Happily, I passed by my ostrich friends on the way out, though they refrained from making any passes in front of my car. After saying my goodbyes once again to the Canon Roadhouse-turned-exchange-bank I took a left at a T-junction and made my bumpy way to Seeheim- the next town on my map. The road wasn't too bad- it ran parallel to some train tracks and brought me through more plains, though continuing to give me more views of the mountains that surrounded Fish River Canyon. Also, spotting springboks, baboons, and other wildlife passed the time.
When I eventually made it to the Seeheim turnoff, what greeted me half a kilometer down the road was not a town, like my map insinuated, but rather a singular hotel, dusty and decrepit from years of isolation in the desert. Upon such a sight, my hopes of a way of withdrawing cash were again dashed. I spoke with the owner, a smallish Africaans woman with a parrot on her shoulder, and settled for a ginger ale, which I hoped would sooth my upset stomach- something I had doubtlessly incurred from watching the rock laden road too closely.
I finished my refreshing libation and made my way back to the main road, which quickly turned paved, much to my pleasure. For about 60km I drove gratefully on one of the national highways, not seeing more than two cars for the whole way. The landscape grew flatter and flatter, and I was happy to turn off and take another gloriously paved road for about half an hour to get to my stop for the day- Bethanie (pronounced Betahny).
Again I was fooled by my map. According to it, Bethanie is a sizable place- worthy of being put on a national map as a place to go. In reality, Bethanie is a tiny town, located around one street, that boasts a gas station, a tiny bank that's open four hours a day, and two small stores, in addition to the guest house I stayed in. My first act as temporary resident of Bethanie was to locate the Standard Bank that the people at the Canon Lodge had told me about the day before and wait in line far too long to talk with the teller. To my utter amazement and jubilation he found a way to call in my card number to HQ in JoBerg and make a withdrawal, since they didn't have an ATM. I restrained myself from taking too much money out for the sake of financial security and made my way to my next stop- the gas station. Though I did have a full Jerry Can of gas at my disposal, I didn't want to use it, so my quarter tank of gas had started to bother me.
At the station I doubtfully asked the attendant if there was any way to access the internet from the town. He directed me to the supermarket (attached to the gas station), where an ill-tempered Africaans senior citizen who ran the store allowed me to use his dirt-laden desktop for an exorbitant sum. That, Reader, is how I did my mini update.
Disappointed that I couldn't tell my readership more about the goings-on of my Old School Adventure, I drove Aslan to the Bethanie Hotel, where I had made a reservation the week before. I searched around for some assistance and eventually found a short local woman with shaky English who let me into my room. Later as I unpacked my things, I met the acting manager of the place, Willem, who enthusiastically shook my hand and assured me that he would assist me in any way possible. In another circumstance I would have found such hospitable service singularly remarkable, but considering that I was the only guest in the entire hotel, its novelty was not so shocking.
Bethanie Hotel
I took a walk around the whole town, which took about 10 minutes, and settled back in the hotel with some newly bought purified water and bread. Since there was almost nothing to do, I decided to relax and lounge by the fountain-adorned pool and read some Brothers Karamazov and listen to some Hemmingway short stories I have on my iPod. The former is proving to be one of the slowest books I've read and the latter provided some humorous and thoughtful diversion. It was a leisurely afternoon.
I found that Namibian phone cards last only long enough for a couple very short calls that evening after the town had seemingly been deserted by its inhabitants, but was saved from a complete lack of communication by Willem, who cooked dinner for me. As we conversed, I found out that he was actually the chef at the hotel and was temporarily looking after the place since the owners, who also run a guest house on the coast, were out of town. He had actually gone to chef school in Cape Town and hopes to start a restaurant someday. The dinner, to his credit, was a fantastic range of excellence including some venison schnitzel, roasted potatoes, and cooked carrots, finished off with a Namibian pudding desert. It was well worth the 8 dollars I paid.
After retiring early for a similarly quiet evening, I woke up early, as usual, to face the day. I was assisted in that quest by yet another culinary masterpiece for breakfast- a perfectly cooked omelet with homemade jam for the toast. Hopping in the car after saying my thankful goodbyes, I sped off northwards on the same road I came in on, though it sadly turned to gravel and dirt almost immediately upon leaving Bethanie. As the bumps in the road took their toll on my CD player's capabilities, I turned to my iPod and began listening to what has been an absolute Godsend on this trip- Catch 22.
Before I left for Europe last year, I uploaded a large amount of audiobooks onto my iPod, but didn't listen to most of them due to overestimation of down time. However, this road trip is perfect for them. I started off with Joseph Heller's masterpiece Catch 22, which is proving to be hilarious, entertaining, and extraordinarily well written. Honestly, the way that Heller describes his characters and their actions is fascinating! The adverbs and adjectives he chooses allow the reader to paint a pristine picture in his or her mind's eye. Hopefully my listening to the novel will rub off some of his creative verbiage.
I cruised along for about an hour before I stopped at a coffee shop in Helmeringhausen, another not-so-legit town composed of a guest house, coffee shop, and mechanic. As I sipped on my OJ, I enjoyed the sunny beauty that the town had to offer and the cheery signs that it used to lure in lonely travelers. The Africaans owner was kind enough to offer some pointers on which roads were best to take to get to Duwisib Castle, my destination for the day.
Again I tore off into the wilderness, enlivened by the theatrical vocal performance of Catch 22 that occupies one of my ears. I was required to stop a couple times to open and close a gate to be let into a game reserve that straddled the route, in which I spotted even more ostriches. As I got closer and closer to the castle, the road seemed to get worse and worse, only increasing my paranoid fear of getting a flat tire. Thankfully, Aslan took it like a champ. Eventually I arrived at Duwisib Castle.
The castle is, as you could imagine, an extremely unlikely sight. It's a large, stone building built in 1907 by a German aristocrat and his Jersey-born American wife. Once it was finished, the two owners and their 5-strong staff lived in it for only about 5 years before WWI called them away forever. The castle then changed hands a couple of times before it was finally "transferred" to the government as a national monument. The interior is decorated with some original furniture, portraits of family members, and ornaments of military swords and animal skulls. The interior courtyard was exceptionally relaxing, and I spent my time reading more Karamazov and making lunch as multiple German tour groups came and left in spans of 15 minutes.
After chatting with the attendant in charge of the castle and its campgrounds, who thought it quite surprising that I was travelling alone, I relocated to the windy and deserted campsite. I unsuccessfully looked around for some firewood for about a half hour and eventually realized that if I didn't take action, I would lose my mind with boredom, seeing as it was only about 3pm and there wasn't anyone around. Seeing yet another tour bus leave in search of more sightseeing areas, I decided to abandon the campsite that I had already paid a small sum for and make headway on the next day's driving.
I drove for about 45 minutes and decided to stop in Betta- the first "town" I came to. The guest house owner there tried to make a deal with me to camp, but I decided to splurge and get the 20 dollar room. As it turned out, the room was actually a free standing cottage, recently redone, that was warmed by a frequently attended-to wood burning stove. I appreciated the space and celebrated with a dinner not composed of peanut butter and honey, but rather tomato-soaked sardines on bread- the luxury was almost overwhelming.
The sun began to set and I entertained myself by taking photos of the sunset and its effect on nearby plants and buildings and listening to yet more Catch 22. Eventually, after all the clearly-visible African stars came out, I took out my honky satellite phone and tested it out on my parents, who I could hear perfectly, despite my being in the middle of nowhere. I assured them that I hadn't yet gotten into serious harm and quickly saw that the battery was almost dead. The rest of the evening I read a little and prepared for the upcoming day of more driving and sightseeing.
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