Mr. Hertzberg, I Presume?

My departure from Cape Town towards Namibia started bright and early on a Sunday morning.  We checked out of our hostel the night before and bid our teary farewells to our sexually active German roomates in the morning (fuck me they made that dorm smell bad, or maybe it was us, but I bet it wasn’t).  At quarter to eight, we loaded our possessions onto our backs and set off towards the bus depot.  We were travelling with a company called Intercape and the final destination was Swakopmund, on the coast in Namibia.  It would be a 21 hour journey to the capital city, Windhoek, followed by another four hour bus across the country to Swakopmund.  I was a little bit worried about the safety and comfort of the bus, seeing as we would be crossing a border with it and attempting to sleep on it as well, but my mind was quickly put at ease.  The company was very professional and the bus was as luxury as buses get, with two stories and reclining chairs.  There was one problem though, and those that know me well will quickly realize that it was a big one. The bus had several TV screens, which at first pleased me.  It was going to be a long journey and watching a couple of movies along the way would hopefully make the time go by quickly, right?  Well here’s the problem: Intercape is apparently a Christian company, a very Christian company.  Now, there’s nothing inherently wrong or offensive about a company being self-proclaimed as Christian, but these psychos are a whole other level.  Instead of being treated to some regular movies and programs, what we were subjected to was most easily described as propaganda.  The programming started with a prayer from some American priest, which I thought was weird, but I turned up the volume on my iPod and carried on. Before too long though, they were broadcasting all sorts of offensive ads, ranging from anti-abortion spots to twenty-minute sections of horse-shit mega-church preaching, complete with people “feeling the lord” by seizuring all over a stage in front of thousands of people and “speaking in tongues.”  Give me a break; that stuff makes my blood boil. Then, before the movie was to be played, we were treated to a segment called “Movie Watch” or something similar which, instead of being a normal, level-headed assessment of popular movies, was a gigantic crock of shit.  It featured some boy-fondling priest (probably not I don’t know) wearing an off-putting boy-fondling gaze, and the point of the segment was to “keep us up to date with the acceptability of various mainstream movies.”  He would pick a couple of flicks and spend the next five minutes describing how “safe” they were for Christian children to watch (heaven forbid they make up their own minds). There was no focus on the plot, the direction, how well the movie was done or not, nothing like that. It was just an over-the-top dissection of how well the movie in question fit in with the Westernized Christian dogma and whether it was produced by heretics or not.  It took every fibre of self-restraint in my body to not rage-punch everyone in my immediate vicinity (which is probably why I’m ranting so angrily here).  The feature presentation was then, by this point, predictably, a terrible movie that’s only purpose was to shove more dogmatic bullshit down our throats.  We watched a few movies on the trip, and each one was the same story of some rogue blasphemer going through a tragedy and then finding Jesus and being reborn.  The acting was always bad, the plot was always thin and predictable, and the endgame of each one was the same: accept Jesus as your lord and saviour and all will be forgiven.  Glory hallelujah, praise Jesus, pass the butter, shoot me in the face.  Fuck.

And while I’m ranting about annoying shit, let me tell you about the American couple sitting a couple of rows behind us.  They complained about everything, and loudly.  They asked to move from their assigned seats into more “preferable” ones and were politely denied, so they complained for half an hour. The woman across from them asked them to close their blind as the sun was shining directly on her face and she was trying to sleep, so they complained for half an hour. The Christian TV offended them, so they complained for half an hour. (Fair enough with the last one, but keep it to yourselves.)  It was embarrassing and they were perpetuating the stereotype that Americans have to deal with all over the world and that, by extension, Canadians do to.  There’s always something to annoy you, no matter who you are or where you go.  But it’s not polite to sit and complain like toddlers, loudly enough for the entire bus to hear you.  It’s much nicer to just save up your anger and then compile it into a wordy and bitter blog entry.

But ANYWAY, the bus ride was mostly fine.  I didn’t sleep that much because I can’t really sleep well without a bed, but it went better than expected.  We stopped at gas stations at somewhat regular intervals along the way so we could pee and buy food, so I lived off chocolate bars, chips, soggy pre-made sandwiches, and coke for the journey.  We crossed the Namibian border at about 9:00 PM and it was one of the smoothest border crossings I’ve ever had.  I always get nervous entering another country overland (especially now after the fiasco at the Kenya/Uganda border) but crossing South Africa into Namibia was easy; no hassles whatsoever.  We arrived in Windhoek at 7:30 in the morning, an hour ahead of schedule, and I somehow managed to sleep for about an hour on the tile floor of the bus depot.  We then got on our bus to Swakopmund at 9:30 (no TVs, thank basedgod) and arrived four hours later at our destination at last.  The town is small and had a bit of a German colonial-era vibe to it, and we soon learned that tonnes of German ex-pats make the town their base.  We had not made a reservation at the hostel we had picked, Desert Sky Backpackers, but had high hopes.  Unfortunately, on the day that we arrived, they did not have any availability in the dorms.  For the first night we had to pay for a private room (N$195 per person per night instead of N$120 pppn for the dorm) but we bit the bullet and went with it.  The room was awesome and we were absolutely exhausted, so it was a welcome road bump.  We moved to the dorm for the next two nights, but that one night in the private room was glorious. When we did eventually switch to the “dorm,” it had only three beds and we actually had it to ourselves for the entire time, so it all worked out very well.  Desert Sky Backpackers was a perfect place to base ourselves whilst in Swakopmund, one of the best “hostels” (though that’s a stretch) that I have ever had the pleasure of staying in.  If any of you ever decide to go to Namibia, I definitely recommend this place for your stay in Swakopmund.

My first run down

Swakopmund is somewhat of a hub for extreme sport activities, and while most of them were far out of our budget (sky-diving, ATVing, etc.) we knew that we were always going to take the hit and splash out on a sandboarding trip.  We had come all this way to see the towering mountains of sand of the coast and so we went on a day trip to sandboard the dunes on our second day (after spending the first recovering from bus-related fatigue). It’s very similar to snowboarding, and seeing how we’re both expert snowboarding machines, we went with the stand-up option, rather than the lie-down (for non-snowboarders/surfers).  It was great fun, but really tiring.  After each run, which lasted maybe fifteen seconds, you then had to hike up the hill that you had just shot down.  It was hot and there was no shade, so the hike was a daunting task. There was a jump on the run and after sidestepping it the first time while I figured out how the sand worked compared to snow, I gave it a go.  What was the worst that could happen? It was nothing but soft, forgiving sand everywhere, so really there was nothing to be afraid of.  After I broke the ice by taking the challenge of the jump before anyone else (no big deal you guys, it’s nothing really) everyone else eventually gave it a shot.  I thought I did quite well just to not wipe-out (as most everyone else did upon landing), but these two German guys showed me up by busting out clean tail-grabs.  I tried to step it up and went for an indy-grab on my last run, but the result was a face full of sand (literally, I still have sand in my ears and nose, and that was over a week ago).  By the end of the day I was absolutely covered with sand.  I had a thick layer of it all over my body, and my pockets were full.  I actually couldn’t see at all for about ten minutes after my attempt at a grab, because I had sand under my eyelids.  A few days later when I went to clean my shorts, I found a handful of sand trapped in the back pocket (buttoned-up). It was a messy day, but fun.

Hillary flying down the hill

What was even better than the stand-up boarding though was the lie-down alternative.  We got to try that out as well to end the day and I think it’s one of the most fun things I’ve ever done.  We were each given a rectangular sheet of thin, flexible wood.  We lied down on it facing forward, and were pushed along the start of the run by one of the guides.  Those who had signed up for the lie-down option had been doing different runs all day long, but we got to join them on the last, and scariest, one.  It was a straight downhill line into somewhat of a bowl, with a small uphill section and lip at the end, where the cameraman and speed-gun operator were stationed.  If you were going fast enough, you got some serious air at the end, and my-oh-my was I ever going fast enough.  I did it three times because it was so much fun, but on my fastest run I clocked in at 72km/h.  That’s insane.  Some friends and I like to bomb down Departure Bay in Nanaimo on our longboards in the summer, and we once used a GPS to clock our speed; we hit 56km/h, and that was scary fast.  Flying down the dune on a piece of wood, heading towards a natural kicker, that’s the fastest I think I’ve ever gone (not counting obvious things like being in a car or skydiving).  It was so much fun.  I just wish the hike back up wasn’t so tiring or else I would have gone two or three more times.

The group, strapping in for another run

The day was brought to a close with lunch, and this is where I got my money’s worth. I ate until I was full, and then I ate more.  I also pocketed three cans of fanta/coke for later, and tucked into three beers in a twenty minute period. Also included in the price was a DVD of the day’s events and it’s pretty entertaining.  All the wipe-outs and less-than-glorious moments were captured and unlike that fucking shark-diving movie that Darby bought in South Africa (seriously Darby, you’re never going to hear the end of this from me), the music selection was great.  I also paid for a few of the professional pictures at N$20 each ($2.40, not cheap but fuck it, they were good pictures and ooooo $7).  Overall, it was a day well spent.  We actually decided that we would take the N$2000 hit for skydiving (not as cheap as I had hoped it would be in Africa) which made Hillary temporarily lose her shit in a sweaty fit of nervousness but, unfortunately (or maybe fortunately for Hillary) the company that we had decided on was getting their plane repaired and it was too late to make a booking with another. 

After a few days in Swakopmund, we headed out for Windhoek, en route to Zambia.  We decided to not do the journey to Livingstone, Zambia all in one day (it would be another 20+ hours from Windhoek) and spent one night in Namibia’s capital.  We took the advice of a fellow backpacker on the bus from Skakopmund and decided to (attempt to) abandon our reservation at Cardboard Box Backpackers, which she said was disgusting, and instead tried to get a spot at the much nicer Chameleon Backpackers on the other side of town. Upon arrival we were told that they were completely booked full, and so we would have to make good on our reservation at Cardboard Box after all. Anyone who is reading this that plans to go to Namibia, listen carefully: book ahead at Chameleon, Cardboard Box is an absolute shithole, one of the worst hostels I have ever stayed at (rivalling that piece of shit in Munich that I stayed at in the summer of 2009). The kitchen stank of month-old food, the rooms were dirty and had way too many beds crammed in to them, and the bathroom flooded with every shower.  What’s more is that they didn’t even utilize their security gates.  They had two lockable gates protecting the hostel, but always left them open.  Further, there were no lockers available and we weren’t given a key to our room and so couldn’t lock it.  Thank god we only stayed there one night, because it was an absolutely dreadful place.  The only plus side was that they didn’t charge for the use of their wifi, so I avoided the shithole that was our room and uploaded some pictures.  Windhoek itself is not that interesting of a place.  It’s a small town of about 600,000 people and there is really nothing to do there.  Namibia is actually one of the least populated places in the world: its area is about four times the size of the UK, but the population of the entire country is barely over 2 million people.

We left the next day, on another propaganda filled Intercape bus, from Windhoek to Livingstone in Zambia, home of the world famous Victoria Falls.  It was another 20+ hours but the bus was less than half full so we spread out a bit and had a bit more comfort. I had enough battery on my laptop to avoid at least one of the dreadful movies that they were playing, and Hillary and I used it to our advantage and watched the much more acceptable (by our standards) “Inglorious Basterds.”  I had never seen it before; what an awesome movie.  There were also no annoying Americans on the bus, just one likable one named Joe.  I was a little bit worried about crossing the border into Zambia than I was entering Namibia for a couple of reasons.  Firstly, we were essentially heading back into “real Africa” once again.  I got used to the dangers associated with Uganda and Kenya during my 3+ months there, but South Africa and Namibia have a different, less dangerous air about them. Secondly, the entry was not free as it was in South Africa and Namibia: Canadians need to pay $50 for a visa. I was 90% sure that they were obtainable at the border, but a small part of me worried that I had fucked up by not organizing them ahead of time and that we would be in a very, very sticky situation at the border.  It all went well enough though.  I was right that we were back in “real Africa” as there were constant touts from various vendors and black-market money exchangers, and the actual office was a disorganized mess of people all pushing and shoving without any real queuing system in place, but we paid our $50 for the visas and were let in with minimal hassle.  It was kind of annoying how the officer would only give us 20 days, because you are supposed to get 90 days for the $50, but we’re leaving on the 14^th, so I didn’t force the issue too hard.

As soon as we were over the border, the stereotypical images of impoverished Africa that were either absent or well-hidden in South Africa and Namibia began to show themselves.  There were small thatched-roof mud-huts randomly strewn throughout the countryside, and women in brightly-coloured, flowing clothing carried kids on their backs and sacks of produce or jugs of water on their heads.  After crossing the border, there was no stopping at gas stations to buy snacks because, I’m guessing, there were no gas stations of that sort in Zambia, and it wouldn’t have been particularity safe for us to get out there anyway.

We finally arrived in Livingstone at about 2:00 in the afternoon.  The walk from the bus stop to the hostel was filled with all sorts of advances from the local people trying to sell us stuff, the most interesting of these being the hordes of people attempting to sell us obsolete bank notes from Zimbabwe, some worth 50 trillion Zimbabwean dollars.  I’m not sure what that’s worth in another currency, but it probably is not much at all.  Zimbabwe is just recovering from a serious economic collapse and has started to dollarize (the US dollar is legal tender now) and so seeing as Zambia is essentially on the border, a lot of the obsolete, nearly worthless money makes its way across. What was more interesting than this though was that everywhere we looked, there were proud locals wearing Zambian football jerseys and blowing vuvuzelas.  I kind of expected this, seeing as Zambia had won the African Cup of Nations in an unlikely, glorious run only a couple of weeks ago.  I was told that the reason for all the celebration was that the Cup of Nations was currently in Livingstone, and that the team was as well, showing it off.  I didn’t actually get to see it, but it’s pretty cool that I was in the same town as the Cup of Nations, if only for a day.  Upon arriving at our hostel, the wonderful Jollyboys Backpackers (recommended for sure, great place) we passed out for most of the rest of the afternoon and tried to catch up on the sleep that our overnight bus journey had robbed us of. When we woke up and had a look around, we were very pleased with where we had picked to stay.  I mean, I guess anything would have been acceptable coming from Cardboard Box in Windhoek, but this place has got it made.  It’s clean and well organized, and has a pool and a funky chill-out area, as well as just a great vibe.  As I sit writing this, I am firmly planted on a comfy bean bag chair in the upper area of the chill-out area, which overlooks the pool, watching the African sky turn a bright red with the setting of the sun. 

The reason we had come all this way was, as you may have guessed, the world famous Victoria Falls, one of the seven natural wonders of the world.  We went to see them the next day.  It’s a little bit upsetting that entry into the park costs US$20 because if it was cheaper, I would go every day.  I’ll attempt to put this into words but know I will fail miserably: Victoria Falls are absolutely stunning. I had seen pictures of them before, but actually standing face-to-face with them, being absolutely drenched by the spray of the water crashing into the rocks below, was one of the most amazing experiences of my life.  The falls stretch on for miles and at every lookout point we witnessed the mighty Zambezi River hurtling off cliffs hundreds of feet high and roaring down into the abyss below.  Unlike the Nile, where I had spent a month earlier in my trip, the Zambezi is a very high volume river, and the amount of water that drops off the falls every second is astonishing.  It is easily one of the most, if not the most, impressive natural phenomena I have ever witnessed.  Within thirty seconds of arriving at the falls, we were absolutely soaked, and I was pleased with my decision to leave my camera at the hostel and keep my money and passport in a Ziploc bag.  We were constantly being pelted with water from above us, like the heaviest rainstorm I have ever found myself trapped in, but it wasn’t rain.  We were hundreds of feet up from where the water crashed below, but the falls are so powerful that it rains down on the viewing areas non-stop.  At certain places in town, you can actually see mist rising above the horizon in the distance.  I guess they don’t call the falls “the smoke that thunders” for no reason.  I can’t really describe exactly what was so amazing about our trip to see the falls, but just believe me, it was awe-inspiring.  I think I’m going to bite the bullet and pay the entry fee at least once more before we leave Livingstone, because Victoria Falls are absolutely incredible.

Like Swakopmund, there are plenty of activities to indulge in here (rafting and bungy-jumping being the biggest tourist pulls) but, like Swakopmund, most of them are out of our price range.  We may decide to splash out on a rafting trip in a couple of days, but we’re still thinking on that one.  We did treat ourselves to a sunset cruise on the Zambezi River a couple of nights ago, similar to the one that I did at the Source of the Nile in Jinja.  It was $55 (not exactly cheap) but it came with food and as much alcohol as we could drink in the two and a half hours.  We made friends with a Welsh girl named Cathy, her travelling buddy Joe (English, not Welsh), another Joe, the American that we shared a bus from Windhoek with, Turner, another American guy, and an Irish named Louise.  We spent the evening drinking, watching hippos, and enjoying the sun setting over the Zambezi River.  It was the beginning of a big night, and it carried on once we got back to our hostel at about 8:00.  We drank well into the night and had tonnes of invigorating drunken conversations (fuck I love those) and even a late night dip in the pool.

Cathy and Joe left today for South Africa, and Hillary and I are working on our plans.  We have to be back in Cape Town on the 19^th for a flight, and were originally intending on heading back to South Africa overland through Botswana.  However, upon research, Botswana is pretty expensive to travel through, and we decided our time would be better spent somewhere else.  We found a flight down to South Africa for under $100 each, so we took the hit on that (flying from Zambia to South Africa so that we can catch out flight back up to Tanzania, weird). We leave from Livingstone in a week and were planning on trying to get to Malawi and back by then, but we decided it wasn’t doable, and paying another $50 to get back into Zambia was the final straw.  So we’ll probably be hanging out in Livingstone for a week, but it could be worse.  There are lots of things to do here and the hostel is a great place to hang out.  While I would have absolutely loved to have gotten to Malawi (I’ve wanted to go there for as long as I can remember) getting there and back in a week would have been too much of a stretch and we wouldn’t have been able to enjoy ourselves stress free.  So here we are, chilling out in Livingstone for the foreseeable future.  Our flight goes to Johannesburg because there is a cross-country, 27 hour train journey from Jo’burg to Cape Town that is supposed to be magnificent (sleeper accommodation costs only 450 Rand, a bit over $50) so we’re trying to get that arranged. 

And that’s about it, I’m up to date.  I’ll probably make my next post in a week or two when I get to Tanzania. Stay classy everybody.