the darkness to the hostel, where I chatted with the German guests before heading to bed.

The next morning, after a peaceful sleep, I got ready for the day, for which I had no plan. I spoke with the head of the hostel and asked for suggestions. He suggested that I continue driving down the paved highway, which would meander through the wilderness and take me through a dramatic valley. That sounded good enough for me and after paying him and giving him my Botswana map that he desperately needed, I filled up the car and drove into the valley.

Located further down the river from the falls, the valley was rocky and punctuated by large hills. Between the river and the valley walls, there was a huge vineyard and a small dilapidated town. Amazed at the beauty of the valley, I headed across the river via a one lane bridge and continued on the road after it turned to gravel. Tired of constantly sitting and driving, I decided to park Aslan and make up for my defeat at the hands of the Sossusvlei dunes and climb one of the large hills/small mountains. It would have been perfectly pleasant, had an army of flies not assailed me constantly, but the view from the top was worth it.

The Valley

Aslan in Action

The View

To my disappointed I didn't see any animals, but I entertained myself with some hilltop Karamazov. Eventually it was time to return and I chose a different route, which went through a dry river bed, to get back to the car. I enjoyed my small adventure in the valley and rode out of it with reluctance. Now that hunger was starting to set in, I opted to stop for lunch at the Rose Cafe, which I had spotted earlier in the day. It was a pleasant and well-lit cafe, and I allowed my hunger for meat compel me to order a cheeseburger, which was delicious albeit messy. To top it all off, I got a chocolate milkshake, which tasted like heaven.

The Rose Cafe

Once again lacking any plan, I decided to drive to Upington a day early. It took about an hour and a half and when I got there, I found that the hostel had closed and the B&B I was to stay at the next two nights was too full to add on a night for me. Eventually I called the central booking line for Upington, who found me an expensive (45 dollar) room at a bed and breakfast for the night. I was too tired and desperate to argue, so I took it. After weaving my way through suburban streets I eventually found Idenland Guest House, which is located in the home of a wealthy Africaans family with a vineyard in the back yard. The room was quite nice and I spoiled myself by wasting away my evening with TV and bad scary movies.

Trans-Kalahari

It was with great care that I awoke and prepared myself for the day, since there were 5 other sleeping young people in the room who I doubted wanted to be woken up at 6:50. Try as I may, I couldn't help the seemingly earth-shattering noise that the creaky door made and the apparently deafening crinkling of my bags. However as usual my paranoia was unfounded and I managed to escape the room without waking any of my neighbors. It was a freezing morning, and I made haste to dump my belongings in my dusty trunk and check out as soon as possible.

Breakfast was composed of some rice krispies cereal and toast, eaten out in the freezing cold. I didn't mind, considering how drastic of a change it was from my usual. At the reception, I tried to change as many of my Namibian dollars into South African Rand, so that I could pay the border tax when I got to Botswana- hopefully averting another cash disaster. Finally, when I thought I was finally ready to hit the road, I realized that I didn't have my sunglasses and was relieved to find that they had braved the cold night on a shelf at the bar after some good Samaritan had found them. With all my belongings now found and in place, I popped another CD in the stereo and sped east out of Windhoek, passing the airport that lies surprisingly far from the city, and towards Gababis- the only major town between the capitol and the border.

The scenery that I found once I had left the hills of Windhoek was defined by flat expanses of dry grass interrupted by many bushy trees. It was to be the landscape of the next three days.

After a couple hours I arrived in Gobabis, where I filled up my tank and continued on with only about 1.5 hours until the border. There, I made my way quickly through immigration on the Namibian side and passed by a friendly sign thanking me for my visit. Soon after, I was faced with Botswanian border control. It was quite straightforward, and I was even able to get rid of my Namibian dollars by paying my car tax with them! It was thrilling.

The first major difference that I noticed upon entering Botswana was the lack of fencing along the highway, which resulted in myriad animals of varying species occupying the road and inopportune moments. In spite of this fact, the local Botswanians in front of me drove at a furious pace and would helpfully slow down and put their hazard lights on in the event of a nearby animal. The road itself was well maintained and paved and had occasional places to rest and eat lunch.

Though there are far fewer large towns in Botswana, a bunch of small villages make up for the difference. On both sides of the road I passed small outposts of thatched-roofed huts with no roads or facilities, populated by individuals donning colorful African garb and riding donkeys to herd their livestock. It didn't take long for me to realize that Botswana was a far less wealthy country than Namibia.

It took about 2 more hours to get to Ghanzi, the only large town I would visit in Botswana. It too had a dirt roads, but boasted two supermarkets and a bunch of buildings including a gas station and bank, where I withdrew some local currency, called Pula. I grabbed some lunch from the trunk of the car in front of the bank, which was a out of place looking Barclays, before quickly touring the town by car and getting back on the highway, hoping to visit D'Khar, a San people town with a museum and crafts. It took about 20 minutes to finally get to the town, and when I arrived I found that everything was closed, as it was a Sunday.

Faced with what had been a boring and uneventful day, a spirit of adventure began whispering in my ear. It calculated how much time I had to be in Upington and suggested that maybe I could manage to go all the way around Botswana and back to South Africa instead of cutting through the monotonous Kalahari. After all, I was used to driving long distances, wasn't I? It would be fun to find places to stay and see the whole of Botswana in a matter of 4 days!

I took out my maps and started doing some calculating of my own and, finding that there were immense distances included in that route and not too much to see even then, I turned back from D'Khar and headed to my campsite in Thakadu Camp, about 5 minutes south of Ghanzi.

This camping area had been recommended by my guide and after a short drive on a rough unpaved road, on which I spotted some large game animals, I was speaking with Chris, the good-humored burly red-faced English-accented Zambian who owned and ran the place. He gave me the run down of the property, which is about 5,000 acres and was converted to a game reserve and camping spot 10 years ago after he had used the land for a dairy farm since 1988. In addition to camp sites, the place has a restaurant, bar, and watering hole illuminated by floodlights to show of the game at sunset. The place was so nice, in fact, that none other than Hugh Grant and Prince Henry had stayed there- and Chris had pictures to prove it. I immediately knew I had chosen well.

I set up camp quickly and spent some time reading and listening to, you guessed it, Catch 22, before walking back to the reception/restaurant/bar, where I chatted with Chris while sipping a rum and tonic. As it got later, locals from Ghanzi arrived and ordered dinner. Realizing that this was also a favorite place of the locals, I decided to eat dinner there and ordered a Kudu steak and mashed potatoes. When the wild game dinner arrived, I enjoyed every bite of it.

It got late and, remembering the lack of a fire at my previous camping nights, got some firewood and had a nice long fireside evening. I'd like to think that I was pondering the mysteries of the universe as I poked and prodded the orange flames, but I recall those fireside thoughts being much more down to earth. Soon the flames devolved into embers and I decided to retire. It was a long, freezing night, but I managed to get some shut-eye.

The evening before I had spoken to Chris about my route and we had both agreed that four nights in the Kalahari was definite overkill. With that in mind, I awoke ready to drive all the way to a border town, skipping the village and town that I had planned on sleeping in. The day started off hilariously when Chris' pet lamb came into the bathroom as I was showering, bleating loudly as other campers tried to shoo it away. It was a uniquely rural experience.

Soon I was packed up and driving down the dirt road again. I turned back onto the highway and made for Tshabong, the border town I had decided on staying in. To my dismay, the 6+ hour drive resulted in nearly no change in scenery, though I did manage to see a bunch of animals. including a large African eagle, a bunch of birds ranging in color from bright red to aqua blue, and the occasional ostrich and wild horse.

Halfway through the trip, I went into a small town to find a mechanic, since earlier in the morning I had spotted my exhaust pipe hanging slightly from the chassis. After searching for a while, I settled on a welder I had spotted. To my delight, he said that the problem was not serious and the pipe was not about to fall off, but he couldn't fix it. Happy that I was not in danger but bothered that the problem persisted, I continued on my route, though I cut out all the dirt road shortcuts I had considered. It was another 3 or 4 hours before I finally arrived at the turn off for Berrybush farm, the lodge that Chris had recommended.

Berrybush lies on the outskirts of Tshabong at the end of a long, sandy road. I didn't realize just how sandy this road was and if it weren't for the momentum I had built up, I would have once again found Aslan stuck in the sand. Luckily I just barely made it through and was soon shaking the hand of Jill, a petite blond woman with premature wrinkles from her habit of smoking.

Coincidentally she was also a Zambian and treated me very kindly as well, giving me a double bed room for a low price. The room itself was pretty hilarious, with its exposed brick walls, bare light bulb, and blanket made out of animal fur.

I took a brief walk around the small property, not spotting any of the Springbok that Jill had mentioned lived on the premises, and returned to my room, where I read some more Karamazov, since I had finished Catch 22 on the way down. At about 7, Jill knocked on my door and announced that dinner was ready. As an appetizer, we watched some TV with her friend/son/boyfriend (I'm unsure which it was) and she soon served up a delicious meal of Shepard's Pie, salad, and vegetables. I really appreciated the meal as well as the company. After dinner, we watched Survivor as Jill's many dogs ran all over the place.

Soon it was time for bed and I thanked Jill enthusiastically for the meal and the accommodation, which she said were a pleasure to provide, and headed back to the room. It was amazing to me that Jill had lived on and run the place for 28 years- I can't imagine doing anything for that long! After getting ready for bed, my eyelids grew heavy with thoughts of entering South Africa once again the next day with two days before I had my reservations in Upington.

City Life

Happy to be lacking a destination for the day, I woke up at my hostel, Villa Weise, ready to have a semi-relaxing day. After walking down to the lounge for the hostel's complimentary cooked breakfast, I sat down at a table with what turned out to be two Americans. They were a middle aged couple from the Berkley area and were on a safari tour that would eventually take them to Victoria Falls. They were quite nice, and it was fun to hear them talk about their experiences on the tour so far, which is otherwise made up of Germans. The breakfast itself was quite delicious as well- bacon, eggs and toast. I enjoyed the conversation with the Americans, whose names I think were Joe and Janice, and got ready for my day.

The main objective for the day was to drive the Welwitschia Route, which is a 100km or so road that cuts through the Namib desert national park. Along the way the rangers have put

markers that display certain attributes of the park. I bought my permit to do the drive in town and then drove out to the sandy surrounds of Swakopmond and, after second- and third-guessing myself, found the beginning of the road. The first marker was a disappointment, as it was intended to show the Lichen population that manages to survive in the desolate area, but instead there was only a tersely-worded plaque that informed the reader that previous tourists had been to disruptive and killed all the lichens. It offered a ray of hope, however, by hinting that lichens were, in fact, alive all around the route and a tourist would just have to find them on their own.

Next up was the "Moon Landscape," which was amazing. What they mean by the title is that a certain valley that cuts through the desert has been shaped by erosion in such a way that its jagged mountainous points resemble the moon's surface. I was sceptical at first, given the name, but found the sight to be quite remarkable. I'll let you see for yourself:

While serenely viewing the spectacle with my camera and binoculars, a tourist troupe of Frenchmen got out noisily, with their tour guide loudly explaining the moon scape. I thought it was funny when the French teenager pulled out a baseball cap that had "USA" emblazoned on its front, contrary to what stereotyping would have me believe.

There was further driving on the bumpy dirt road to do, and I broke it up by having a staple lunch of PB&H sandwiches in a dry riverbed. Along the way there were remains from a 1914 encampment made by South African soldiers and a hill with a lava rock streak in its middle. However, the grand finale was the arrival of the road's namesake- the Welwitschia plant.

The Welwitschia plant, though seeming to be a near-dead remnant of a firmer original, is actually supposed to look like it does. It survives off of the scarce amount of water found in its ecosystem and has only two leaves that grow and split, making it seem like more. Also, they have cones, which I thought to be the cherry on top of a hilariously awkward plant. I guess they deserve accolades for their amazing survivability.

Rendered nearly speechless by the stunning beauty found on the road, I made my way back to Swakopmund after 4 hours of exploration. Next up was a long walk around the town as it was drenched in sunlight. It's a beach side place, so I enjoyed strolling down its shores and watching people put their boats in the water or try to body surf on the crashing waves. Spending more time with it, I came to the conclusion that the town really is beautiful, and I don't blame the countless Germans who vacation there. There's a relaxed atmosphere, a lack of crowds, a nice beach, lots of art, and little crime.

On my walk I also passed by a rather large crafts market, but resisted the temptation to buy anything, since it all seemed like it could have been made in China, for all I knew. I'm hoping my patience will pay off in the form of a handmade local market sometime before arriving back in Cape Town.

The remainder of the afternoon was spent updating my stateside readers on the blog and getting some supplementary provisions- water and bread. After resting a bit back at the hostel, I had a nice chat with the Americans I had met earlier in the day at the bar and then headed once again to the Western Saloon pizzeria- its charms had lulled me in once again and it didn't disappoint. Not having any plans for the evening, I decided to get a taste of home and went to the tiny local movie theater, where I watched the Julia Roberts-starring Duplicity. Though slightly out of focus and not Oscar material, it was fun to get in touch with the sights and sound of the US- especially NYC. Filled to the brim with Americanness, I retired to the hostel for the night.

I awoke the next morning to the sounds of a violently windy dust storm that had cropped up overnight. What faced me as I opened the door to go to breakfast was dust everywhere. I had seen dust storms back in Arizona, but this was completely different. Grains of sand were buzzing around violently and visibility was almost nonexistent. The streets already had a fine layer of sand and everything and everyone was pummeled.

Quickly eating my breakfast next to one of the large safari tour operators, I hastily packed my things in to the trunk (forgetting my shampoo), and headed East, towards Windhoek. For the first 45 minutes, visibility was dismal as the dust storm continued, but it quickly eased and I could drive at a normal pace, despite the still-roaring wind. It was a straightforward (read: boring) drive, and I entertained myself with Catch 22. The paved roads made it easier to go from A to B without too much effort on my part, and after two fill-ups and a stop by the road to have lunch, I was entering Namibia's capitol.

Windhoek is a unique city- it's not at all cramped, set amongst a bunch of low hills, and is home to houses that show off vibrant colors ranging from pink to neon green. Arriving on a Saturday, traffic was not bad at all and after seeing some of the city by car I found the Chameleon Hostel, where I was to stay. It's a pretty cool hostel, with a large pool-laden courtyard where a bunch of people were lounging and reading, a well stocked bar, professional reception, and modern rooms. Being that it was the first backpackers hostel I had been to in Africa, I appreciated the familiar vibe from last year. I unloaded the car after finagling my way into a parking spot and soon was headed out the door, where this sign greeted me:

I took its advice and continued onwards into the city center. There's not much to see in Windhoek, and after a half hour walk I felt like I had a sense of the city. The funniest part of it is the street names- I walked on Fidel Castro street as well as Robert Mugabe avenue, which ironically is where the statehouse lies.

Further down Robert Mugabe avenue I found the main landmark of Windhoek- Kristkurke- or Christ Church. It's a large beautiful church surrounded by lush public gardens. I took my pictures and, passing another crafts market, made my way back to the hostel, where I met Ben, another lone American at the hostel. As it turns out, he had just arrived for a 5 month unpaid internship with the World Wildlife Fund in Windhoek. Originally from Philly and currently a grad student as UC Santa Barbara, he had a bunch of stories about his trips in Ghana and Spain as well as what sort of things he is learning in his nonprofit management graduate classes. I felt sorry for him, though, when I found out that he's on his own for finding an apartment to rent- that's definitely an unsavory chore.

I relaxed in the courtyard and read some more Karamzov, which I am continuing to trudge through. I'm 250/700 pages in and nothing has happened in the plot whatsoever. Thankfully I was saved from my boredom by the hostel's internet cafe, where I updated the blog again. By then it was getting dark and I ended up spending the evening chatting with Ben at the bar and meeting more hostel guests like Lyndsay, who is an English university student working as a vet on a game farm. She was in town because she was looking after their 28 year old cheetah, who had fallen ill. Apparently on the game reserve she frequently sleeps amongst the baby lions and plays with cheetahs- not too bad, I should think. I enjoyed a delivered pizza and soon felt tired enough to retire, which I did, and read some more Karamazov in another heroic attempt to get through a handful of pages. Soon, though, it had its effect on me and fell asleep, knowing that the morning sun would bring another cross-border adventure.

Dune Displays

I greeted my next day of travelling with an attempt at a shower that left me dry- because I didn't get up the courage to shower in icy water. Dissapointed with such an immediate defeat suffered so early in the day, I ate another champion's lunch of bread and honey and drove out into the dawn sunlight that had just begun to illuminate the African plain.

Soon after I had begun the day's trek, I found myself in Namibia's largest private game reserve- I was thrilled to see that the route I was taking took me straight through it. Almost immediately I was faced with signs warning of giraffes and sights of beautiful wildlife. At one point, my way was blocked by a huge herd of Kuru- an African version of elk. I didn't view this interruption with the slightest irritation, though, since I got to take out my binoculars and view the herd of graceful animals as well as spot my first zebras!



Though I was expecting zebras donning purely black and white fur, I found that wild zebras have more of an earthy tone to them- the stripes stained with the reddish brown color of the dirt. Nevertheless I was struck once again with the amazingness of this continent. After all, I was just taking a normal road and yet I was having no difficulty spotting wild game! I looked upon the graceful beasts for a bit longer and eventually felt the tug of my destination pulling me forward. The destination was Sossus- the hop off point to see Namibia's famed dunes.

I had about another hour to drive, but Catch 22 passed the time and I soon found myself at the permit office in Sossus, waiting behind a group of large, irate Africaans men who were yelling at the Namibian woman behind the desk for not taking their word for it that they were in fact Namibians. The scene seemed to escalate endlessly- along with my wait- but eventually they came to an agreement and I was free to buy my day pass, again attracting a curious look from the official with my solitary status.

The first stretch of the 60km road to Sossusvlei was unassuming, void of dunes, but quickly gave way to huge red mounds of grainy Namibian sand on both sides of the road. As I drove along the surprisingly smooth paved road the dunes became larger and larger, surrounding me by the time I got the 2 wheel drive parking lot. To get to Sossusvlei, a large pan in the middle of the dunes, I had to make my way for another 4 km. Thankfully, I managed to hop on a four wheel drive shuttle which was full of Americans, to my surprise. The four young people occupying the swaying and swerving vehicle turned out to be Peace Corps volunteers taking a brief vacation from their posts in Lesotho. They came from all over the US and had all been serving for different amounts of time. A couple had actually extended their two year commitment for another year. I enjoyed talking with them about their experiences for the brief duration of the ride and continued to spot them around the valley when I eventually got there after paying the driver 50 rand and walking the last 400 yards.



Sossusvlei is one of the most amazing places I've ever been to. Its beauty rivals the current leaders of "Most Beautiful Places Derek Has Seen," which are Halstadt, the lakeside town in the Austrian alps, and Columbia University's campus (you can't call me unloyal!). After climbing over one final rusty colored dune, I was faced with a dry pan surrounded by large dunes, covered in hard, white clay that has cracked with dehydration and spotted with dead tree trunks in dramatic contortions. Though there were a handful of tourists around, the isolated nature of the place made me feel like the lone explorer of another planet. I couldn't resist taking copious amounts of photos.





After walking around the pan and seeing almost every tree in it, I attempted a climb up one of the larger dunes on the periphery of the pan. Unfortunately, the attempt failed miserably as I sloshed my way up halfway but ran out of both water and energy, ending the expedition as suddenly as it had begun. regardless, I still managed some good photos from my vantage point.

I felt that I had adequately explored the area and opted to start going back, now that the sun was at its peak and the heat was driving all the other tourists away. Out of my cheapness and sense of adventure I declined to take the shuttle back and decided to walk. It ended up being a little (meaning a lot) longer than I had anticipated. Apparently my conversation on the way there had masked the length of the journey, which I thought would take only 15 minutes, but actually took 45 minutes. Tired and thirsty, I got back to Aslan and drove out of the park, thrilled with the sightseeing for the day.

At the gas station in Sossus I filled up and was informed by the attendant that my fan belt was in danger of snapping, which could potentially leave me stranded. Appreciative of this forewarning, I took his advice to plan on replacing it in Swakopmond- the next day's stop. With such a warning fresh on my mind, I drove off into the unpaved wilderness once more, this time for an hour to get to Solitaire, the small town where I would lay my head for the night.

Again I was faced with a "town" that was composed of a gas station, guest house, and general store. This town, though, also had a bakery, where a man named Moose makes what is touted as the best Apple Crumble in the whole of Africa. He, however, only admits to it being the "best in town," a humble admission indeed. I grabbed a hearty, fresh baked piece and enjoy its divine flavors as I sat out on the lawn of the bakery, fighting off the ravenous birds that eyed the baked good jealously.



I finished off the Apple Crumble and made camp behind the guesthouse. At first, I thought I would be the only person camping, but I was proved wrong when a Spaniard and Swiss guy pitched tent and a lone traveler on a motorcycle arrived. I was immediately intrigued with the image of a tall blonde guy driving a beat up old motorcycle, piled high and wide with camping gear and supplies. As he passed me to go into town, I stopped and talked with him, and I am so glad I did! It turns out that he is a 40 year old Englishman who has, for the past four months, been riding that motorcylce- ALL THE WAY FROM ENGLAND! He's continuing down to Cape Town, where he will turn back and go home by way of Africa's east coast. Needless to say, I was stunned in admiration. He had some good stories, like breaking his clutch in the middle of the Congo, and said that Cameroon was his favorite destination so far, which I look forward to telling Toukam.



After pitching my tent and having my usual spartan dinner, I retired for the evening, hoping to rest better than I did in Hobas, which I did. The next morning I woke, took a gloriously hot shower, and drove northward towards Swakopmond. As I got closer and closer to Walvis Bay, the city before Swakopmond, the road began to improve and I soon found myself at the Tropic of Capricorn! It was an enjuvinating mark of progress.





The rolling hills that had accompanied me since leaving Solitaire soon morphed to a much more desolate landscape, as all shrubbery dissappeared and was replaced with endless sand and rocks- very similar to the first Namibian landscape I witnessed. Soon enough, though, I spotted large, tan dunes in the distance, marking my arrival in Walvis Bay.





Without looking at my map, I drove through the city, which is the second largest in Namibia. It's a port town in a neat grid of numbered streets with colorful and creative houses. Further down the coast, modern beachhouses line the beach and Esplanade Park. I stopped first at the beach, taking in the calm Atlantic Ocean that had been toned down by the extensive sand barriers in the port and spotted, along with some dead jellyfish, some flamingos! Though they were not as pink as conventional flamingos, it was still fun to see them walking around the shallow water.





Now having studied the small map of the city in my tour book, I drove around some more and eventually stopped at an internet cafe, where I made my first update. Soon, though, I was hungry and went next door to the Burger Hut and had my first real cheeseburger since coming to Africa! It was a delicious grilled beauty that did not go skimpy on any of the toppings and was accompanied by some of the best, and greasiest, french fries that I have ever had. It was heavenly.



The day got late and after an unsuccessful attempt to get into the port to look around I took Aslan northward once again on a coastal highway to Swakopmond. The highway alone was a sight to see- pressed up between the crashing Atlantic Ocean and the tall, menacing dunes. The beach became too tempting, and after missing the first turn off, I attempted to get there by the second. This is how Aslan became hopelessly stuck in the sand.

After coming to grips with my stupidity and failing to get out of the sand by my own methods, I locked up the car and started walking to an ATV adventures outpost that I had seen about a half mile back. Miraculously, I was soon alerted to the presence of a Namibian traffic police pickup truck, which had spotted my car and my personage and put two and two together. They offered me a ride back and soon had a rope between my pathetically two wheel drive vehicle and their powerful four wheel drive truck and pulled me out. I was incredibly appreciative and tipped them handsomely. Sadly, it didn't seem like getting stuck in the sand was a rare occurance for tourists. I cursed myself for my sad conformity.



It was only about 10 more minute before I got to Swakopmond, which is a great town that some say is more German than Germany. I disaggree with such a statement, but it is a wonderful town, and I was happy that I would be spending two nights there. After settling down in my hostel, I walked around the town and grabbed a great pizza at the Western Salloon Pizzeria, which boasts the motto- "Go Hard or Go Home". I couldn't agree more.