It is 5am when the alarm goes off. Helga and I almost bump into each other head first from the noise of the alarm which we are no longer used to. It at least makes sure that we are immediately wide awake. We slowly walk towards the kitchen, press the coffee machine to life and gather the last clothes and things that need to go into the car. An hour later we drive in a convoy from the courtyard towards the Tankwa Karoo desert.
We are being separated from James when we run into an old militairy truck with dead batteries who is also on its way to AfrikaBurn. Helga and I stop to help them. With a set of starter cables we try to boost the batteries, but when I see the wires giving off smoke I quickly pull everything loose and tell them that we cannot take any risks here. They will have to find another truck to help them out. They look disappointed, but they understand. The owner of the truck tries to convince me again that is a converted 12v system, but I won’t budge. We have too much to lose. We get into the car and start to chase James and his trailer. The road changes to sand, filled with corrugations and loose stones everywhere. The horizon is filled with dust clouds and other people on their way to Burn, one of the largest clouds in the distance will probably belong to James and Yolandi with their heavily loaded trailer. The moment we get off the main road, I have to pull up on the side of the road to let another car pass. When we continue the car pulls me strongly to the left and when I lean out of the window I can see one of the tires getting flat rapidly….Sh*t. Puncture. We put the car on the side of the road and quickly change our tire. We have some experience by now and within no time we are back on the road again towards the entrance of the festival. We are being welcomed by a merry group of people who are totally into the festival vibe. To our relief we quickly find James and Yolandi, we unload the stuff we brought for the organisation and start looking for a good spot to set up camp.Around us the desert turns into a giant encampment while we are concentrating on setting up our tent. We work until the last light, start again in the morning and are not finished until late afternoon. For our standards we are glamping. In the past 12 hours we managed to build a kitchen, set up a large gas cooker, a braai and set up a large tent from scratch to protect us against the sun, wind and sand. Both our cars are parked next to the tent for extra stability and kind of gives the idea of two sundowner decks. I ride around on a bicycle and plough through the desert sand. Most of the ground looks like a solid mass, but some places are rougher and the sand seems to come out from underneath. I’m amazed by all the bedouin style tents, the strange (mutant) vehicles and the artworks that were all transported over the same road we came from and are now built up to be looked at and burned at the end.
It’s the middle of the night when I lift my head of the pillow. I crawl out of bed on my hands and feet and look through the window of the narrow little room we sleep in. Through the cracks in the single glass window I can smell burned plastic. My eyes slowly adjust to the darkness and the vague outlines outside form recognisable shapes. A Landrover Defender is parked in the courtyard. The car sits heavy on its leafsprings and leans slightly backwards. I try to look through its windows, but I can’t make out very much since the inside is meticously packed top to bottom. Next to the car is a large open trailer. It has been packed to the brim. My hands slide over the wet window-frame and I have to wipe away the moister on the glass to see more. By now, my eyes are fully adjusted to the dark. Our car is parked in the corner of the courtyard, surrounded by walls and a gate. We are also a bit heavier packed, but you can hardly see this through our closed off windows.
I peer in the distance where see the glow of a small fire. The house we’re staying at is located next to a small “park”, more like a patch of grass. During the day people collect rubbish from the city, to burn on the grass at night to get a little warmth. It’s a very cold night and I hope they collected enough rubbish to stay warm. I let go of the window-frame and feel my way back to my pillow. My head falls onto it and I hope to catch my sleep again soon. After we approached the organisation of AfrikaBurn, Helga and I managed to be able to buy tickets through the re-selling of the tickets. Our enthusiasm went through the roof and we immediately changed our itinerary to accomodate this detour. We get the opportunity to stay with James and Yolandi in the days before AfrikaBurn. We met them when we stayed in Cape Town a few weeks earlier and they are also going to Burn. James and Yolandi are both industrial designers and they totally fit in hip Cape Town as we came to know and appreciate it.James takes this AfrikaBurn “project” very serious, as he does with all the projects they take on as a company. He puts his staff and workshop to use to make this a memorable festival for all of us. The fully packed trailer and cars are a result of this. We are taking everything to build a huge tent made out of fabric, wooden poles and rope, we are even making a kitchen and we’re taking 8x25L jerrycans with water. By bringing some stuff for the AfrikaBurn organisation, James managed to get us early access tickets. We leave one day before everyone else and this means we have one more day to make our camp before 12.000 people come hurdling in.
Langebaan, a sleepy town close to Cape Town. Nothing happens here until the wind picks up. When it does, it seems like everyone drops what they’re doing and head towards the water.
Langebaan lies next to a shallow bay which is surrounded by low dunes. When there is wind, it is the most ideal place for kite and wind surfing. In the few days we spend here there was no wind unfortunately…the sun is blazing on our tent and after two days we give up. Cederberg, April 11, 2016A small patch of green finds it way through the small valley, the rocks are grey coloured and made out of granite. A farm has camping and mainly has climbers around. We find ourselves a spot next to a large rock and surrounded by climbers and boulderers we share stories around the campfire. The next morning, armed with a bouldermat, we are starting our search for some good routes. We don’t have to walk very far…We hang around for a few days and leave to drive towards Wuppertal and Ceres. Why down and not up towards Namibia? We got tickets for Afrikaburn!
The neighborhoods we drive through show us a wide variety of colours. The brand new highway we drive on splits the suburb in two. We see kids play soccer on the side of the road where a sign tells us we are allowed to drive 120 km/h…sheep, goats and cows all seem to look at the same thing: the patch of grass on the other side of the road. A large sign tells us not to stop on this road, and if you really have to stop call the police for assistance.
We’re driving towards a large city, a gust of wind picks up a variety of white and grey plastic bags and blows them over the road and into the streets. We get in behind all the small city cars and manoeuvre our way through the small streets of Capetown. We’re invited by a scouts organisation to camp on one of their campsites. This campsite is on top of a hill called Signal Hill which basically divides the city in two. From the hill we can walk to the city in about 20 minutes. The caretaker of this property is the well known South African Braam Malherbe. Braam is a adventurer, a conservationist and multisporter. Recently he ran the total distance of the Chinese Wall, 89 marathons, a marathon a day. He also walked north to south on the Northpole and is currently in the preparations of his next trip: The Cape to Rio sailing trip, but rowing the entire distance. I feel excited to finally meet someone who has taken adventure travel to a model in which he can provide for himself and his son. We seem to be on the right track because we meet a lot of interesting people over the next few days.
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Helga slams the car door shut with a loud bang. Sweat trickles down her forehead and her breathing is rushed. I react to the bang, I let the clutch come up and we immediately start moving. We can hear the branches swishing around us when we drive through the fruit trees. When we reach the main road we can finally pick up the pace. A few days earlier we heard that one of the roads leading us out of Montagu will be closed entirely due to roadworks. This road is our only way of getting where we want to go without having to drive many more kilometres.
When Helga’s breathing is back to normal she starts to prepare for her role as navigator. She suddenly looks at me and asks: “Where are the maps?” I try to divide my attention, not my strongest skill, and wreck my brain where those maps are while driving through a busy pass. I can see both of us running out of the small reception area while the sprinklers try to liven up the sad looking grass and we try to avoid getting wet. We’ve used the maps to get information from the owners of the campsite, who just recently moved here from Botswana. The maps are probably still there…At the same moment I can tell that Helga has reached the same conclusion. This is one of those moments where you wish the cabin of the car was a bit bigger. We make a u-turn and pass the long row of cars trying to get out of town while we drive back to the campsite where we eventually find our precious maps. We now know the way and decide to try our luck again. We end up being one of the last cars to get through before they close the road to start the explosions to improve the road. We are very lucky, but it still takes about 20 minutes before Helga talks to me again. We are now on the most southern point of the continent of Africa: Cape Agulhas.
Stellenbosch March 24, 2016 Even though we’re 10.000 km from home, we sometimes feel like we’re at home. In Montagu we met some climbers: Canadian Becky and South African Johann. They invite us to their home in Stellenbosch, an offer we don’t have to think on for very long. Over the next few days we stroll through pitoresque Stellenbosch with friends, we run, climb, go to pubs and walk through Franschoek NP.
We decide to adjust our route. Change, things continuously go differently than we’ve had planned. Helga dislikes it. For me it’s a way of life. Close to your self, survive, judging situations day by day, checking priorities and choose. And then to see whether it was the right choice, deal with the consequences and on to the next travel day. It’s the beginning of September and the summer starts here in Africa. We can feel it starting to be hot and dry. The wind starts in the afternoon and blows warm air past uncovered limbs. Our skins are dry and our lips cracked.A couple of weeks ago our air conditioning broke down. The windows from our car are opened as far as possiQble and a thick layer of dust has gathered on the inside of the whole car. The dashboard, the doors and the insides of the windows, all covered in dust. The wind seems to help a bit, but not really. Harare, the capital city of Zimbabwe has problems with unpredictable and recurring protests. In Mozambique is tension between the government and the opposition which causes instability in the middle of the country. The far north and south still seem safe, but the travel advice has changed to negative a while ago. We are on our way to Malawi and when we have a look at the map we decide to travel through Zambia. From Zambia it is easy to drive into Malawi and since we will be there before the raining season hits, we can still visit South Luangwa National park.It’s early in the afternoon when we drive into Lusaka, the capital city of Zambia. A while ago we found a bumpersticker which pretty much sums up how we feel about driving through a city: “ I’d rather be lost in the woods than found in the city”. Not that we really have a choice, since it’s time for some repairs on the car. We talk to some people in Lusaka and finally we feel we’ve found a decent mechanic in town. We drive through the city, turn off the main road and end up in a dodgy suburb. A long wall has been erected in between the low buildings and has been painted red and white, although it has clearly seen better days. When we drive up the heavy metal doors swing open and we drive onto a courtyard covered in oil residue. Our car window is open and I can hear our tires sticking to the ground. A mechanic points us towards a corner where we can park the car.I walk into the office where three middle aged men, who clearly enjoy all that life has to offer, stare at me incomprehensibly. There is one desk, one guy is sitting on an old desk chair, while the others pulled up two different chairs. The guy in the desk chair seems most likely to be highest in the hierarchy. I turn towards him and start by casually dropping some names before I start with what I came to ask. From the corner of my eye I can see that the man slides a small gun, which I recognize as a 357 short barrel, under a newspaper. I don’t really pay attention to this and tell him that we would like to have our oil changed and that we have some other small repairs. I also tell him that I will be present to assist and that we have all the parts ourselves. The man leans back in his chair and shouts something intelligible from the office. Immediately three guys, in what once were blue coveralls come running. In Zulu he gives them instructions and as soon as he’s finished they turn around and walk towards our car. I quickly follow suit and reach the car together with them. We open the bonnet and the workmen divide themselves around the car. I’m a bit nervous and try to keep an eye on everything that is going on. The first thing that happens is that I see one of the guys unscrewing the fuel filters, which I told them was not necessary as I already did that myself. The next thing is when someone else tries to unscrew the oil sump with the wrong size spanner.I can feel the last bit of control slip through my fingers and decide to step in. With an emotional undertone in my voice I shout: “Stop, stop, stop!” I can feel myself relax again when the guys put their tools away and gather around the hood of the car.“I don’t know what your supervisor told you guys, but we’re doing an oil change, we’re cleaning the air filter and we’re greasing all the grease nipples. That’s all! I am a mechanic myself, so I just need one guy to help me here.” After this, two guys leave and start working on some other cars. The mechanic who I am left with, takes the air filter out of the car and walks away with it to clean it, I presume. In the meantime I do all the other stuff that needs to be done. When he comes back, he hands over a splotchy grey air filter. I take a look at it and wonder about the colour differences. I ask him to take me to the compressor and see that he used a loaded paint gun to “clean” the air filter. Sniffing the air filter the distinctive paint smell fills my nostrils. “ So, that’s how you do it in here in Africa,” I tell him while I keep the air filter in front of me. “ You spray the filter full of paint so that you make sure the customers have to come back at some point.”. Filled with anger I walk into the office where the three men are still sitting. Nothing has changed and they are still happily chatting. I throw the air filter on to the desk and the paint and dust spill out of it. “ Look at this, one of you mechanics sprays my air filter with a paint gun! What a joke!”He shrugs, calls down the mechanic and has an animated conversation with him. I step back out of the office and tell him that I don’t need the help of his guys anymore. I also tell him that I am not leaving without a new air filter. Two hours I wait for it in protest right in front of his office, but eventually we drive out of there with a brand new air filter and a car that still works. Very tired now I look at Helga and say: “ this is just an absurd story. I just feel sorry for the guys who work there, they really should go to school or be properly trained by someone. This whole company will not survive like this. What a bust.” The next moment which comes to mind clearly is when we are driving out of the city. We had been busy for two days to get everything organised to finally leave Lusaka behind. A wide stream of cars takes us through the inner city and every 30 meters or so we have to stop. It always happens that there is someone right there where we stop in the middle of the road selling his goods. For a while it’s welcome entertainment while we have short conversations with the vendors, but soon it starts to get boring. I try to create more distance with the car before me so I can keep driving when everyone stops, but I learn that this only encourages other drivers and in particular minibuses, to get in line before me.Eventually we get to the main road, the aorta of Lusaka and the speed of the cars picks up. Finally making some progress we look at each other: finally, freedom. A black pick up clearly has the same opinion as we seen him zigzagging through traffic. He overtakes us on the inside and disappears out of sight. “ Did you see that?” says Helga. “that guy drives like a mad man.” A couple of kilometers later we find out that his driving didn’t really make the difference he was hoping for when he eventually ends up right in front of us. Luckily we recognize it’s the same car and forewarned is fore armed. The next moment be brakes out of nowhere and I can see the distance between us getting smaller rapidly. Braking myself is of no use, I need to get out of the way. Helga sees it happening, she looks left and says “yes” while I make the quick decision to overtake left and send angry looks to the driver on my right. In the next moment I can see three police officers on the road trying to get through traffic. It is clear that they are aiming for our car and I suddenly understand why the driver in the black pick up braked so suddenly: a speed trap. The road is chaos, I have to switch lanes again and end up in front of the black car. The police officers are not fast enough and before they can stop us we’ve already passed them. There was no way we could’ve stopped. Startled, I look at Helga: “ what do we do now?”The heavy, spirited driver from the black car, who obviously saw everything happen also turns out to have a spirited character. He starts to behave like an officer himself and tells us through his open window that we should drive back to the police at the speed trap. If we don’t, then we will be stopped at the next roadblock as they communicate with each other. It is hard to get out of this discussion and we take a turn to make it look like we’re heading back. Satisfied, the black pick up drives away. Now, Helga takes over the navigation. She leads us through ghettos, dirt roads, dry riverbeds and eventually out of the city. Just after the last city road block we turn back on the main road and 80 km out of Lusaka we encounter our first police check again. Their friendly smiles tell us that luckily, there is no warrant for arrest on a white Troopy and we might have gotten away with it….
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We’re invited by a scouts organisation to camp on one of their campsites. This campsite is on top of a hill called Signal Hill which basically divides the city in two. From the hill we can walk to the city in about 20 minutes. The caretaker of this property is the well known South African Braam Malherbe. Braam is a adventurer, a conservationist and multisporter. Recently he ran the total distance of the Chinese Wall, 89 marathons, a marathon a day. He also walked north to south on the Northpole and is currently in the preparations of his next trip: The Cape to Rio sailing trip, but rowing the entire distance. I feel excited to finally meet someone who has taken adventure travel to a model in which he can provide for himself and his son. We seem to be on the right track because we meet a lot of interesting people over the next few days.
