As I slide down the banister of life.......

There used to be a bit of graffiti in the urinals in the Upper George pub in Halifax : "As I slide down the bannister of life, the Upper George is yet another splinter in my arse".

The above image came to mind last weekend. For Upper George, substitute the town of Otavi. But more of that later. The last 5 days since last writing have gone well, despite Otavi, although I'm getting a bit tired. Can't think why...

I've just arrived in a very pleasant little town called Omaruru, which is about 350 kms from Grootfontein where I last blogged. I cruised the length of the main street and back - there's not much more to the place - and chose a place called the Central Hotel. "Deutsche Kueche" said the sign over the door. It's just like a German boozer. Not surprising, as it was built as a German boozer a little over a 100 years ago.

The rooms are out the back. They are little thatched chalets with all mod cons and set in a lovely garden with a fountain, palm trees, a swimming pool and shady corners for eating and drinking. And all for 300 Namibian Dollars per night. There are 12 and a bit to the pound. That's a lot more than the previous 3 countries but standards are a lot higher here.

After a bite to eat, I asked the receptionist where I could get weighed - I'm looking like someone off the Burma Railway and getting curious - , where I could get a beard trim and where I could find an internet café. The first call at the Apotheke showed that I'd lost 10 kgs in the last 69 days. The barber's was nowhere near where she said. Just as I was looking lost a policeman ran past. People run a lot in Africa. He was going off duty. "Follow me", he said. Santos the policeman, who may be reading this, - Hi, mate ! -  is from Walvis Bay but has been posted to Omaruru. As we walked he gave me some handy tips on avoiding a mugging in Walvis Bay. He then invited me into the police barracks dorm ,where his mate had just woken up, while he changed into his civvies: jeans and T shirt. It's an old colonial building in a German style. You could tell it was German from the rock- solid original door and window frames. Strangely he used an abandoned window frame, minus glass, as a ladder to get his T shirt off a high shelf, its glazing bars still strong after all these years. There were several policemen in there and stuff everywhere. From there we went to the barber's and then he dropped me off here at the internet place. So, thanks, Santos. You are never alone for long in Africa...

But back to where I left off in Grootfontein

Last Friday night I retired to the hotel bar/restaurant for a quiet night. After a bottle of Windhoek Bitter and some athletics on TV from London, the lad I'd got acquainted with at the internet café turned up with his fiancée. Petrus is the Grootfontein hooker and likes to talk, especially sport, and drink. His fiancée is very pretty and likes to dance. We had a long session and I went to bed about 10 pm, late for Africa, carefully avoiding the swimming pool. Petrus said if I stayed another day he would have me round to his place for a barbecue. Sorry, Petrus, if you are reading this...I woke up early on the Saturday morning and thought I'd better move along a bit. Thanks for the invitation though.

The ride to Otavi ("splinter in the arse town") was  a good one. For the first time in nearly 1000 kms I was surrounded by rocky hills and mountains. The road snakes down an empty valley. It's broad at first but gets narrower and narrower. There were no villages this day, just the occasional ranch and some wheat, maize and sun-flower cultivation. You could shoot a western anywhere along this road. There are rocky bluffs, high hills, cacti, desolation, everything you need. At the end of the valley the road squeezes through a gap to the south and another endless plain opens up. This is where Otavi lies.

Now Otavi could enter an ugly town competition and easily get on the podium. Gold, I reckon. It's dominated by a silo, looks like it's been abandoned then given a reprieve, has wide, filthy, dug-up streets and all the buildings look as if they belong in Soviet Russia. I met a nice Australian couple, Keith and Ann, while looking for a B and B. They suggested I go to theirs, which I did. It was OK and in the evening I joined them and some SA tourists in the bar. Keith and Ann like Namibia so much they have a car planted here. We drank some beer together and watched a ferocious and skilful rugby match from Cape Town between two rival "public" schools: Paarl Boys' High School and Paarl Gimnasium.  It's no wonder their national team is so good. "Paarl" is Dutch for "pearl" and also a suburb of Cape Town. It's the place where we watched Nelson Mandela walk out the correctional centre back in 1990 . But I digress....nay, ramble....

About 8 pm I ate a dinner of undercooked chips and, I suspect, undercooked pork steaks. Big ones. Never eat in a dark restaurant. I wolfed the lot without complaining, as I was ravenous. A few hours later, in the middle of the night my alimentary canal started heaving like Mr Creosote's and the rest you don't want to know about. ( For non-Brits, Mr Creosote is a modern-day Gargantua  character from a Monty Python film who was monstrously greedy then impressively ill).

I lay in my room muttering and expectorating for much of Sunday thinking the world and my trip were at an end. But things are never as bad as you think and by afternoon I was well enough to mention it to the owner, Sandra, a powerful lady with a smoking habit. She tried to persuade me I might have malaria, especially as I'd come from the north. Maybe I'd been drinking the wrong bottled water. To her credit, she did give me a roll of luxury toilet paper from her own supply, which I still treasure. And she offered to take me to the doc's the next day at her expense and free accommodation as long as I malingered. I think we both knew where the problem lay .

The human body is a remarkable thing and by the middle of Sunday night my head and various other bits had stopped aching and I felt some energy and will-to-live returning. I left Sandra's place at 6 am next morning and headed for the 24 hour Total garage for supplies of sandwiches and water to get me the 113 km to Otjiworongo. I also got some milk which I mixed with the Muesli I carry, for breakfast.

The day began well as I watched the first 3 ten-kilometer signs go by. By 10 am though, the strongest head wind of the trip got up and I was straining to do 10 kph. I was resigning myself to camping part-way to my destination. There is nothing much between the two towns by way of a bed. By mid afternoon the wind slackened a bit and, with about 50 km to go, Otjiworongo was back on. In the end I struggled in about an hour after the sun had set. By then I had my head-torch on and the wind had dropped completely. There is so much reflective stuff on the back of my bike, including my folded spare Schwalbe tyre, which is visible from the moon, that  a rear light would be just a formality.

My luck turned. Within an hour I was sitting down to a delicious family meal with the kind hosts of the Bush Pillow Lodge, and their son, on the outskirts of town. The table, the company and the food were immaculate. I sat, depleted and sweaty, at the head of the table and recounted some of my adventures. There was another paying guest at the table. He'd spotted me on the road earlier in the day while he'd been drilling for minerals between the road and the railway. He was a large, jovial fellow and clearly fascinated by my trip. He even filmed me cycling away next morning. If you are reading this, please message me your name and the names of the kind lodge owners. They've evaporated! And I hope you find what you were looking for under the ground.

Day 68 

Day 68 starts with breakfast at the Bush Pillow. I meet the two friendly Dutch couples who'd directed me to the Bush Pillow the night before. Like many Europeans they'd rented a Toyota 4 by 4 with tents on the roof and had driven up from Cape Town.

From the diary....."It's a superb day. It's cool but the sky is deep blue and the air crystal clear. There is a cold east wind from Botswana ie the east. So, a side wind for me. Once again I call at the filling station for supplies having decided I won't make Omoruru, the next town, in a day It's 136 kms. and I've left too late. Anyway I'm too tired from yesterday. I feel fine to begin with but soon start flagging. I'm still not eating properly. The scenery is great with scattered hills rearing out of the plain. There are lots of wart-hogs grazing on the road reserve. They scatter in panic when they see me and shoot off wildly under the stock fence and into the bush. You wouldn't want to surprise one in a narrow alley. They are built like prop forwards with huge muscular shoulders and arses and with a fearsome look on their faces thanks to their tusks. And they can sprint.

At one point I spot blood on the road and in the distance a parked petrol tanker. It's time for my good deed for the day though at first I'm nervous. The driver of the tanker calls me over. "You help me, Sir?" He's trying to heave a large dead wart-hog into the passenger side of his cab and failing. It's a lift of a good 2 metres. He's already put a plastic bag over its head. Probably that's where it got its mortal wound and he doesn't want too much mess. The driver hauls on its back legs and muggings gets the job off pushing on its chest and front legs. The chest is still hot and rubbery and its bagged face not far from mine. One heave does it though and I squash the beast the rest of the way by pushing the door to. Some blood trickles down the bodywork. "Thank you, Sir," says the driver making an eating gesture with his hand. At least it hasn't gone to waste.

The first sight of Kalkfeld, 70 km from my start, is of dozens of tin shacks. People are sitting around in the yards, which they share with goats, dogs and donkeys. At least one person waves. Two white people have said negative things to me already about Kalkfeld. It's a cross-roads town where 3 dirt roads meet the tarmac road. It's an impoverished dump of a town in a beautiful, peaceful bit of Namibia. I pull in at a concrete block of a shop at what looks like a ex service-station with no pumps. There are people waiting for lifts and just chatting with nothing to do. I have a Coke wondering if it doubles as a B and B. I know there is one here somewhere. I decide to continue

Over a bridge over a dry river bed I come across the B and B on the way out of town The town is a dump but I have a nostalgia to spend one last night in an African settlement. Most accommodation in the towns in Namibia is white owned with white guests. I check in with Theresa the manageress. It's clean and comfortable enough. It's called "The Spot".

I doze in the afternoon then take a walk in the last hour before sun-set. It's a bit like a township from "Of Mice and Men". I walk past the school and some houses and into the bush. There are lots of kids about in dirty, tatty clothes. Some give me a polite "Hello". I must be a strange sight with my daft hat, baggy shorts and bright red face. They are too respectful to show it though. I come across the town cemetery. Some graves are smart, some just a heap of random stones. There is no one around and I take some photos. I make my way back along a maze of dirt paths and tracks to the main road.

I sit out on the patio and read a bit more of "Mill on the Floss", a book I picked up at least 6 weeks ago. The choice of bookshops and books has been minute so you finish up reading new stuff.  Around  6 pm Theresa cooks me a tasty meatball and chips meal. I try a beer but can't finish it. Stomach still not right. I watch Olympic beach volley-ball on the café TV. USA narrowly beat China on Horse guards' Parade in an exciting semi-final. The only other customers are 3 women who share a large bottle of beer and a portion of chips before bidding me goodnight. "

Day 69

More diary......" Night of bad dreams. Also there is a strong wing blowing all night Something in the yard bangs and squeaks all night. Up for 7 am breakfast. Olympic reviews on TV. Away for 8ish Theresa rolls back the security gate for me. The wind is blowing strongly from the east again. It's a fresh one. I'm heading SSW so occasionally I get a slight push. I'm still wearing a pullover, track-suit bottoms and a ruc-sac when I roll into Omoruru at midday. This is a first. I've always been down to shorts and shirt by about 9 am.

The road climbs for 4 or 5 kms out of Kalkfeld. It's only a 65 km day and I'm not feeling especially frisky so I take it easy. After about 30 km I reach a crest and I can see 100 miles to the south, I reckon. The horizon to the south is littered with mountains.  The air is clear as can be. It reminds me of the day I climbed a small mountain in Norway and I could see the Lafoten Islands 150 miles away. It doesn't happen very often!

Two eagles soar not-so-high overhead. I think they are looking for road-kill. I keep an eye on the lowest one in case it fancies me. Unlikely, but I've been buzzed by birds before. Scary!

Then some Kudo run alongside me on the other side of a stock-fence some 50 yds to my right. They are in a mild panic and don't seem to have the sense to cut into the bush.

Finally (on the animal front) I spot my first Meer cats. A group of about 7 or 8 run across the road ahead of me. They look like large rats as they run. They disappear into the bush, except for one, which stays behind and stands up on guard to check I've gone. Without that I wouldn't have known what they were.

The last 20 kms is a lovely, ever so gradual descent on a perfectly smooth road into Omoruru, which is visible down on the plain with about 8 kms to go. There is an attractive rocky peak sticking maybe 1500 feet out of the plain to the NE of the town. If I had a bit more time and energy........"

The rest of Day 69 is spent writing this, dear readers.

It's now Day 70, Thursday 9th August,  and time for lunch. Greetings to Johannes and Monika from Cologne who shared their table with me at dinner last night and at breakfast this morning. Kommt gut nach Hause.

The coast, at Swakopmund, can be reached in two days from here with luck. From there it's only a cock's stride to Walvis Bay. Swakopmund is about 240 kms from here. The first section will be to Usakos, about 90 kms. The next day would then be 150 kms, which is a long stint, but there is a glorious drop of 900 metres, roughly the height of Scafell. Bring it on!