Return to Windhoek

Return to Windhoek
Posted on: Monday, February 3rd, 2014 at 9:02pm

Long story short, I took option #1. At no time in the past few years did I ever see myself back in Namibia, one of the most challenging countries I’ve ever cycled in. Extreme Heat, lack of water, extreme isolation, although paired with beautiful sights, a coast line, and an understanding of just how far one can push one’s limits before going crazy. But I’m back. Not just having crossed in, but am back in the capital city of Windhoek, population 300,000 people, the largest city in this vast expanse of land.

I really struggled trying to figure out what I wanted to do next, and after my fairly positive experience at the Angolan Embassy in Lusaka I opted that going to Namibia to try would be a suitable plan, besides, I’d never been on the north end of the country, and was always curious to find out more about the “Red Fence”. A stunningly racist line that still stands today constructed by South Africa in the 1960s, meant to separate cattle, and more ominously, people. It’s true, when I travelled the last time in Namibia South of Windhoek, there was rarely the time I’d actually see a black person roaming about. Spread between 50km or more would be a farmhouse of an old Afrikaner, or German family holding onto land, doing their best to grow crops like grapes, and cattle. While I’d say the south was certainly more scenic, I have to say that I needed to go through this northern area, to see things from a different perspective.

Saying goodbye to my friends and family (It gets no easier even after the multiple times we’ve gone through this), I cheated a bit, taking a 350km lift with someone to satisfy some loose ends I had out standing, and more importantly to not have to ride on the same road twice, which I found to be scenic at the time, but not enough to draw me back again, like some other areas in the world. The bike was clean, new parts setup, and I found new ways to organize panniers, handlebar bags, and was armed with enough spares to put me through the worst conditions. Even after not cycling with a loaded bicycle for 2 months I quickly found my groove, nearly getting 100km in the first day, stopping for the night as I promised to pick up some goodies for someone in Livingstone, right close to Victoria Falls – and deliver them to him in Windhoek. Being on roads that I’d been on before cut down on the gazing around, and allowed myself to focus on specific sounds coming from the bicycle, positioning of hands and work out any kinks before I went into my uncharted territory.

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My “care package” for someone in Windhoek – I don’t ask any questions and expect no answers.

Zambia really doesn’t maintain their signage.

Seeing things in reverse continuously brought back a flood of memories – I generally regard the day I crossed into Zambia as one of the worst days of my life, but also one of the better ones at the same time. It was where I found Africa to really start – even though there were segments in Botswana, Namibia and South Africa. Stopping at the exact spot where the young boy was struck and killed 2 years before played with emotions, remembering in minute detail the events that happened, having to go and find his mother, explain even with the language barrier, and the memory of the look on her face that’s permanently etched into my vision. No mother needs to go through that, and it made for a few hours where it was difficult to swallow. Each spot I’d cycle through I’d remember meeting up with children, meeting up with my African family on their way back from a Vacation, stopping under the shade for a rest making me realize just how much I’d gone through in this country in my many visits. Once reaching the town of Kazungula, it was time to let it all go, and enter in with the new. Following a very remote 200km path down to the south west tip of Africa, stealth camping along the way, getting stoned by little children who ran in fear when they realized that I was going to go back and grab them, I rode mostly in silence trying to start to figure out just what I’m trying to achieve here in the next year. The sun beating down on my arms and face made for painful tender moments in the tent rubbing lotion on at the end of the day, often in areas where I could hear the singing, drumming of locals, yet they had no idea a “Mufulo” was nearby.

A typical Zambian homestead in the South

I can’t say for sure if I’ll be back in Zambia, but I can almost guarantee that I won’t be cycling in the country in the near future – There are only a few more entry/exit points left and they seem way out of the question at this point in time, besides, I need to get this continent finished and done with – 2.5 years has been an awful long time here – the more I stay, the more I love it, but a line from a favorite series of books says: “There are other worlds than these”. It’s a fairly scenic ride over the Zambezi river on a recently constructed bridge to reach Zambian/Namibian border lines. Exiting on my last day that my Visa was valid brought some raised eyebrows from the Zambian side, and the Namibian side just looked at me peculiarly as sweat dripped off of me and I smelled something like a sweaty sock. Time for a rest, and I found myself in the town of Katima Mulilo, a dusty Namibian town where the buildings and houses are painted bright colours, ample places to stay, and a few shopping centres to pick up goods. I opted for a campsite right at the river, as I wanted to be able to pick up the Zambian cellular signals to work through my unlimited data plan as I had some things left over to do. The alternative was to switch to a Namibian data service, lose the plan, and instead pay an astounding rate of $20usd for 1GB of data. I bought 5 at that price. Buying less is $30-$40 or higher per GB.

I nearly had a heart attack walking into the first shop in Namibia – This is what I was after! Pastries, Cheeses, Meats, Olives, all sorts of goodies for 1/3 of the price of everywhere that I’ve travelled over the past 2 years. Needless to stay I pigged out the first day, and haven’t stopped since. The South African shops are plentiful here, as the dollar is the same as the rand, and some people still regard themselves as one of the same, even though the country gained independence in 1990. Camped out along the Zambezi brought Hippos, monkeys roaming around my tent, and I found myself huddled inside hoping I wouldn’t fly away during a freak 15 minute storm that drenched everything, toppled my bicycle over, and sent my camp gear all around the campsite. Lightning coming down 5 at a time with thunderous booms made me glad that I had little to no metal on my body to attract a bolt and make what little hair I have stand on end.

It was also where I started to see actual tourists again. It’s been so long that I’ve been able to run into other travellers, whether they be on overland 4×4, motorcyclists – but sadly, no one on a bike. And who in their right mind would ride through the heat of summer in Namibia. I met a couple of old women from South Africa who I followed along throughout the course of 4 days meeting up with each other at campsites and lodges – they bought a book which made me happy and I gained some valuable newfound knowledge and desire to go back to South Africa for a very long sojourn through the country, rather than blasting through like I did before. I stealth camped often, while going through the Caprivi Strip, now known as the Zambezi Region, not because I wanted to, but out of pure force – 200km from towns made it challenging – even more so when the signs alerted you to Elephants, and other 4 legged creatures. What they didn’t tell me was that there was snakes in the area, and frightened myself to death during sunset when a rather large king cobra slithered past my tent. The next morning after that I caught a rare sight – a leopard crossing the road as I was halfway through BwataBwata National Park. I was concerned as when in Lusaka a few cats took it upon themselves to piss all over my rear pannier, and knew that this might attract some unwanted attention. Limbs intact, I’m in good shape, but was becoming redder and redder from the hot sun blasting me in the face from 11am onwards. Of course the first response was – where’s your sunscreen? No matter how many applications, the bright sun with a UV Index of 17 paired with the temperatures of high 30’s and low 40’s attacked me daily. These lodges that appear out of the middle of nowhere with their quirky signposts, décor, and meat dinners were a blessing.

Interesting that the strip at the top of Namibia has now been renamed. I made conversation to a police officer who was urging me to take a lift with him for my safety in the park – He paused for a bit when I asked why it was changed before he muttered “Oh you know, Politics”.. I decided not to proceed with the conversation, until he went forth and said that Namibia was undertaking changing as many names as possible from the earlier Colonial German names to more Namibian / Traditional Names. It’s not just here – word has it that Zimbabwe is now changing the name of Victoria Falls to something in the near future. Good on them. Looking at the history of Namibia, and the genocide that occurred in the 1900’s it doesn’t surprise me that they want to rid themselves of some of these names one bit.

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The sun has really done it’s toll on me when cycling.

Hugging the border of Botswana and Angola for a near 500km I made it out of the energy sapping westerly riding daily and found myself in the 2nd largest town in Namibia, Rundu. Time for a rest, and to plan for the remainder of the trip. Definitely 1 day wasn’t enough, but it was great to pick up a wide brimmed hat, and some other goodies for the remainder of the 700km. 10km away from the city sadness struck – My front tire, the beloved Schwalbe Marathon XR that I’ve had with me through 15 countries, and 28,000km developed a tear. I almost wanted to repair it and put a boot in it, but decided to leave it as is, letting a crafty American get another couple thousand kilometres out of it. Onto a new Marathon Extreme, dropping by tire width .25 inches – The rolling resistance is very noticeable, and I haven’t picked up any punctures as of yet – only waking up in the morning and finding the front tire flat from my inability to properly patch old tubes. After day 4 of waking up with a flat I put in a new one.

The End of a Legend. 28000km. 15 Countries, Marathon XR Schlwabe – 3 years

The riding I can’t speak too much highly of, quite boring, wide open spaces, or surrounded by brush the majority of the time on moderately flat ground. Easy to get to 100km distances daily, and a lot of time to think in your head. I’d have to say out of the 1600km some odd kilometres I traveled, that only one day stands out – heading off the tar road from Grootfontein on dirt track (which I vowed never to do ever again in Namibia) to go and visit the worlds largest known meteor. The Hoba Meteor is near 60 tonnes, made of mostly iron, and flat on both sides – people seem to think that it skipped on the earths atmosphere like a rock on water before landing in a big thud in the middle of the desert. The return of the headstands – must have been 6 months since I last did one, take a gander.

A Shebeen is a concrete square building – serving only the p urpose to sell beer.

After cycling on the dirt road I found myself hugged through mountains on a very desolate tar road. With a great headwind I intended on taking it easy and stopping at 60km but found myself ending at a near 110km mark. Sadly, when the day I wanted a beer the most, I found a lodge closed for the reason and was forced to camp outside by their security fence.

At 3pm on cue, the skies usually darkened, rain came down, and the winds came with great gusts destroying any idea of fun as you exerted your final days energy into the wind cutting speeds down to a mere 8km/h. Way better to cycle in the morning and try to knock out 70km before 1pm and then take it easy for the remainder of the day. I was overjoyed when I found a website that showed real-time wind patterns around the world, until I realized that it was a good 400km of headwinds for my remainder of the trip into Windhoek. Needless to say, I did it, head down, strong mind and the knowledge that life would be fantastic when I made it to my final destination.

Which way to Grootfontein?

Now back to this red fence. The thing that made this trip so wonderful was meeting the many people each day in the small villages and towns, some of the most friendliest people I’ve met. With English as a main language here, it was quite easy to have deep conversations with shop keepers, farmers, and passer by’s. Life is hard for many of them, I spent the night behind a shop where a nearby cattle farmer told me he spent 12 hours a day tending his 75 cattle, herding them to cool spots during the hot day, milking them at 5am to get a 25 litres of milk per day for sale to other locals. That equated to about $15 a day, not bad for African standards, but an awful lot of work. I met a mother of 5 children under 6 on one of my last days who made $4 a day selling large mushrooms grown on her farm, sold on the side of the road to passerby’s. Come February, the mushrooms stop growing, and her source of income disappears entirely. While not entirely the most scenic riding, the people is what makes this North of Windhoek area so great – and I’ll be happy to cycle through it again for that alone – not that I have a choice. I have to backtrack a few hundred kilometres before I go back onto unridden roads on my way to Angola – providing I can get the visa.

I won’t go too far into my Visa process as it’s only been one day, but I’m expecting the process to take a few weeks. If it doesn’t work out? South Africa, Lesotho, Swaziland seem like a good fit for the future. Let’s hope that things go well in my favour. I even bought a pair of pants to enter the embassy.

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