Argentina – Part 1

By Johnie Jonker

During Feb/Mar 2006 a colleague and I had the good fortune to visit Argentina for the installation of observation equipment on helicopters of the La Plata Police Airwing. La Plata is a university town 50km SE of Buenos Aires.

After an uneventful journey via Brazil with an overnight stop at a local hotel prior to getting a connecting flight the following day, we arrived in Buenos Aires from where a pre-arranged shuttle took us to the Hotel Corregidor in La Plata.

Uneventful maybe, but only due to taking precautions prior to leaving home. Brazil being a Yellow Fever zone, requires visitors to be vaccinated against this disease prior to departure from their home country. Not liking needles, I argued that as I am not visiting that part of Brazil where this disease is prevalent – just down the road from the airport as a transit passenger – this injection should not be required. I thought I was making progress with this argument, when the following scenario was explained to me: Upon arrival in Brazil, I am going to be asked to present my Yellow Fever vaccination certificate to the immigration official. Should I be unable to produce this, there are two options: Return home on the next available flight at your own cost, or have the relevant injection administered by a customs official. The thought of the second option somehow made me feel faint straight away and I resignedly went for the injection at my local travel clinic. Admittedly, it did not hurt that much.

Upon completion of our daily working activities at the local airfield – being picked up by the police at the hotel every morning, arriving back at around 4pm – Piet and I had long evenings to discover the town – shops stayed open till 7 pm – and see the sights. We also rarely dined at the hotel, but preferred any of the numerous restaurants in close vicinity.

After the second World War, many Germans (also Italians) left Europe and settled in Argentina, putting up breweries and restaurants. Two streets up from the hotel was one such German restaurant, which we frequented on more than one occasion. The fact that it had a genuine German name and typical beer-related logo did not necessarily mean that anyone working in the restaurant understood a single word of it. Their German was therefore on a par with their English.

Trying to decipher the menu we managed to work out the difference between chicken, beef and fish, but noted that absolutely no mutton was available. This puzzled me, as I distinctly remember attending an event as a student, advertised as an “Argentynse skaapbraai” [Argentinian sheep barbeque], where the sheep carcass was stretched flat and supported diagonally over the fire, almost like one side of a tent. Oh well, maybe a different part of Argentina then, or I was misled.

On our first visit we pointed to an item on the menu and were pleasantly surprised with a really good steak. The waiter fortunately understood what “birra” meant, which helped. Imagine our surprise when we visited the same restaurant a few nights later and ordered the same item, getting something looking and tasting completely different. In an attempt to get to the bottom of this enigma – via hand-signs and our best Spanish – we finally understood from the waiter the following: The previous time we had pointed at this item on the menu, we did so halfway through the description. This time we pointed 4 words on (in the same description). “Eet no same”. Dead right there, mate. Eat was very different.

On another evening, we made a unique discovery. We visited a nice family restaurant (although judging by the age of the patrons, it looked a bit like pensioners day at Checkers) right behind the hotel. What made it unusual was that it had an ENGLISH menu.

Also unique, was that the tables came with complementary peanuts. Roasted, but still in the shell. No provision was made to place the empty shells somewhere, but we noticed shells all over the floor throughout the restaurant. So, blending with the locals, we also tossed the shells over our shoulders as we worked through the contents of the bowl. It felt quite rebellious messing like this and not having to clean up afterwards. Oh, what fun!

Anyway, the mussels – with no garlic – I ordered, were tiny. Like the oysters you get in the tins, easily more than a 100 in a cereal bowl. The taste got a bit tedious towards the end, so we decided that we’ll be looking for a restaurant that serves Mexican food real soon.  

Regarding the language barrier, some keen local (Sefrican) linguists sometimes consider visiting this country for an extended holiday in order to practise their theoretical Spanish. This is not the place to do so, as the language has a large spattering of Italian intermixed. For learning a pure Spanish, Uruguay – just across the river mouth from Buenos Aires – is the better place.

In addition to our evenings out, we had one weekend of intensive sightseeing, and the following two parts describe this.

Part 2 to follow

JJJ…

Argentina – Part 2

March 2006: Buenos Aires

By JJ Jonker  

The hotel concierge explained to us in broken English – Eengleesh, she’s no beeg here – how to get to the bus terminus in La Plata, and which bus to take, so we left for Buenos Aires after breakfast. Busses depart every 20 minutes until 12 pm, and from then on every hour, so no real planning is required. Just arrive at the terminus and get on the first departing bus. It never ceases to amaze me – coming from a country where public transport is not a priority – how well it works in pretty much ANY other place I’ve visited.

Public transport is also very cheap. For this excursion, R9.20 covered a return trip of more than an hour each way in excess of 50km on a good dual carriage road and a very comfortable bus, including reclining seats. This is definitely the way to see Argentina as a backpacker.

When the bus arrived in BsAs, we reported at the Sheraton as per instruction by our concierge to enquire about city sightseeing tours, reserving seats for an afternoon tour. We then walked via a beautiful park to the tourist strip (Florida Street). The park has 200 year+ rubber trees and also Kapok trees with its beautiful pink flowers. Being from Pretoria, it was strange to also see Jacaranda trees so far from home. Subsequently I learnt that this tree is actually indigenous to South America, ours hailing from Brazil. A special enclosed area is provided for dogs – basically a crèche – where for a fee, you “park” your animal under supervision when you go shopping.

The city has a number of these green areas – well-maintained parks with ancient trees – and the odd vagrant sleeping on a bench. The main street, 9 July Avenue (when they declared themselves independent from Spain), is 140m wide. It has two sets of roads running parallel – 6 lanes and 2 lanes – in BOTH directions, claimed to be the widest in the world.

Just below the park is what used to be called the British Clock Tower. This Elizabethan-style 7-storey structure – the Argentine Big Ben – was a gift from the British community of Buenos Aires after building the nearby railroad station complex.

However, after losing the Falklands war, the Argentines were somewhat upset and went on a renaming spree concerning everything British, hence the tower was renamed the Torre Monumental. This differs from our local approach where the renaming spree followed a political victory. Sore losers on the one hand, vs sore winners on the other. Go figure.

The Florida Street area, which is open for pedestrian traffic only, is very viby, with especially leather and wine shops in abundance. A huge range of items is on sale here, mostly well priced even from a South African tourist point-of-view. This is where my colleague Piet Bosch cost me a lot of money.

He managed to get himself invited (or was that “solicited”?) by a marketeer to an off-street factory outlet for leather jackets. I ended up buying a jacket and he bought nothing. Contrary to the sales talk in the street regarding their claim that it will be made within 2.5 hours, this is not valid on a Saturday. It is not quite as cheap as in India, but better made. At least both of us got a hug from the young sales lady after signing the purchase. But as promised, the jacket was ready on the Monday, when Piet and I got on the bus again that afternoon doing the round trip from La Plata to BsAs in three hours, returning with the jacket.

On the way to the hotel to join the tour group, we stopped in the park again and sat on a bench. We were then approached by a very friendly local striking up a conversation by telling us what kind of trees are growing in the park, where to get tourist information, what to see, etc. But as you may well know, you can spot these types – and their mission – a mile off. Usually at your gate, late Saturday afternoon.

He was (as suspected), collecting money. This on behalf of the Argentinean Ministry of Health for their Campaign of National Struggle against Aids and Drugs. He explained that they were caring for 60 AIDS children in a home and that this was the purpose of his fund-raising. Not to depress him totally, we refrained from giving him our local statistics, and contributed happily for his dedication on a Saturday. OK, and also because he knew who Nelson Mandela was. His parting words were ‘Pretoria Forever!’

The bus tour was comprehensive, with a bilingual – English/Spanish – guide. Also on the tour, were two couples from Mexico and Peru, respectively. They acknowledged us when I had to announce where we were from, appearing noticeably puzzled. Possibly by our skin colour, I thought. White Africans?

One of the destinations was La Boca, the Tango district. This consisted of a brightly painted (like the Muizenberg cabanas) corrugated iron village, converted into curio shops. This was typical of how the poor lived way back. Couples demonstrated the tango in the streets, every 50m or so. But other than the touristy image portrayed by the shows, one got the impression that this was a hard life. Almost all the girls had a number of large holes in their black fish-net stockings, giving the dance the image of a subsistence industry. The tango seems very technical, and appears to be some form of competition, akin to ice skating, with definite sequences having to be performed during it. It is not flowing and does not look like fun either. Definitely not Kobus’ birthday opskop [party] at Sarelsrivier. 

This is also where we lost the Mexican couple on the tour. We had good instructions as to how to wander through the village ALWAYS making right turns to get back to the bus, but after ¾ hour plus an extra 10 minutes, we departed without them. Piet and I were in no hurry, but the guide probably had other commitments. Hopefully they got back to the hotel, as they had left their bag on the bus.

 Earlier in the …

Argentina – Part 3

March 2006: La Plata

By JJ Jonker  

It was easy to navigate La Plata on foot using a map from the hotel, as the town is laid out in a square grid of streets and avenues – all numbered – with a few diagonals that run from corner to corner. Wherever the diagonals cross (every 6 streets/aves) there is a roundabout or park with vandalised sculptures and monuments. 

All streets are one-ways, except for the tree-lined main arteries (every 6) with NO traffic signs. Everybody yields (or is supposed to) to the right. So you only slow down through the intersection, check and go. This slows down all traffic to around 40km/h. Unless your mode of transport happens to be the double cab bakkie of the Police Airwing, in which case you don’t slow down. Everyone else must maar look out on your behalf. 

At the top of the town (6 streets up from our hotel), there is a park with a zoo, and we walked up there around 10 am. The surrounding streets are popular for jogging, and a number of people partaking in a road race passed us. The park is well laid out, and appears to be from a more opulent era, with maintenance now sorely lacking. There is an impressive sports complex, including a stadium with a well-maintained pitch. But the buildings are dilapidated, ticket windows shuttered, gates chained up, dry 6-lane looks-like half-olympic size swimming pool, filled in public pool in the park, dirty dam, abandoned/non-operative rental paddle boats, missing plaques and statues, general vandalism, graffiti and even an observatory, which has been closed down.   

The zoo itself has quite a variety of animals, mostly one of each, but we saw lions, tiger, black bear, empty jaguar cage, giraffe, Indian elephant, two monstrous white rhinos (never seen such huge ones before, not even at home), their equivalent of springbok, eland and silver jackals, emus, a wallaby, llama, flamingos, macaws, buzzards, marmoset monkeys and a werfbobbejaan [baboon]. Rubber trees squeeze palm trees to stay upright – reminding one of the trees growing through Inca temple ruins. 

The zoo buildings also are pretty much in need of maintenance. Paving is broken due to tree roots, windows smashed and boarded up, the toilet facilities have no lights, seats or paper, with general upkeep lacking everywhere. 

At lunchtime, a restaurant opens on the pavement outside the zoo. It is literally a take-away restaurant – they take the restaurant away at the end of the day, until next Sunday. 

We unfortunately did not know that this was going to happen, as the pavement was empty when we entered the zoo, and had by that time already consumed a terrible mini-pizza at a kiosk inside the zoo. But the smell was divine, exactly like boerewors. Also just about any cut of meat you can think of, hanging in pieces the size you normally see in a butchery, which is then cut up as per order prior to cooking. Lots of families have lunch here, making a happy noise. 

Police presence is very evident – wearing day-glow orange bibs – patrolling the streets against car-theft. We witnessed a local being arrested right opposite the side-walk restaurant. The perpetrator did not want to come quietly, and the policeman was sitting on top of him, unable to let go to get the hand-cuffs on. It took 3 more officers (one a lady) to get him handcuffed and on his feet, and still he tried to head-butt them. The original arresting officer, once he dusted himself and got his breath back, was physically chased away by the lady officer. She probably correctly understood that he was now going to bliksem [stuff up] the skelm [offender] that gave him so much trouble. He probably did later, when there weren’t so many witnesses around. 

The highest point in town is marked by a traffic island in the middle of the park area with a – as per usual – vandalised, graffiti’d monument. I commented that the moment I see this behaviour at home, I’m leaving. 

Vandalism 

The vandalism came about due to the collapse of the Argentine economy in 2001, when people fearing the worst began withdrawing large sums of money from their bank accounts, turning pesos into dollars and sending it abroad, causing a run on the banks. The government then enacted a set of measures effectively freezing all bank accounts for twelve months, allowing for only minor sums of cash to be withdrawn. 

Because of this allowance limit and the serious problems it caused in certain cases, many Argentines became enraged and took to the streets of important cities, engaging in a form of popular protest – banging pots and pans. These protests occurred especially in 2001 and 2002. At first the cacerolazos were simply noisy demonstrations, but soon they included property destruction, often directed at banks, foreign privatized companies, and especially big American and European companies. Many businesses installed metal barriers because windows and glass facades were being broken and even fires being ignited at their doors. 

The president declared a state of emergency, but this only worsened the situation, culminating in the violent protest of 20 and 21 December 2001 in Plaza de Mayo, where demonstrators clashed with the police, ending with several dead, precipitating the fall of the government. 

In 2002 the peso, which was linked to the US dollar in a 1:1 ratio at the time, was fixed at a 1.4 peso/dollar rate by the banks. In the open market however, within a matter of days the exchange rate worsened to 4 pesos/dollar. 

So practically overnight, the middle class became poor, further fuelling the anger, leading to the trashing of buildings and other public property. In La Plata, there certainly is not much more that could be damaged, so thorough have they been. Some marble statues have only the feet remaining on the base. Bronze sculptures have fingers smashed off, and even Evita’s granite plinth on which her bronze bust is mounted, has been broken. 

The economy has since improved significantly, with the Argentinean Peso trading at ARS2.8/USD during our visit (2006), but not yet to the point where there is money available for the rehabilitation of this damage. 

This lag of replacing luxuries is also …

The theory of evolution

The origin of buildings

[It’s just a theory, really….]

By JJ Jonker

Many years ago, just about right after the coming into existence of man – as in Homo Sapiens – the requirements for survival were very basic. This was well summed up by Maslow (a while later) as depicted graphically below:

Back then, man was mucking about pretty much at the bottom of this hierarchy, slowly progressing to Level 2, where as part of Safety and Security, shelter became an important issue. Primarily from the elements, but also from wild animals and later – following Cain’s poor example – against the attack of other groups wanting his possessions. The last parameter had not changed much over time and we still have the same problem today.

Now, as the anthropologists have discovered, man at the time was a hunter/gatherer. The men hunted, the women gathered. He lived in a cave which gave good shelter against the elements, but  was pretty much a sitting duck once trapped there by the Tsotsis of that time.

This was a major drawback, as he only became aware of any threat once it was upon him, and this was the main reason why a lifestyle change took place – moving into a more open environment. The challenge was now to design and put up a free-standing structure of some sort to provide the required shelter – this in itself being quite an evolution. Lateral thinking, we would call it today.

Once he had cleared the area – so he could see sufficiently into the distance – man reasoned that seeing as he now has this piece of bare level ground, he may as well plant something there. This would reduce his risk in getting killed during a hunting expedition and also extend significantly the time he could sit in the shade of a tree and drink beer.

He started cultivating the soil ploughing with some antelope which he captured and domesticated. Soon he was farming comfortably. Thus it came to be that all the activities on the lowest level of Maslow’s triangle had been accomplished, and it was now time to progress to the next level – shelter.

So he planted some posts interconnected with an inner and outer lattice of green boughs, filling the cavity with rocks. This worked really well in summer, due to the excellent ventilation and flow-through of air promoted by the gaps between these rocks.

During winter however, it was a very different story. The wind came right through these same gaps, and man realized that he needed to update his design in order to eliminate this problem. What to do, what to do …..

Then it hit him. Cowpats. Just pick them up from behind the plough and plaster the gaps between the rocks shut. And it worked real fine. Bear in mind that this came way before the invention of the wheel, so rates as a major discovery.

Seeing as man had used mostly bull dung for this plastering purpose and that the word “house” did not exist yet, he would at the end of a hard day’s ploughing announce: I’m going bulldung now”. Which meant that he was going home to have a beer.

Of course all this happened before man could even write, so this story was told around the fire, generation after generation, and by the time that it was actually recorded in writing, the term “bulldung” had become somewhat corrupted.

This was mainly due to ancient man’s migration downwards through Africa, and the way the colloquial pronunciation varied the further south he went. This is a natural phenomenon and still the case today, e.g. in Gauteng (north) the second vowel is pronounced ê, and in the Western Cape (south) as è. In the same way, “uh” changed to “ih”, and bulldung became bullding).

Through the next couple of millennia – as with everything else – the written language of course evolved considerably, until we arrived at the word we all know today as Building.

So, there you have it.

JJJ…

Carbon Tax

By Johnie Jonker

A report from the Nordic website of ICE News stated the following:

Denmark wants to tax cow farts

The latest climate-friendly tax being proposed in the Danish parliament focuses on the methane emissions that come from cattle when they break wind. The agricultural methane tax is certainly one of the more controversial measures currently being considered by the government.

The Tax Commission, which is behind the measure, estimates that each cow releases around four tonnes of methane each year simply by passing gas. In comparison, the average car emits just 2.7 tonnes of unwelcome emissions per year. Naturally, the Agriculture Council and many other groups have been lobbying hard against the new proposal. For the full report visit:

http://www.icenews.is/index.php/2009/03/03/denmark-wants-to-tax-cow-farts/

This goes a long way to explaining why the implementation of carbon tax on motor vehicles worldwide – and recently also here – has been based on a complete misunderstanding, and should be abolished immediately.

The trouble started due to the different ways in which various regions pronounce the same word, e.g. the fact that although still classified as English, the Queen’s version differs considerably from that of the American and Australian versions, to name but two.

The actual event was a speech made by Bruce Wallaby from PATROL (People Against Taxation, Randomly or Otherwise of Litres) – litres of course referring to the displacement of car engines – in the Australian Outback. For those who are not familiar with this organization, they were previously known as FLOB (Four Litres Or Bust), but once again due to their colloquial pronunciation of this acronym in English, this sounded too much like an unsuccessful venture, hence the renaming.

There is also the theory that the new name was chosen because of the organization’s modus operandi.  Small communities in the Outback were targeted initially with their cause. Due to the absence of soapboxes at these venues (all burnt up for fire-wood) Bruce had nothing to stand on to elevate him somewhat above his audience during these speeches, so he stood on the roof-rack of his 1960s vintage large Nissan SUV.

One of these events was attended by a journalist commissioned by the EU – which has its headquarters in Brussels – on a fact-finding mission regarding pollution causes. This is how it came about that while Bruce was emphasizing exactly what the newspaper report above stated – that pollution caused by COWS is a much bigger problem than that of motor vehicles – Roel Aerts (the Belgian journalist) was jotting down what he heard.

Now, prior to coming out to Australia, Roel had studied some of the pronunciation differences pointed out above, and also some key words. For instance, being from the Flemish part of Belgium, a motor vehicle was known to him as a “wagen”, but he knew that Down Under they would use the word “car” instead.

What he also picked up – sharp guy! – was that the Australians tend to not pronounce the “r” at the end of some words, and also stretch short vowels, so when Bruce mentioned the word “Cows”, Roel heard “Caaes” and translated this to mean “Cars”.

Back home, Roel reported his findings to the EU, resulting in – straight away – carbon tax being slapped on motor vehicles throughout Europe, from where it spread worldwide.

So in fact – and actually what Bruce had said – it’s the COWS and not the CARS that is responsible for the major portion of the world’s pollution.

JJJ…

On Wings of a Trike

By Johnie Jonker

During every holiday, in addition to caravans, a good number of cars tow trailers with motorcycles, quad bikes and boats, to be used at the holiday destination. Not seen recently though, is someone towing a micro-light aircraft.

The one time I do remember noticing one, was when it was behind my car on the way to De Put, my friend Charl’s farm in the Karoo.  De Put is located distance-wise just about dead-centre between Aberdeen, Murraysburg and Nelspoort. This was the first time I had towed over such a distance, but as the trike is designed to fold up compactly, and due to it weighing less than 150kg, quite an easy tow.

First we had to attend to a make-shift landing strip on a salt-pan (32°18’58.2”S, 23°32’53.72”E). 

The trike in the background belonged to a neighbouring farmer. It shared the hangar with an owl, which regularly plastered the wing. 

Oh, the pumpkin? Well, yes. The wind started blowing very strongly in the afternoon, and the upwind wingtip needed to be tied down to prevent the trike from being flipped upside down. The neighbour’s wing we could peg down with a piece of fencing post that was on the back of the bakkie, but all that was left for ZS-WGR, was the pumpkin. It worked just fine.

Some of the farm labourers had flattened the bushes,  although calling the bushes dead sticks, would be more accurate. Taxiing out the farm gate from the garden, was quite a novel experience.  I mean, picture this:  “Please open the gate, son. I’m going for my daily water-point inspection”.

Take-off on the road at the homestead was possible, but landing at the same location not, in spite of Charl having graded the road with a blade attached to his tractor to rid it of loose stones. The Class-C road was just too narrow, with a converging telephone line, middelmannetjie and flood-humps to boot;  the least amount of cross-wind pushed the trike off track when power was taken off during the flare. This possibility fortunately occurred to us prior to the maiden take-off, and the alternative landing spot was prepared the previous day.

Now might be a good time to mention that I have a bit of a reputation. 

Nothing serious, really.  In any event, in spite of my reputation  I had passengers for every flight. As reward, the guys that prepared the runway were offered a flip, but only one accepted. So up we went, with an intercom connection in the helmets to enable pilot and passenger to communicate with each other.  Via the intercom I pointed out the familiar features that my passenger knew from ground level.  However, my headset remained deathly silent. My enquiry whether he could hear me eventually elicited a very high-pitched “yes?”,  squeaked by my witlessly scared passenger.  I realised that the tallest perspective he had ever experienced to date was standing on top of a windpomp platform, hanging on for dear life, looking for missing sheep.

Realising the state of my passenger I returned to base.  Upon being asked by Charl how it was, my passenger very politely, though unconvincingly, responded that it was “good”. When pushed for an answer which spot he liked most, the response was a rather more accurate: “Right here where I’m standing now, sir”.…

Karoo pictures

Pictures by Johnie Jonker

Karoo

Sometimes there is water – even in the Karoo.

Some folks have left, though

A bekslaner  gate (a ‘chin hitter’ would be a fairly accurate translation)

Trusted companion.  Mode of transport.  Grandstand seat. Leisure traveller too.

Local wise man says:  no tube.  Put in as many plugs as necessary.

Local wise man also says:  don’t bother making the plugs neat on the outside.  Karoo bossies will do it for you.

…

Namibia – Part 1

[Namibia tour 2000]

By PG JONKER

[Adapted version hereof published in Leisure Wheels, November 2010.]

[Source: Map data ©2014 AfriGIS (Pty) Ltd, Google]

Cape to Okahandja

Border crossing

It can be considered a strategic error to embark on a Namibia tour on the day after the Western Cape Schools have closed for the winter holidays. This was our folly.  The whole of the Western Cape (and half of the other provinces, it seems) are there.  It’s like a church bazaar on the platteland, (rural area) only there are even more cars.

Our convoy of three vehicles arrives at Vioolsdrift with a queue of cars of way in excess of a kilometre long.  As law abiding citizens should, we join the back of the queue.  We get out our samies and start nibbling away, expecting some forward movement in the line of cars.  After a while we realise that this is not how it works.  No, you’re supposed to walk to the front of the queue with your papers, and join another queue of pedestrians at the administration office.  And we soon notice that the guys in the queue are not as amicable as guys queuing for pancakes at the church bazaar.

In spite of it being mid-winter, the sun starts tugging at exposed skin where we stand in the queue for more than an hour.  Frikkie laments the fact that he had his bakkie serviced before our tour.  If he knew he would have so much time he would have come and serviced his car whilst waiting for the immigration officials.  Frikkie does things like that.

Once at Noordoewer on the Namibian side we are now a lot wiser.  Even before we came to a proper stand still half of our touring party is out of the cars and heads for the immigration offices.  Only to be shooed back by the Namibian official in charge of the logistics.  Here you wait at our car until it is your turn.

The Noordoewer side does not boast a PC to speed things up.  Everything is done by hand.  This whole South African cavalcade is dealt with by two immigration officials.  Two officials also deal with the (non-existing) stream of vehicles leaving Namibia for South Africa.  They have nothing to do, but clearly do not see the value of assisting their hapless colleagues on the other side.  It therefore takes a cool two hours before we are done with the paper work and able to hit the road again.

Ai-Ais

We set our watches an hour back and set out for Ai-Ais with what seems like another hour’s daylight left.    We arrive at Ai-Ais after dark.  The camp site is chock and block full.  It seems like all those who were fortunate enough to be at the border before us also headed for Ai-Ais and got all the good spots.

Following floods in the previous moths we find the facilities no yet fully repaired.  There are also fewer camp sites available.  Those with roof top tents simply make camp in the road.  The best we can do is to gate crash on the personal space of some other campers.

The next day it becomes clear that most people used Ai-Ais simply as a stopover, as the park is considerably less populated by noon the next day.  We stay for two nights.  In spite of the facilities being in a state of repair we enjoy our stay.

On our second night we find Colin starting to experiment with alternative ways to pack his plastic table into the back of his Nissan double cab.  For the rest of the tour this became a routine pasttime of Colin each evening.  I can report, however, that by the end of the tour Colin was still unable to find a more effective way of packing his plastic table, but definitely not due to lack of trying!

We leave Ai-Ais en route the view point at the Fish River Canyon to take the “been there dunnit” pictures before we head for Hardap.

For the sake of the children we limited our travel distances per day.  However, upon reflection it would have been better to have travelled to Windhoek in one day, rather than to interrupt the day’s travel to stay over Hardap dam.  That is, especially since we used Hardap only for a stopover.

At Keetmanshoop we stop at a shop to replenish some stock and to eat hour picnic lunch.  Two locals suddenly walk right into our circle and starts checking out what’s for lunch.  Two car watches arrive virtually simultaneously and chase them away.

Hardap dam

At Hardap we are unfortunate enough to arrive after all the camping sites with some lawn have been taken.  We end up in a dusty part of the camp where we apply our West Coast style roll-on lawn in the form of anchovy net and set up camp.

The next morning it takes a while to get all the duwweltjie thorns out of our stuff so that we can pack.  We stop at the Kalahari Bar, the apparent entertainment centre of the Kalkrand Hotel.  With difficulties we fend off the unsolicited windscreen washers.

Just outside Windhoek we are stopped at a road block.  Passports are checked, and we are waved through.  We take the Western bypass from where we turn off on the C28, Westward, to Daan Viljoen.

[Source: Map data ©2014 AfriGIS (Pty) Ltd, Google]

The facilities at Daan Viljoen are in tip top shape.  The temperature, though, goes to extremities, causing us to have a rather bad night.  To add to that, it turns out that Hardap’s duwweltjies (nasty three-pointed little thorns) have done their thing to our double air mattress.   After a few sessions at pumping up the mattress we give it up, pull out the plug completely to stabilise the mattress and try to make ourselves comfortable.  At dawn we find ice on the tents, with everything that was left outside frozen solid.

Just outside Windhoek we are waved through at the last road block for the tour.  At least by then we are relatively defrosted.

Just as we enter Okahandja there is a large crafts market where we spend some time.  I am notoriously bad in resisting aggressive sales people and rather keep my …

Namibia – Part 2

[Adapted version hereof published in Leisure Wheels, November 2010.]

[Source: Map data ©2014 AfriGIS (Pty) Ltd, Google]

By PG Jonker

Waterberg to Etosha

Waterberg

The facilities at the Waterberg outside Okakarara are very good, with warm water and electricity.  We find it a bit difficult to figure out which braai area belongs to which campsite.  Judging from the somewhat perturbed “and where must we now braai?” from our neighbours upon returning from a drive, I believe we, in fact, inadvertently took over their braai area in their absence. 

The Herero lady who helps us at the reception desk quickly changes over to Afrikaans after flinching in response to my English endeavours.  She is just as comfortable, though, assisting the overseas visitor waiting next to me in English.  The German speaking gentleman on my other side also enjoys the courtesy of being served in German.

At a later stage during our stay our paths crosses hers, and she volunteers to take us on a guided tour through the history of the old buildings.  She is a true ambassador not only for the Parks authorities, but also for Namibia.

In August 1904 the Battle of Waterberg took place between the Germans and the Hereros.  The Hereros escaped, but their retreat into the desert led to their near extinction at that time.

The old building at the Park that now hosts a restaurant used to be the police station in 1904.

Etosha

Our next port of call is Etosha.

Within 5 minutes of us entering the Etosha we stop at a water hole where we see a great many species of animals.  Gemsbok, Springbok, Vlakvark, Giraffe, Zebra, Blouwildebees, Kudu, Black nose-impala’s, jackal.  A herd of elephants lingers on the side.  Later they approach the water hole and chase all the animals out and take over the water hole.  Then a large bull comes strolling along and chases all the animals away.  Now he has the water hole for himself.

After reporting at Okaukujo we drive out to Halali where we will set up camp.  Lonely Planet’s book describes the campsite as a dust heap.  Quite right, they are.  [I should remind the reader that this tour was many years ago – things might have changed since].

That night at the water hole we sit in awe and watch as three rhino’s come for a drink.  Ever so often one would hear a soft appreciative “aaahh” from someone.  It is a serene and sacred atmosphere.  Until the silence is ripped apart by a five year old boy who, like Shreck, appears to have been born under the star sign of the flatulent.  It was not as loud so as to disturb the rhino’s, but pretty much everyone else heard it.  Nobody says anything, but after the initial shock, it appears as though everyone is sitting in a bus driving on a corrugated road.  Bodies shake, but everyone tries not to laugh out loud, until, eventually, everyone laughs, except for a little boy and his mother.  Sacred moments, I’m telling you.

Lion hunt

On a game drive with the family, I inadvertently drive right into a lion hunt.  We spot a large male lion just left of the road behind us.  I reverse with the Venture to get a better view.  The next thing the lion gets up, and starts to run right at the Venture.  I watched in shock, for the moment not sure what’s happening.  But the lion runs past us, and only then do we notice a small herd of black nose impalas [well, that’s what it looked like judging from the manual] coming from the opposite direction, unaware of the lion.  At a distance we can make out a number of female lions on the far side of the antelopes.

The male lion aims for the nearest of the antelopes, but we have thwarted his endeavours.  It is clear that the antelopes also realise that the lion is not going to make it to them in time, because they trot away with no visible indication of alarm.

When everything quiets down I remember my camera is still in the bag.  I grab the camera and take a picture of the lion; however, all that remains visible of him is his rear end.

 Frikkie and his coil

I had myself talked into driving up to Epupa falls by a colleague of mine.  Collin decides to join us, but Frikkie and his family decide to rather stay in Etosha for a few days longer.  We will meet up with them again at Long Beach.

Our ways part when the two families heading for Epupa swings west from Halali, while Frikkie and his family heads east for a game drive.  Then, 4kms later, Frikkie’s Hilux comes to a dead stop.  Now this is the kind of thing that will truly spoil my holiday.  Frikkie, on the other hand, thrives on challenges such as this one.

A friendly holiday maker tows Frikkie back to Halali.  A qualified mechanic joins Frikkie in his search for the gremlin.  They decide the offending part is the coil.  Just to make sure they need a similar coil to test on Frikkie’s bakkie.  No problem, just find another Toyota Hilux.  Frikkie finds a similar bakkie in the camp and trace the owner thereof as one of the waiters working in the restaurant.  Taking the coil on a loan and testing it on Frikkie’s bakkie confirms the coil to be the problem.  Frikkie offers to buy the waiter’s coil, but for obvious reasons this gentleman is disinclined to this transaction.  Eventually they agree that Frikkie will rent his coil for R100 to enable him to drive to the nearest town in search of a replacement coil.  With one of his kids being ill, Frikkie leaves the family at Halali and sets off for Tsumeb.  Not even a herd of some 20 elephants amuses Frikkie, he’s got more important things to be concerned about.

At Tsumeb he finds a yard with a number of stock cars.  After some negotiations he buys a coil off one of the stock cars, and heads back for Halali.  Relieved to be back at Halali after a day on the road, Frikkie finds his family eagerly awaiting his return, ready to go for a drive.

Part …

Namibia – Part 3

[Adapted version hereof published in Leisure Wheels, November 2010.]

By PG Jonker

Etosha to Epupa Falls to

Swakopmund

Epupa

After attending at Kamanjab’s bakery, Colin and we head for the guest farm Rustig where we will camp.

However, a few kilometres short of Rustig I get my second flat tyre for the day, on the same tyre.  The tyre was repaired at Halali and put back.  This time I need to use my own jack to change tyres, only to find that my jack is not working properly.  By the time I’m done I have a bent jack.  My spare tyre, I notice, had been plugged before, and it is not the same size as the rest of the tyres.

The sun is setting in the West and it will appear that the trip to Epupa might not happen.  It is 18h00 on a Saturday evening.

It turns out that Jörgen Gotshe’s farm bakkie on Rustig is a Toyota Stallion that runs on the same size wheels and tyres as my Venture.  He suggests that I leave my flat tyre with him for repairs, and take two of his wheels on board.  We’re back in business!

I repack my Venture to fit in the extra spare wheel.  Do you have any idea how much space such a wheel takes up in your boot?

That night I cannot sleep.  I’m stressed out about my tyres and my jack that is not working properly.  Jörgen makes regular trips to Epupa with his Kombi, he told us.  It is not strange to get two flat tyres on that road, and on occasion he had three flat tyres on one trip.  It does not bother Jörgen, because like Frikkie, he just takes along all the appliances needed to do the repairs.   Do not have those appliances, and even if I take it along, I will not quite know what to do with it.  We are also alerted to be on the lookout for puff adders and crocodiles.  Mmmm …..

We leave Rustig early the next morning in piercing cold and windy conditions.  The gravel road heading north to Ruacana is very good.  It runs right next to the extreme Western border of the Etosha Park.

We reach what appears to be a veterinary gate.  We now travel from Damaraland into Kaokoland.   We take the turn off to Opuwa, where we will up before heading for Epupa.   From there it is a further 112km to Okongwati.  The road is still good, but a great number of drifts [causeways] require you to slow town to first and second gear to traverse it in safety.

From Okongwati to Epupa we drive the last 75km’s.  The road is not much worse than a bad farm road.  However, if you expect to be done with this stretch of road within an hour and it takes more than three hours it becomes very frustrating.

Shortly after Okongwati we reach a sandy riverbed.  I have my doubts whether I should proceed, fearing that I might get bogged down in the sand.  However, Colin is already halfway and I follow suit.

Some parts of the road show no similarities to what is known as a road in the classical sense of the word.  You choose between the rocky part left and the rocky part right.  We bounce onward.

Good humour has left the Venture.  My wife does a brilliant job keeping the kids happy, but she also does not quite enjoy having to contend with the stuff that had to make place for the extra spare wheel, most of which landed on her lap.

Lonely Planet’s book says the Epupa falls “defies description”.   However, I was very near to reaching the point where I felt “f** the falls!”

And then, at last, we look down on the main fall in a series of falls.  And indeed, it defies description.  The falls stretch over 1,5km of cascades, with the first thereof a 37m fall.

Breathtaking!

 We get a camp site right on the edge of the water, some 60m upstream of the main fall.  The noise sounds like white noise.  Rather loud white noise.  The kids swim in some of the naturally sculpted Jacuzzis where the water is shallow and clear – so that one can see there are no crocodiles.

Just outside the gate of the fenced camp site a few Himba ladies are seated under a tree.  They wait to be approached for pictures.  I’m not comfortable talking money business with scantily dressed ladies and I ask my wife to do the negotiations on my behalf.  For R5 I may take pictures of the lady and her baby.

Next to us is a group of overlanders who took the challenging route from Ruacana to Epupa.  Their Gelandewagen had to tow the Toyota RAV uphill at times because the RAV lacks low range.  They are very impressed finding my 2×4 Venture there.  However, when they eventually leave with the (sissy route) road to Okongwati they will realise it was no big deal to get there, really.

The return trip is much more relaxed now that we know what to expect.  We fill up again at Opuwa.  At Rustig I hand back Jörgen’s two spare wheels and take my (now repaired) wheel on board again.  We head for Khorixas.

[Source: Map data ©2014 AfriGIS (Pty) Ltd, Google]

After 11 hours on the road, having travelled 580km for the day, we reach Khorixas.  The facilities are good and we order take-aways from the restaurant in the camp.

West Coast

The road from Khorixas to Henties Bay passes a distance away from the Brandberg.  Eager to reach the coast we do not turn off at Brandberg.

Approaching the sea we realise we are sea people.  Not anglers, fishermen or swimmers.  We just like the smell, the sight and the ambience of the sea.    It is a wonderful sight with the Atlantic Ocean expanding to the West.

After having split up with Colin at Khorixas we drive on our own.  At Langstrand Caravan Park between Swakopmund and Walvis Bay we meet up with Colin & Frikkie again.

In the Swakopmund museum I get a very nice picture of Die Wit Vrou without having had any trouble to have gone in search for her at the …