Update we are going direct through the Caprivi to Livingston and not to Maun/Botswana!

Der letzte Bericht endete damit, wie wir in Khorixas vorm Supermarkt abgesetzt wurden. Wir haben dort dann einen Ruhetag eingelegt, die Lodge dort war sehr angenehm und vor allem bezahlbar – d.h. Camping war bezahlbar.
Allerdings ist es auch ein sehr sehr eigenartiges Gefuehl vom dreckigen ueberfuellten Dorfplatz durch das Tor hinter die 2m hohe Mauer zu gehen und.. man ist in einer anderen Welt. Gepflegter Rasen, kein Dreck weit und breit, schoene Huetten, Swimming Pool. So krass dieser Bruch sein mag, zugegeben: Wir geniessen es, noch die Moeglichkeit zu haben den Abstand zu gewinnen, Ruhe zu haben. Lange wird uns das nicht mehr vergoennt sein – ist es uns in dem Sinne schon jetzt wo ich schreibe nicht mehr. Aber dazu dann spaeter.

In Khorixas habe ich uebrigens noch ein neues Hobby gefunden: Genervte (deutsche) Touristen davon zu ueberzeugen, was es fuer ein Privileg ist hier reisen zu duerfen und dass sie sich gefaelligst der lokalen Infrastruktur und Mentalitaet unterzuordnen haben, wenn sie in exotische Laender reisen und nicht mit europaeischen Standards zu rechnen brauchen. Das hoert sich jetzt komisch an, aber wenn du als Radelfahrer den niedrigst moeglichen Lebensstandard (als Tourist) pflegst und trotzdem den widrigsten Situationen noch was positives abgewinnen kannst (ohne Optimismus kommt man hier nicht weit) wirkt das erstaunlich ueberzeugend.
Der arme frustrierte Bustourist war am Ende ganz kleinlaut und hat sich bei uns entschuldigt ueber seine vorausgegangene Schimpftirade auf den schlechten Service (keine Dusche, da Strom ausgefallen), mangelndes Wasser, schlechte Strassen, keine Klimaanlagen usw. usw.

Seis drum. Von Khorixas aus sind wir 130km bei Gegenwind bis Outjo gefahren, dort die Nacht verbracht und dann endlich in Otjiwarongo angekommen. Dort haben wir die wunderbaren Frauschers besucht – Ernst seit 40 Jahren in Namibia, Hildegard hier geboren – haben wir ja wie bereits erwaehnt an der namibischen Grenze getroffen.
Dort hatten sie uns eingeladen, sollten wir nach Otji kommen, sie zu besuchen. Das war damals zwar noch nicht geplant, kam jetzt aber doch so und so sind wir zwei Tage lang an warme Mahlzeiten, Betten, Dusche und saubere Waesche gekommen.
Gott haben wir das genossen!
Die Kleider wurden mit Weichspueler gewaschen und.. also die Schmutzstarre ist ja ein schleichender Prozess, aber wenn man sie dann gewaschen wieder anzieht faellt einem ueberhaupt erst auf, wie steif die Kleider vorher vor Staub und Salz waren. Zu steif – haette mich nicht gewundert, wenn sie bald von selbst gestanden waeren.
Aber Waschmaschinen sind ein seltenes Gut und mit dem Handwaschen kommen wir irgendwie nur bedingt vorwaerts.

Irgendwann hat dann alles ein Ende und so mussten wir Samstag 2.4. wieder auf die Strasse. Die Zeit bei den beiden war grossartig, nicht nur wegen der genannten Vorzuege, sondern v.a. auch weil beide ein sehr umfangreiches Wissen ueber das Land haben und uns durchgehend mit Geschichten unterhalten konnten.
So wurden ueberhaupt erst tiefere Einblicke in das Land und v.a. die soziale Struktur und Verhaeltnisse moeglich. Wenn auch etwas desillusionierend, trotzdem sehr interessant und wertvoll. Dazu gibt es irgendwann mal einen eigenen Artikel.
Samstag morgen wollten wir also los, nach Otavi (120km), allerdings gab es vorher noch eine Erledigung abzuhaken. Am Vorabend hat die Besitzerin des lokalen Crafts, Guns and Ammo Shops angerufen und darum gebeten, dass wir doch morgen frueh kommen und uns in ihr Buch der Prominenten eintragen!
So sind wir also offiziell Promis geworden.. mhmm.. im Ammoshop. Ob das gut ist? Uebrigens haben sich da hauptsaechlich namibische Politiker und Prinzen von Britannien eingetragen die aus welchen Gruenden auch immer im Ammoshop waren.

Die Strecke nach Otavi. Unbeeindruckend, nicht erwaehnenswert. Am naechsten Morgen hatte Fabian einen Platten, passender Weise aber beim einfahren in die Tankstelle. War also kein grosser Aufwand ihn zu flicken.

Die Strasse von Otavi nach Grootfontein wiederum ist wunderschoen. Windet sich in einem Tal durch steile Berge, aus denen rote, graue, braune Felsnadeln, -vorspruenge und -klippen hervorspringen. Die Haenge sind bewaldet, das Tal teilweise Busch, teilweise Wald, teilweise Ackerland. Einfach als Bild wunderschoen.
Irgendwann laesst man das Tal hinter sich und steht auf einer Anhoehe die dann eine gigantische Ebene ueberblickt.
Den genauen Namen der Ebene weiss ich nicht, aber wir haben sie “blue plains” getauft, da wie sonst Berge die Ebene zum Horizont hin blau erscheint. Wenn man dann da oben ueber den Huegel faehrt und das endlose blau sieht, denkt man zuerst man sei am Meer.
Bis einem einfaellt, dass es hier kein Meer gibt.
Schon irgendwie beeindruckend.
Allerdings nur von oben, ist man dann unten angekommen schaut es aus wie jede andere Buschlandschaft hier auch und die Strasse fuehrt schnell nach Grootfontein. Unserem letzten Halt vor Afrika.

Wir haben die Nacht hier am Maori-Camp verbracht. Und zum ersten Mal seit wir in Afrika sind wurden wir (endlich!) von schreienden Kinderhorden begruesst. Die sind mit uns und um uns rumgerannt, waehrend wir erschoepft die Sandstrasse hochgefahren sind.
Das Lachen der Kinder hier hat etwas unglaublich befreiendes, erleichterndes und vor allem belebendes.
Irgendwie macht es mich gluecklich, dieses Lachen zu hoeren und zu sehen. Die “Hello! Bye Bye!” Rufe, die einfach voellig unschuldig aus reiner Freude ueber die Verrueckten die da Fahrradfahren sind.
Das Camp ist dann wieder einer dieser Mikrokosmen, die Besitzer aus Deutschland. Wunderbar. Wir hatten eine grossartige Zeit da, ein noch besseres Elandsteak und eine kostenlose Uebernachtung.
Irgendwie ist schwer zu beschreiben, was eigentlich besonders an diesem Ort war. Ich schaetze der Besitzer mit seinen fuenf Hunden ist einfach ein Unikat.

Am naechsten Morgen haben wir dann noch Fotos gemacht, vor dem Kindergarten, dem seine Frau (Paedagogin) hier betreibt. Klasse Sache uebrigens. Die Kinder lernen hier schon in diesem Kindergarten Englisch, was ihnen zumindest die Chance gibt spaeter was halbwegs anstaendiges zu machen. Die Bildungs- bzw. Aufstiegschancen gehen hier gegen Null.

Und dann, nach einem letzten Hinweis darauf, dass an der Veterinaerstation “das echte Afrika” losgeht, waren wir wieder auf der Strasse. 130km vor uns bis zu besagter Station, die Strasse auf 200km gerade durch den Busch, keine einzige Kurve.
Das war, gelinde gesagt, Nerven aufreibend. Das einzig beeindruckende die Zahl der Roadkills auf der Strasse…
Kurz vor Daemmerung haben wir dann die Grenzstation erreicht. Mitsamt Schlagbaum und Camp auf der europaeischen Seite von Namibia. Wir haben entschieden diesen gewaltigen Schritt fuer den naechsten Morgen aufzuheben, damals noch halb ironisch, da sich Grenzen ja meist als willkuerliche Linie in einer aehnlich bleibenden Umgebung herausstellen.

Der naechste Morgen brachte dann die Erleuchtung. Auf der anderen Seite geht tatsaechlich “Afrika” los. Allerdings nicht so, wie es uns weisgemacht wurde.
Es ist dort nicht dreckiger und chaotischer, ganz im Gegenteil. Im Unterschied zu den letzten 200km ist das Gras am Strassenrand gemaeht, eine Allee fuer etwa 5km gepflanzt und der Busch gerodet. Es ist gepflegter als suedlich, wo gigantische Farmen ihren Busch bis an die Strasse wuchern lassen.
Wo es allerdings stimmt ist, dass es hier auf einmal leben gibt. Ueberall laufen Menschen an der Strasse, Lehmhuettenagglomerate schmiegen sich in Maisfelder. Alles in allem wirkt es sehr idyllisch.
Und die Menschen: Es gibt hier keine Weissen mehr (zumindest nicht, dass man sie sehen wuerde), aber die Schwarzen sind genauso freundlich und froehlich wie gewohnt.
Ueberall wird gewunken, gepfiffen und gerufen. Wir sind aus dem zurueckgruessen gar nicht mehr rausgekommen – und man glaubt es nicht, aber es wird auf Dauer echt anstrengend.
Ausserdem waren hier wieder Kinder. Gott ich liebe diese Kinder. Bettelarm, in zerrissener Kleidung springen sie aus dem Busch, rennen mit und rufen ihre drei Worte Englisch. Jedes dieser Kinder zwingt mich zum Laecheln, verdraengt die Gedanken ueber abschaeulichen Gegenwind und Huegel und Erschoepfung (es war an dem Tag wirklich schlimm).
Leider kann die Freude dann auch schnell einen Daempfer bekommen, wenn die Kinder ein Dorf weiter nicht mehr “Hello! Bye!” schreien sondern “Money! Sweets!”. Wieder zwei Kilometer weiter kann es wieder anders rum sein.
Wie auch immer, an dem Tag hat mich nur noch der Wille nach Rundu zu kommen – trotz all der Widrigkeiten – und dieses Kinderlachen getragen. Als wir da waren, nach 143km neuem Streckenrekord (und das bei diesem schlimmen schlimmen Gegenwind!), war ich echt am Ende. Es war schon lange dunkel und wieder ging diese biblische Suche nach dem Nachtlager los.

Drei Abweisungen haben wir bekommen, bis ich zufaellig in einem Guesthouse gelandet bin, das nicht von Touristen sondern von der lokalen Bevoelkerung verwendet wird.
Der Ort ist super! Abends wird da gekocht, Fussball geschaut, Bomben Stimmung und super liebe Leute. Nicht dieses steife, Touri-Lodge getue. Alle wohnen da in so einer Art umgebauten Vereinsheim am lokalen Fussballplatz und irgendwie ists einfach cool. Noch dazu natuerlich billig
Wir haben hier entschieden, dass wir diese Art “Local-Lodges” oefter suchen muessen.

Gut, damit waere es geschafft. Wir sind nach vier Gewaltmarschtagen in Rundu angekommen, die Strasse war langweilig, aber die Begegnungen um so besser. Jetzt gehts weiter nach Divundu, von da dann nach Maun und wie wir dann nach Sambia kommen steht in den Sternen, da mir Fabian gerade gesagt hat, dass mit dem Fahrrad durch Chobe strengstens verboten ist.
Mal sehen, ein Plan folgt sicher. Uebrigens haben wir festgestellt, dass die Einreise nach Malawi kostenlos ist (und die Ausreise natuerlich auch), d.h. wir werden ws. ueber Malawi nach Tansania fahren, was zwar evtl. mehr Huegel bedeutet, dafuer aber einen Stempel mehr, keine Grenznaehe zum Ostkongo und v.a. eine Fahrt durch das hoechstgelobteste Fahrradland von Afrika (so kommts mir zumindest immer vor).

Bis zum naechsten Mal, ich schaetze mal Maun wenn wir Lommy wieder treffen (wollen).
Cheers,
Fabian und Tim

We left Otjiwarongo on April 2nd everything else than early. It took us ages to say goodbye to the Frauschers and before we left town we had to sign the “Book of prominent People” at the local Crafts, Guns and Ammo Shop. For some reason the other autographes were mainly done by Namibian politicians and british princes but.. oh well. At least we’re officially prominent and v.i.p. now.
The road leading out of Otjiwarongo is everything else than noteworthy, as was the night we spent at some camping ground just outside of Otavi. Fabian had a flat tire the next morning but luckily that was at the gas station so we had an easy time refilling it.

The route from Otavi to Grootfontein on the other side was remarkable. It led in winding curves through a broad valley surrounded by hills on either side. Forests crawling up the steep hills and stone pillars and cliffs in red, gray and brown reaching out of the forest. The bottom of the valley was changing between bush, forest and farmlands. It was just alltogether beautiful.
And once you leave those mountains behind you the road leads up a hill which leaves you above a huge plain covered with bush and farmlands. But most interesting on the first glimpse you would think it’s the ocean!
For some reason the entire plains appeared blue in the same way mountains would appear blue on the horizon leaving the impression of a huge watermass reaching up to the horizon.
Soon later you would realize that an ocean were your road is supposed to be would be rather bad and THEN you would actually find it to be bush. At least if you’re short sighted

The road would then go straight through that plain to the other side, Grootfontein. We spent a night there at Maori-Restcamp. Once again one of those fascinating microcosms(what’s the plural of micrososmos?). It’s owned by a german emigrant and his wife and both of them are best described: unique. I won’t even try to describe them more because I couldn’t do them justice. Just, if you ever happen to get to Namibia, go visit them at Maori Camp and tell them we visited them. You’ll love them.
She also runs a Kindergarden right next to the camping ground were Kids learn English from kindergardenage, thus at least giving them a chance to higher education. That’s also were the amazing Foto was taken.

The next day we set off for the “real” Africa. There is a vetenary fence 130km north of Grootfontein after which Africa is supposed to start. We didn’t believe it and in the evening with an ironic attitude we decided to stay on the European side for one more night before taking the “great step” to Africa.
It turned out to be the first real border I ever crossed.
Now borders generally tend to be arbitrarily drawn lines with the same landscapes on either side. Not so here. But also not as expected.
We were told that everything would get more chaotic, dirty, lively too.

Only the latter was correct. Firstly it was the neatest 5km since probably 200km. The grass next to the road was cut, there was an alley planted. No trash anywhere.
Then clay and strawhuts everywhere. Huddled together amidst cornfields. Everything seemed idyllic. People kept waving and whistling at us, children screaming, laughing and running after and with us.
Those children’s smiles are amazing. They really touch me.
If it gets tough (and that day was tough) it’s the innocent happy laughter of those poor children which motivates me to go on. I’m feeding on their excitement and greetings. And it makes me happy too.
It’s just great to see how happy those kids can be, especially compared to our western kids. And ask me, I would say they laugh differently. Their laughter here seems to be way more energetic, genuine than the ones of our children.
Well in spite of all this euphoria about the great children, this can all turn when they start yelling “Money! Sweets!” instead off “Hello! Bye!”. Everything can change within a few Kilometers.
But still mainly they are great and people very very friendly.

We arrived late that evening in Rundu. The road itself was .. pure horror. 143km long, straight like a line (a total of three bends at angles no bigger then 10 degrees) with extreme frontwind. So far our longest and most intense leg.
And once again we had to start our search for a place to stay at night. For some reason I always feel reminded of how Joseph and Maria searched for a place to stay at night.. mhmm.
We eventually wound up, by accident, in a Lodge for “locals”. That is frequented by black people, not tourists (or white locals which would stay at the tourist places). You know what?
We love it! That place is amazing. It’s like the tiny bungalow next to the local soccerclub, they have a shared kitchen and one bathroom. There’s no goddamn swimming pool and nobody cooks for rich tourists. But everybody gets together in the evenings to watch soccer, chat or eat. It’s amazing and we decided to always look for these places before going to the lodges for camping (which are naturally more expensive with partially unfriendly staff).

So, if our bikes are still there (we left them inside that Guesthouse). We’ll be off to Divundu tomorrow and from there on to Maun. I’ve once again got no clue about what to expect – or rather what to expect.
But one thing I know for shure: Our plans got interrupted once again since we wanted to go through Chobe National Park to Zambia… and today we discovered it was strictly forbidden to go through there on bicycles.
On the other side we now want to extend our tour to Malawi (since Visa are free and it’s said to be amazing AND it takes us away from the east-drk). I guess we’ll just put you up to date when we know what we’re doing..

So long,
Fabian and Tim
View Suedafrika-Namibia in a larger map

Wir sind mit dem Zug von Windhoek nach Swakopmund gefahren. Eine Namibianerin hat uns erstaunt angeschaut: Mit dem Zug? Hier faehrt keiner mit dem Zug!
Tja, so ist es auch. Eine richtige Bummelbahn. Und ein richtiges Erlebnis. Es ist eine Schmahlspurbahn. Eine olle Diesellok, zwei Container-Wagongs, ein Personen-Wagon, ein leerer Wagon und ein weiterer Container-Wagon in dem unsere Raeder waren. Dieser lustige Spielzeugzug fuhr dann ihm wahnwitzig langsamen Tempo durch die Nacht: Fuer 300 Kilometer braucht er 10 Stunden.

Am morgen fahren wir dann die Skaleton Coast nach Norden. Nach unserem Reisefueher hoert es sich eigentlich Spannend an. Es war dann aber eher oed. Einfach ein sehr sehr weiter Strand ohne alles.
Da es weiter im Norden zu massiven Ueberschwemmungen, unterspuelten Pisten und keiner Lebensmittel-Versorgung gegeben ist, sind wir nach einem Rad-Tag von der Kueste ins Landesinnere abgebogen. Die Landschaft ist anfangs sehr Islaendisch (Vulkan-Wuesten-artig mit zugezogenem Himmel, alles grau) wird dann innerhalb von einem Tag zum Afrika-Paradies. Langsam, ganz langsam (in Radgeschwindigkeit gemessen) erkennt man erst ein leichtes gruen im Schatten von Fussballgrossen steinen. Es komen erste Duenen, in deren Windschatten man leichten gruenen Moos erkennen kann. Dann erste Graeser und Springboeke am Horizont.
Die Landschaft schiebt sich weiter zusammen: Huegel, am Horizont taucht der Brandberg auf, ueber ihm tronen die tropischen Nachmittags Gewitter Wolken.
Und dann steht kniehohes Gras, die in der Nachmittagssonne golden leuchten. An den Wasserlaeufen wachsen Savannen-Baeume.
Nachdem wir kostenlos in einer Lodge Campen duerfen, investieren wir das Geld in Wild-Geschnaetzeltes in Kaesesahnesosse an Spagetti.

Die Landschaft entwickelt sich in den naesten Tagen immer weiter. Verwunschene Felsvormationen, Taeler, Blumen, ein wasserfuehrender Fluss.
Am Nachmittag kuendigt sich ein Gewitter an. Wir fahren weiter. Mit dem Wissen, dass es keinen Camping oder Lodge geben wird. Wir sind mitlerweile in Elephantengebiet. Das viele Wasser fuehrt sie aber in Gegenden weit von Menschen enfernt. Eigentlich schade, erlaubt es wohl aber doch wildes Campen (im Caprevi werden wir sie dann wohl zu sehen bekommen)
Der Himmel zieht dich im Laufe des Nachmittags immer weiter zu. Von allen Seiten. Blitze zucken am Horrizont, man sieht Starkregengebiete. Wir verpacken alles Wasserdicht, hohlen Regenjakcken raus. Doch genau ueber uns regnet es nicht. Selbst wenn wir auf regennasser Piste fahren. Dann kurz vor Sonnenuntergang erreicht uns die Gewitterfront von allen Seiten mit Platzregen. Hinter uns faerbt sich der Himmel knall Rot, waehrend wir in eine diefe dunkelheit fahren. Blitze erlaeuchten immer wieder den Himmel. Die Piste steht komplett unter Wasser. An einer Kreuzung soll sich eine Wildlife-Station befinden. Wie weit wird es sein?! Der Busch um uns herrum steht Knoecheltief unter Wasser.
Unter der Regensicheren Veranda der vom WWF unterstuetzten Station bauen wir das Moskito Netz auf.

It’s been a time (or at least it appears to us to have been a while) since the last report and of course there’s a lot to tell you again. So just keep on reading.
As said (and that’s pretty much the only thing about our last plan that survived) we took the train to Swakopmund the evening we posted the last text. The ride was.. well interesting. A Tokio-Action-B-Movie running on onboard tv, the train except for us, one drunk and three sober Namibians empty, 1 passenger compartement, three for cargo (one of them carrying our bikes). The train crept through the desert at 7mph and we arrived at Swakop at 6a.m. We spent two hours waiting for the depot to open and then.. finally! We were on the road again.
The road out of Swakop north takes you up the famous Skelleton Coast National Park. Our Lonely Planet Guide was so enthusiastic about it we were imagening the most fantastic coastal beauty there could ever be. Not.
The Skelleton Coast up to Hentis’ Bay has greatest potential to be the most boring place on earth. Okay, that’s perhaps a little exaggerated (I hear the midwest is said to be real bad) but there’s literally nothing. It’s permanently gray. The sky is gray and grizzly, the ocean is gray, the rough sand is gray, the horizon is gray, the people are gray (or appear to be gray), the houses are gray. That’s about it. It’s vast and open and – you can’t say it often enough – gray.
It does have a certain beauty to it but it quintessence it’s just boring. It was the first time since Germany I started listening to music while cycling.

Anyway once we arrived in Hentis’ Bay we had decided not to proceed on our former plan up the Coast for another 300km. At the tourist information they had also told us that the road up there was totally destroyed by heavy rainfalls and the rivers too flooded for cyclists to cross (we later discovered that we’re better at crossing rivers then 4×4 cars). So we turned to Uis, 50 km onwards into the desert and things kept slowly changing.
First you would get a hint of green in the shade of a dune, then you would see a patch of grass in the shade of a larger dune and eventually without a real border the desert changed into an endless and lush grassland. The grass has those silverish tops that will reflect the light of the setting sun and then the whole land, 20km of rolling hills will gleam in a silverish golden light. It’s just amazing. The country is spotted with small rockformations and bushes, in the distance you will have Springboks grazing. You could just stare there, gazing at the scenery for days probably.
That is if you weren’t a cyclist who has been going on gravel roads for 80km now and is scenting a steak only 10km ahead. That’s what we got then, a steak and free camping in honour of our effort at the great Brandfontein Rest Camp in Uis. The owner was an amazing person. This only ment positively: He looked like a mixture of a pirate and Indiana Jones. The one stereotype look you would imagine if asked to picture a white bush adventurer.

The next day we were on our way up to Twyfelfontein (known for World Heritage Rock Engravings and a petrified forest), some 140km up north west. The road was still gravel and got continually worse (this goes without saying until Khorixas). That day took us through the amazingly lush desert and half desert. We were often told they hadn’t had such amounts of rain in Namibia for years but we (and everybody else) loves it. As said, the desert is green. Covered in grass – it’s hard to imagine this place actually being desert.
The end of the day we encountered our first live rain, that is without any cover (except for rain coats). We were riding up that seemingly endless hill, it grew dark in front of us. It grew dark in the south, in the east, in the west. And with saying dark i mean pitch dark, almost black. Were it grew dark we could see downpours all around us. The gravel road we were travelling on was soaked wet. The bush on both sides was flooded up to your ankles.
The only place it wasn’t raining? Right above us. For some reason we managed to travel in the only corridor it wasn’t raining for some 5kms.
And then our luck stopped.
It was growing dark, we didn’t have a place to sleep yet – only heard about a conservacy office some 5Ks ahead. Now coming to the think about the situation.. no Fabian was not pregnant and there were no angel choires singing. BUT: When we finally arrived the extremly friendly (!) officials allowed us to put up our tent on the porch. A porch with a roof for that matter so it was actually good. And there were donkeys and dogs and zillions of bugs.. but no shepperds. Oh well..
We had a great night there, only interrupted by the donkeys running around in the thunderstorm and around the tent (I’m convinced they actually tried to kill us but didn’t find us in the tent..) and swatting at the bugs.
The following day took us finally to Twyfelfontein. This is particularly interesting because we expected Twyfelfontein to have a shop. We were told so and well it did have a shop. So leaving Uis the day before we had bought supplies for two days although we only needed 1.5 days to Twyfelfontein where we would resupply.

So we wanted to resupply in Twyfelfontein. After crossing the last river we reached the camping ground we wanted to use as basecamp for expeditions to the famous rock engravings, petrified forest and so on. They wouldn’t offer prepared food there. Then we rode 6km on sand (we were exhausted by then) to the Lodge. They wouldn’t let us put up our tent there and wouldn’t sell food. We picked up a ride on the most rundown truck i’ve ever seen to the local workshop and village. They wouldn’t let us put up our tent since it’s conservatory area and you’re only allowed to camp at designated camping grounds.
So another 6km on the sandy road back to the expensive camping ground. We checked in, fatalistic and in bad mood, so fed up we didn’t give a damn about the rock engravings anymore (and we had seen some of them at the lodge anyway). And then.. we made our way to the shop to buy dinner.
That said, we arrived at the shop. I will now list their entire inventory:
Canned Fish
Canned Jam
Canned Fruit
Canned Chakalaka
Four Potatoes
Several bottles of Booze

That’s it. They wouldn’t sell us the potatoes so we bought two cans of Chakalaka, two cans of Fruit and two cans of jam (assuming it was different fruit). Cost: 10 Euros / 100 N$ / 14USD
And it didn’t get us saturated! En bref: We ran out of food. Or rather out of basics. We had two cans of jam remaining, two cans of Chakalaka, a little cheese, some sausage. We would have survived to Khorixas but it messes with morale. We left Twyfelfontein at six o’clock the next morning, waited for enough light to cross the river and never thought about the goddamn rock engravings again.
Seriously. If you’re travelling by bicycle, know it’s some 100km to the next shop (on gravel road) and you’ve got nothing reasonable to eat you don’t start thinking about world heritage. Your entire mind will be focussed on gathering enough energy to get you through the day.
20km outside of Twyfelfontein (the place is amazingly beautiful but it became a synonym for bad roads, high prices and NO FOOD) we found a shop. At the t-junction to the road which runs from Torras Bay to Khorixas there was, totally unexpected, a shop. And best of all: It sold rice and cookies and coke and everything we’ve been looking for (except for bread) and thus lifted our spirits.
We thoroughly needed that to because the road ahead was about to be the worst I’ve experienced on the whole trip so far. Either we had strong front wind, the road was so rough over it’s entire width you could only go on walking speed or it was so sandy you couldn’t go faster anyway. That day was all together really messing with my head.
We did reach the petrified forest and it was amazing but we were mainly focussed on reaching Khorixas, buying food, reaching tarred road. The day continued, everything got even worse (as far as possible) but then, around 4 p.m. our luck finally changed for the best.
We were about to cross that river, standing there unsure whether we should unpack the bikes or just push them through, when that truck stopped. They were moving furniture from somewhere to Otjiwarongo and strapped to the cargo area was a leather couch. And well.. they offered us a ride across the river.
We asked them if they would take us to Khorixas and thus got a 25km lift on a leather couch through the pouring rain in Namibia, bikes at our feet. It was amazing. Not like I would have ever imagined African rides. I did imagine clinging to the cargo platforms in shere terror. But I never expected to sit on a leather couch. And then we arrived – finally – at Khorixas! It was amazing. We decided to stay there for one rest day, had several nice talks with guests and locals. And I for my part an “Erdinger Weissbier”! That did it. The day was saved.

Now I don’t always want to write about negative encounters and I’ve got in mind to publish an article showing all the people that helped us, describing when and where and just saying thank you. But this one I am going to describe now is remarkable for me as a German and in the end turned to be nice too.
Just note that we have at least as many positive conversations and encounters as negative ones and people in general tend to be very friendly around here.
This one for that matter isn’t even about locals. It’s about tourists. German tourists.
The second day at that camping ground/lodge a german bus party arrived. I hadn’t ever wasted a thought on german bus partys being in Namibia and I was struck by shock when I saw that bus arriving, vomiting out the tourists in trekking sandals… wearing socks! No kidding! They were actually wearing socks, light cargo clothing and started taking pictures of the lodge. That was while the sun was still shining and for that matter: That day there was a blackout in Khorixas, so there was no artificial lighting, no water running, no cooking, no internet and so on and so on.
Now as typical for german tourists they would start complaining. Why there is no food prepared for them although the lodge knew they would arrive at 7p.m., why there is no water, no air conditioning, etc. etc. We sat at one of the tables next to the pool (!) writing our travel diaries. For some comic reason we had just been writing about luxury and the way you appreciate it while cycling when those tourists arrived. We had a good laugh at the situation.
An hour later we were sitting at the same table, headlamp on because it was getting dark, eating dinner. Eventually that elderly german bus party couple joined us and started lamenting about the horrors of travelling in Namibia for 30 minutes straight. For some reason I couldn’t stop grinning but eventually it did get annoying. Fabian got up, told him he was fed up with all his complaining and left the table.
I then took the chance to try turn his mind. It’s easy to complain if you spend a lot of money on your holidays. But I guess you can’t justify yourself anymore if somebody, 40 years younger than you, tells you how great life is. How things get tough if you hadn’t had a shower for four days, are stuck without water in the desert and are struggling in the burning heat (that with the water might have been a little exaggerated but it did it’s part). We kept all discussing this for a while, him picking out new complaints and I would always find a) a situation in which it had been worse for us and b) explained how we survived it by shere optimism. Believe it or not, that guy apologized later that evening for all his complaining and seemed to have though a little more about where he was and what privilege it is to be there.
Now what I learned from this was two things: Firstly, I have a new Hobby. Convincing frustrated tourists that they are damn privileged to be there and should look on the bright side of life is great fun. Especially if you’re a cyclist and your argumentation has so far proven to be undisprovable.
Secondly I have become a genuine optimist within three months of cycling here. I used to make fun of my mother for being one of those “hardcore optimists” always trying to find the bright side. Down here you wouldn’t do a 100km without a good portion of optimism and well.. That’s what happened. I would never have admitted it two years ago. But I am a real optimist now. If I start being sad, I stop being sad and be awesome instead! (Barney Stinson)

Okay last thing: After Khorixas we did some 130km by front wind to Outjo, thus setting a new personal record. From there it was 72km to Otjiwarongo where we are now. At the border we met (I think we mentioned that) Ernst and Hildegard Frauscher. They helped us finding our way around and gave us their buisenesscards, if we ever come to Otji or otherwise need help we should call them. Now at that time we never intended to go there but things changed and now we ended up visiting them here. They are great!
We are/were staying at there place near the “center” of the town. We have real beds, a shower with shampoo and fresh towels (in my case that’s the first time in 25 days my hair got in touch with “hair soap”), we got our laundry done, internet and two warm meals a day. If we didn’t have a date in Maun on April 16 I would never leave here again!
Now there’s more to be said about Otji and what we saw/experienced here but I’ll write that in another report, another time. Just as a cliff hanger: We got business cards sponsored by the owners of Studio 5, a gay couple that is so unique we could write an entire report only on those two. We learned a lot about local history, society and racism. The latter of the three is a very interesting topic in these parts because it is omnipresent (or appears to me so) and it’s “lived” in a totally different way than in Germany. I intend (sorry for all the promises, but I WILL write them eventually) to write one Post on the observations on that topic as soon as I’ve collected enough… experience with it. I don’t want to write hastily on this so I guess it will have to wait a while. That said, it’s very interesting and to me extremly irritating.

Now, the last words: Our plans for the coming days. We’re going to head north to Rundu at the Kavango river from where we will turn east into Caprivi District. We will cross the border to Botsuana at Mahango National Park, go south again past the Okavango Delta to Maun, where we will meet the Tour d’Afrique and upload another text (at the latest). That’s some 900km, we’ve got 14 days left, starting tomorrow. I guess we can do it.

Cheers,
Tim