Flying Teddy Bears and other Survival Strategies

Even more interesting than the people is the wildlife of the Kalahari, the smaller creatures that I wouldn't have seen if I hadn't been walking. Beetles with concave heads that pile sand on their shells for camouflage, beetles that disguise themselves as bok-drol (one did a poor but entertaining impression of a fresh springbok dropping as it buried its head in the sand when you disturbed it, but another did a spectacularly convincing impression of a month-or-so old steenbok dropping!), bugs that look like flying teddy bears (I still haven't worked out how that's a survival strategy), but the most convincing disguise was a rock edged with succulent leaves that, when you got close, pretended for a while to be a locust, just long enough to get a few feet away from you so that it could carry on being a rock edged in leaves.

The mice have also been entertaining, darting between tufts of grass where they survey the sky for predators before sprinting the next stretch of sand. One night, I happened to be standing in the way of one little mouse's nightly foraging routine. He looked surprised for a short while, then nibbled at my shoe and after deciding that at least that part of me wasn't edible, continued. Possibly the most spectacular thing has been the giant communal weaver nests, one single one as big as a Landy Defender 90 hanging from a telephone post. Some trees house bigger collections of nests though, a collection of 5 or so the size of small cars! Along with the multistory flats there were also the smaller modern style nests, where the nest was built on a telephone post but most of the next leaning out to one side supported by the wires as opposed to the pole. This gate those nests a distinct Jetsons look. There were also the loners, and communal weavers are pretty terrible at building single family nests! Functional though they are, they are anything but neat! This lends the odd tree scattered with smaller weaver nests the character of a colony of outcast hippies, all the more amusing when in their shade you find a poorly groomed sheep, sparing it's rastafarian style dreadlocks from the kalahari sun.

Heading towards Askham, the striking outline of the quiver trees long gone, the giant nests of the weavers started to give way to the rollercoaster flights of the hornbills and the spectacular colours of the lilac-breasted rollers. The grassland gave way to a more bush-like terrain with far more trees and the road (which wasn't great to start with) turned to silt, sucking the wheels of the cart down and doubling, tripling the force needed to pull my worldly possessions. Then a day before Askham I found tar again for the first time in two weeks. I also found a well supplied shop, and Germans.

They organised for me to leave Olive in the store room and we drove a few kilometres up the road to where they were camping for the night. On the way they tried to swing past the bottle store,"Ah man, it's closed..." one of them said, "But we don't care because we are in the f***ing Kalahari!!!!" to which everyone in the car replied with a loud cheer! This routine was repeated anytime something didn't go according to plan. 'Everyone' was Flo and Johnny (Be Good or Be Bad depending on what he was doing when his name was called) who were out from Germany working in the cape at a San educational centre along with Johnny (Depp) and the two other guys whose names I can't remember. Matza made three Germans, he was a friend of Flo's out to visit. We drove to Johnny Depp's father's farm, part of a communal farm area that had been given to the coloured and San community after they were evicted from the area where the Kgalagadi or Kalahari Gemsbok Park now exists. At first I envied the Flo and his two companions, mixing with the locals without having grown up with any racial tension, without anyone trying to blame them for whatever circumstance they find themselves in, but when the other two coloured guys got hopelessly drunk I sort of pittied them for perhaps seeing things out of context. The way they spoke about the 'boere' made me wish I could introduce them to all the friendly Afrikaaners that I had met that treated me and anyone of any colour with the utmost respect and welcoming hospitality. They did seem quite upset that their friends(and many people in the semi-integrated san community) were hopeless alcoholics though. They justified it as I've heard many people justify alcoholism in the coloured community, but their argument was flawed in that their sat Johnny Depp, a proud hardworking family man.

Mostly the evening was very enjoyable though, I particularly enjoyed the company of Flo with who I shared a passion for music and life (though we expressed them in quite different ways which was interesting). Perhaps the most entertaining part of the evening was when I realised where I recognised the name of the place they all worked: Khwattu... On the second night of my walk I had snuck into their gatehouse for a place to sleep! I told them this, apologised for trespassing, and we all had a good laugh...

I will hopefully get to an internet café soon where I can update the rest with a proper keyboard(hooray!)!! I am resting in Mafikeng at the moment so there are internet cafés, I was supposed to go today but it's a bit weathery and I'm a fair walk out of town. The forecast is good for tomorrow so I will hopefully get the blog completely up to date then. And thank you all for the comments! They are great to read!

Tough

Not the walking, although that's been tough too... What's tough now is trying to extract a small selection of moments from the last few weeks which I think someone reading this might find interesting. Not at all because there hasn't been much interesting happening but because so much interesting and strange things have happened that nothing is normal anymore! There is nothing with which to compare one day's experience to because each day is a standalone story, independent of the day before and the day after except maybe for the steady change in weight of food and water. Each moment in fact has become standalone and often I find myself so desensitised to the idea of walking that I forget where I'm going or why I'm going anywhere at all, drifting along in thought that both alienates me from and unifies me with everything withing the limits of the horizon. Being interrogated by a catholic missionary from Kenya who thinks I'm a spy provides an experience similar to being abducted by 3 crazy Germans and taken to a braai in the dunes with some alcoholic bushmen. A cold winters frost issues a rejection similar to an offensive stare from a disapproving local. A firm handshake and a friendly smile feels quite like the warmth of the morning sun. As hippy as that might sound it's hard to describe it in any other way! What is also tough is blogging from my phone, which is perhaps why I've been so reluctant to blog but here goes:

Actually, before I roll the highlights reel, I think I should share with anyone reading a simple yet ingenious (I believe) formula that I resort to when I begin to lose track of where I'm going and why I'm going there. I cannot claim to be the first to propose such an idea as I have not had time to research what the great minds of our time have concluded on the subject of walking but I think you'll find this quite a revolutionary concept; a formula for walking! Mathematical perhaps not, more of a biomechanical formula that I believe could help many people on long walks (most don't realise but there are actually many people doing very long walks at the moment all around the world) who tend to stray or overcomplicate things. So, here it is:
Step 1: Move left foot forward.
Step 2: Move right foot forward.
Step 3: Repeat steps 1 and 2 while breathing.

And that's it! After reducing the mechanics to something so simple, I find it strange when people find me strange. All I'm doing is putting one foot infront of the other and people can't seem to make sense of it. Of course I still need to do some testing on the formula, particularly the implications of starting with step 2 instead of step 1. I do worry that this may induce a bad day as the phrase 'to start off on the wrong foot' must have started somewhere! But on with the highlights...

Kakamas has amazing dates! Not the Friday night kind, but the kind that are grown in Pella from trees that Oom Gertjie Niemöller brought from Yuma in America. These dates are best bought from Die Pienk Padstal, a shop with serious character! Past Kakamas I headed to Noeniput. En route I was fortunate enough to be accommodated by the Myburgh family."Ons is lief vir mense!", were Koot's words and his son ,Willem, and his family who I stayed with, certainly shared the sentiment.

Just before the Myburgh family I had reached the 1000km mark! I was hoping to make some phone calls but the area had no reception so I quietly celebrated on my own by running back about a kilometre to try find one of my waterbottles that had fallen from Olive. No such luck. Instead I made some room in the other bottle and filled it with water from the dodgy dam next to my party stop. Thank goodness for water purification drops is all I can say!

Past the Myburghs the landscape was almost dream like; vast grassy fields that danced in silver and gold around the occassional abandoned house where a rusty old windmill would slowly turn over in the wind providing the perfect ambience for a bunch of cannibals to invite you with a southern 'States hillbilly twang to come in for 'dinner'. Further on, the dunes began to sprout from the grassy plains. Some a tawny colour but most that deep Kalahari red. There's something comforting about the dunes, perhaps its the distance that you can see when you stand on top, some basic programming deep in the primitive part of our brains that rewards us for getting to a high point, where we can easily see any predators coming for miles, with a euphoric sense of calm. Or perhaps its that the dunes are affected by the weather on a time scale that is far easier for us to identify with than that of a rock formation carved out over millions of years. Instead the ripples in the dunes could have been formed by a strong wind that left you sand-blasted two days ago. Just as majestic as the rock formations, but in their geological youth and delicate nature, the dunes seem almost more playful and accommodating.

The reborn missionaries in Noeniput are also accommodating but only, I think, because they wanted to try convert me. The Kalahari is hard core God country! But I have respect for anyone until they show a lack of respect for me, so when a grossly overweight missionary laughs at my beliefs I can't help but laugh when he mentions that gluttony is a sin. The Myburghs were also strong christians but had enough respect for me to not want to convert me, even showing interest in my beliefs. I think that's why I liked them so much, they were naturally good natured. Genuine.

It started with a stove...

I must apologise for my lack of blogging, I went through a patch without signal for two weeks and have since been deep in thought... There is so much to tell and I've had so many amazing experiences but after thinking and planning so much I'm pretty tired and it's quite late now so this will be a quick elaboration on my thought and its resulting effect on me and Olive.

It started when I couldn't find benzine at the shop (shortly before being abducted by crazy germans, but more of that in the next blog), and had to buy parafin to run my stove. I discovered that parafin is a dirty horrible fuel so I thought of making an alcohol stove to burn methylated spirits until I could find benzine. So I logged onto the net and researched alcohol stoves. I had briefly read one or two articles about a year ago on how to make simple yet very effective alcohol stoves out of 1 or more tin cans. On my way to discovering the Supercat stove (google it, very cool design and so easy to make!) I discovered tonnes of references to ultralight hiking which favour alcohol stoves. I always thought ultralight hiking was for a 3-5 day stint of absolute bare essentials, sleeping uncomfortably and eating terrible foods. Then came the food for thought...

I started to find accounts of people hiking for 1000km+ with backpacks under 10kg! One particularly impressive account was Ray Jardine and his wife hiking the Pacific Crest trail, which is over 2000 miles, with an 8 pound pack! Obviously you need a heavier pack if you're going solo or if water is not as readily available, but even then a 12 kg pack is not too shabby at all! So I've decided to go ultralight!

Tomorrow I will leave Askham without Olive. I will miss her as she has seen me through some long distances without water or food, but there are more farms here so I don't need to carry as much water. I'm also enjoying this walk so much that I feel I don't need luxuries like my guitar to have fun (though that took alot to conclude, I think it will be the hardest thing to go without). Other gear like my stove is great for expeditions, but I'm essentially doing mild weather hiking so I'll be fine with my tin can stove and will eventually do without my tent.

It's been a comparatively quick decision, but one that I'm excited to implement! I'm incredibly grateful to TJ, the owner of the local café, who has offered to store my gear in his garage for the duration of the trip! If it weren't for him I would have had to do some serious logistical planning!

I think going ultralight will radically alter my walk and offer me a greater freedom. This thought has had me filled with nervous excitement for the past few days! I hope that everyone who reads this is doing well in their own adventures and endeavors and is as or more excited about something than I am about this whole trip! It's an incredible feeling to be so free and live so simply... So much to write, but very tired and nervous and excited for tomorrow, so will update another day. Till then...

The week so nice I blogged it twice!

With the browser I'm using on my phone I can only type so much at one time so here's the rest! Don't worry, not too much longer...

The people here are generally very friendly! The weather is good, I'm feeling strong so I'm looking forward to the road ahead! My shoes aren't though, I've worn the heels down to the midsole! Hopefully Kakamas has a shoes store... Can't say for sure when I'll be able to blog as signal is dodge out here and without my solar panel, even when there is signal my battery on this phone doesn't last long out of towns. Fortunately for sms and call sake I have a basic phone that is bomb-proof! Also, I have a Vodacom sim card for when there's no MTN signal, will be interesting to see which network has the best coverage, so far Vodacom's winning... But there's still a long way to go. A very long way!

So much to say, so few characters...

One might be inclined to think that I haven't blogged for a while because I've been sulking about my guitar, but one would be wrong. My spirit in fact has been high lately! My cellphone signal and battery though have been otherwise. But now in Pofadder I find spirit, signal and battery in agreement so here is an update.

The road from Garies to Springbok was anything but flat. Fortunately it had been that way for sometime though so my muscles had adapted and walking wasn't too bad. One of the things I miss now about that mountainous terrain is the sections where a hill had been cut away for the road leaving two parallel bands of vertical rock. The harmonics in these little gullies were amazing and were a big help in passing the time during rests learning to throat sing. Throat singing is when you isolate the harmonics in your voice to produce more than one tone at the same time. It helps to have a practice area with good acoustics, and thanks to those spots I'm getting pretty good. I can now construct basic melodies from the overtones. I was hoping to be able to integrate this technique into some songs but it sounds pretty strange so we'll see. When I was researching the technique I discovered that there are some western musicians who have collaborated with throat singers (aka overtone singers) or learned the technique themselves and used it in folk-type music. It would be interesting to hear what they came up with. Glued my guitar today so by tomorrow evening it should have set rock solid and be ready for some serious experimentation!

The day before I got to Springbok, I was given a free bed at Namakwa Game Lodge! I had a great time playing songs and chatting about the area with the owner and the groundskeeper! A hot shower, a comfortable bed and 25km later I found myself in Springbok. It was alot bigger and busier than I expected and in trying to negotiate the traffic and pavements I buckled the right wheel severely. It didn't spring back humorously like it had done before, this was a proper buckle! I couldn't fuss too much because I was right in the middle of the road so I dragged poor Olive to next pavement. Stepping off the last one had rendered her in a condition unsuitable for any more pavement hopping so I had to drag her in the road, dodging taxis and catatonic locals on my way to Springbok Lodge where I joined two journalists who I had met a few hours before on the road. Erns and Simone are a writer and photographer busy working on an article on the Northern Cape for Weg magazine. A writer and a photographer!!! Like minded people!!! It was very cool chatting to them when they interviewed me just before Springbok and when I arrived, in shock after emerging from desolation, in the metropolis of Springbok they somehow provided a sense of familiarity. They, like Johan from Garies, had told me to come to the lodge to speak to Oom Jopie, king of namakwaland tourism, about the history of the area. I'm very glad I did because he also offered me a free bed! His timing was especially good as the lid for my container on my cart had given way, emptying all my possession onto the street, while inverted in my efforts to fix my wheel. So from the lowest of the low things suddenly weren't so bad! Then the guy who helped me carry my stuff broke my guitar.

Fortunately, thanks to Oom Jopie, I had a place to stay where I rested well, ate well, and bought a puzzle book which has now got me hooked on sudoku! I managed to fix the wheel enough to continue, though at one point the steel exceeded its elastic limit leaving the rim deformed. Hopefully in Kakamas I'll find somewhere to buy a new wheel.

After a rest day, the road held some pleasant suprises... There were no more hills! And there was an emergency lane to walk in! And the tar doesn't trap my trekking poles yanking my arms backwards like the N7 did! The N14 rocks!! Then the wind started. I can handle the rain, the heat, the cold, but the wind will take some getting used to. Other than the wind though, the six days (including a rest day) between Springbok and Pofadder were really enjoyable! I settled into a good rhythm on the flat ground. The clouds on the first few days caught the sun in a manner that had the continuous carpet of grass glowing in silvers and golds from horizon to horizon. The plant and bird life here are spectacular! An endless variety of succulents under the giant nests of communal weavers! Everywhere you go there are these beetles that look like tok-tokkies but are covered in spikes and I can't help but picture them in a Gary Larson world: The rebels of the insect world, covered in piercings, spray-painting misspelt graffiti while making rude comments at passing lady-bugs.

Now I find myself in Pofadder at a motel-style self catering place. Not too much in Pofadder. At all. I did have a very interesting chat though to oom Gertjie Niemöller who makes some amazing ornaments out of the local rock. My Afrikaans isn't great unfortunately so I missed alot of what he said but the manner in which he said it was very cool. There he sat, 81 years old, robed, at his command post in the middle of 60 years worth of boxes, photographs, stones, catalogues of his highly skilled work, all which he had one of his employees charging around and fetching at his command with the coordination of a military strike which, when the smoke of the battle and his "most terrible tobacco" had cleared, found me far wiser and three stone pendants richer.

Somebody broke my guitar

Somebody snapped the neck of my guitar today. I don't much feel like talking about what exactly happened because I'm pretty bleak about it. So all I'm gonna say for now is that somebody broke my guitar. I'm gonna let myself feel sorry for myself tonight but in the morning I'll see if I can find someone who can help me fix it. If I can't then I'm not allowed to let it bother me and I'm gonna write an update on the week so far in a good mood without mentioning the guitar. But right now I'm pretty bummed because I can't play guitar. Because somebody broke it. Fool.

Cows

Cows aren't the smartest of animals. I know this because during high school I had a part time job as a horse-back trail guide where, when there were no guests, one of my duties was to help herd the small herd of cattle between pastures and the kraal. After endless dismounting from my horse to chase stray cows from thorny thickets and generally keep them alive and going where they were supposed to be despite their best efforts to get lost and die, I concluded that cows are dumb. The reason I am mentioning this is that I have noticed a startling similarity between the looks that I get from most people on the road, and the looks that you get from a herd of cattle as you walk past: That blank stare with jaw ajar and slightly to one side, caught off guard during its routine of cud chewing by your unexpected appearance. Knowing what I know about cattle, this leads me to wonder about the general population of the country... But I digress.

Jeremy and I joked about me losing my mind when I started walking through what we affectionately called "the nothing", and I came pretty darn close! "The nothing" refers to the desolate semi-desert that I find myself in at the moment, the Hardeveld and the Namakwaland, but I must say it is actually very beautiful out here! The mountains are hard on the legs but easy on the eyes. Scattered here and there are tiny clusters of yellow, pink, and white flowers, I can only imagine how pretty it is here when the daisies bloom! It took a few days to see the beauty here though, and walking out from Strandfontein without having had a proper rest took me for a physical and psychological 6 runs! But I trudged on through uphills and headwinds, driven by anticipation for what the brochure had described as the cultural oasis of the Hardeveld: Bitterfontein. The brochure lied.

Bitterfontein is the end of the line, literally. It started when a trucking company won a legal battle, halting the construction of a railway line to Springbok. Nevertheless I found my oasis in the Dawn Ridge Guest House, where I was given a bed in trade for some computer help by John (a retired parabat, amongst other things) and Dawn (a retired nurse). Staying with them was more like visiting eccentric relatives than staying at a guest house which made Bitterfontein a great experience! This despite the nature of the rest of the locals. Bitterfontein, my hosts explained got its name not from the taste of the water but from the nature of the people. I had to laugh at the honest humour.

After two days' rest to make up for the lack of rest the previous week, I walked another 2 days to Garies to conclude a 154km week. Yesterday I walked to a picnic spot where I had a great rest day! Writing, playing guitar and drinking coffee made with the local water(which tastes pretty bad on its own but makes a great coffee strangely enough). A few hundred metres down the road I met Johan and Magrieta Leeuwner who cooked me supper and gave me a bed, so today I return to my usual routine feeling strong as an ox! And smarter than a cow...