Civilisation to Nothing

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Civilisation to Nothing

“You’ll be riding up front for most of the trip, won’t cha?” the lovable Canadian asked me as I dumped my bag into the truck.
“What makes you say that?”
“Do you speak Norwegian?” I pointed to the American couple and the Australian girl “They speak English.” He looked at me with raised eyebrows. Having only met me for a couple of days he had me nailed. “Sure you don’t want to come with?” Crestfallen, he shook his head. It was not a matter of wanting but a matter of time, money and all those things we try not to think about every day.

Capetown has a population of 3.5 million and is roughly the size of England. So it was not long before we entered nothing. I would like to say we were battered by the Cape Doctor as we trundled towards the last supermarket till the border of Namibia, but I would be lying. The south easterly wind generated from the Atlantic Ocean cyclones, fondly called the Cape Doctor by the locals, occurs between summer and early spring. It was mid autumn so we were just struggling with ordinary oceanic winds with no name.

Last minute essentials included loads of bottled water for the girls, alcohol and snacks for everyone and sleeping bags for the Norwegians. Coming from the heat of South East Asia they were hoping to finish off their tans under the baking heat of the Namibian desert. The temperature of West Africa can drop dramatically during the autumn and winter months at night making camping unpleasant if all you own is a sleep sheet. With my duck down Macpac mummy figure 2000 sleeping bag, I was set for anything the West African weather can throw at me. Well, unless it went to Artic proportions, that is.

The motherly South African I had bought some homemade health bars from asked me where I was heading. For the past four months I had repeated the same itinerary, “Namibia, Botswana, Southern Zimbabwe and ending in Joburg.” Even now I am as excited as I was four months ago. Coming back to Africa has kept me sane during the English winter months away from home. It feels good to be on the road again. “Namibia is a wonderful place,” my vendor told me. She smiled a smile of someone remembering good times. “I could live there, in Namibia, if I didn’t like my lawns. Not enough greenery, but the place is truly wonderful. You will love it.” I never doubted it for a moment that I wouldn’t. Despite my love for Australia I do envy the countries which border others. To be able to just travel to another country for a weekend in a matter of hours is something that Australians cannot do. Let’s not count New Zealand after all they have the same problem we do. Multicultural diversity within a country does not capture culture in its purity. When you step over that border you are experiencing a country’s way of life by their standards, their laws and their values. You are slapped with their history, their language, their politics, their standards of living and their values. Learn from them, embrace them or abhor them but you can’t deny them.

“Are you travelling with friends or with a group?”
“A tour group,” I automatically replied. “Well sort of,” thinking about it more. “Last year I went with the same tour company around south east Africa and had a fantastic time. I kept in touch with my guide and he’s become a friend. He’s guiding this tour, so, well, yeah, both.” Does it make me less of a traveller to take a tour? Unless it’s a coach full of people that race around several countries stopping off in front of cliché monuments with millions of other tourists and never having a chance to immerse into the culture, then yes. Fifteen minutes here to look at an old building, twenty minutes there to race around a museum or ten minutes at a lookout then back onto the coach to a hotel to have dinner with twenty five people from your own country is not travelling. It just ends up being a very expensive school excursion with some harried tour leader (generally antipodeans) trying to make an impossible schedule so their clients can go home and show their less travelled friends the different stamps in their passports. It’s even worse when you are sucked into playing bonding games on the long drives. For those who wish to relive their glory days of high school or even college then there are certainly companies willing to allow you to part your hard earned cash for it. On the upside you make very few decisions for yourself and there is always someone to keep you company.

With independent travel you are more likely to gather people of all walks of life, locals or patriots. There are magical moments around every corner and the next day is completely at your mercy. Independent travel allows full control of your desires and if you are in the company of someone that makes you want to stab yourself with a fork, you can leave. Or you could be that poor sap eating a can of soup by yourself in a flea ridden hostel feeling alone and miserable. Even if you were travelling with friends, how often had you stood in front of some ancient monument and wanted to know more. Why it was built, why it is in a state of disrepair and how could they possibly build a Maccas opposite it? Then you wonder if anyone would notice if you just tack yourself at the end of a guided group to find out. At first there is a huge sense of self satisfaction when you manage in halting French or Italian to buy the correct train ticket to your next destination. By the end of your trip you just wish someone would hand you your ticket and point you to a pre-booked accommodation to rest your weary feet and back, cursing the weight of that extra stein you pilfered when in Germany

The thought of just sitting in a truck heading into nowhere for several hours must sound awful to most people. At the end of tonight’s drive there isn’t even a destination and with the added joy of pitching tents in the dark. Not to mention cooking our own dinner and with only basic facilities to ease the travel weariness. For me, being able to sit back and let someone else take me to a place completely foreign is relaxing. Knowing that I can enjoy the moment without having to think about yesterday or tomorrow is as close as I get to letting someone else take care of me.

“Look at that. Isn’t it beautiful?” The houses old and developing had finally faded behind us. Dusky plateaus covered in straw yellow grass and dotted with clumps of greener bush created a mini canyon.
“And the best part?” he took his eyes off the empty road for a moment to look at me. “There is no one here.” Without a word his eyes agreed with me.

*
The biggest downside about sitting in the truck cabin is the vacuum effect. If someone in the back of a truck were to peel an orange you can smell it in the cabin as if they were peeling it right next to you. No one was peeling an orange. However someone did let off a fart capable of bringing down a herd of elephants.
“Um, are we going to stop at a gas station with a toilet soon?”
“Do you need to go? We can always pull over?”
“Ah, no, I can wait.”
Derick turned to me. “He needs a number 2.” Lucky for our atomic farter a gas station came into view some twenty minutes later. The gas station was filled with local holiday makers taking a rest break from long drives. Many looked like they had driven for days with children sardined in bakkies filled with sleeping bags, pillows and fold out chairs. All eyes were on us as we clambered out of our green truck. If the truck didn’t turn heads, three young long haired Norwegians, a squat Danish, an American oriental couple, a designer wearing Australian and a midget oriental with a varying accent would. Derick returned from the toilet with a deadpan look on his face, “Suspicion confirmed.”

Grey clouds began to fold over the blue sky and slowly blocked out the sun. For a moment the clouds blocked everything but a perfect circle of blue. A gateway to heaven surrounded in deep purple and vibrant pink. If heaven was a place where your life is explained to you by the people in it, then maybe someone can explain to me why I can’t let this part of the world go. The clouds moved as quickly as it came and the fading sunlight colours splashed across the horizon of our campsite, Cosy Mountain.

*
“Could you do me a favour?” I knew what that favour was but I let him ask me anyway. “Could you show the guys how to put up the tents while I get dinner ready?” Since he asked so politely, I couldn’t turn him down. Plus it was getting dark and the wind had followed us from Capetown. The guys were a quick study and the first tent went up without a problem. Being a light sleeper, Nicole wanted her tent pitched somewhere halfway down the hill away from everyone. “We still have to pitch another tent for you,” grunted Nicole as we struggled to put hers up against the wind and up a slope. “Oh, if you don’t mind, I want my own tent. It’s just that I am a light sleeper.” Each to their own but I was less then thrilled to put up a third tent.
“Are there tent pegs? Don’t we have to peg them down?” Albert asked. I shrugged, “Never had to use tent pegs before, but with two of you in the tent, its not going anywhere,” I reasoned. Pity I didn’t listen to my own reasoning. The boys had left the first tent for me, so I threw in a Drifters issue black mat and my sleeping bag.

By the end of dinner, my tent had blown flat onto the rocky dirt. Moving it out of the wind’s firing line didn’t help either. “And that was the demo tent as well.” How embarrassing. “You can sleep with us if you want.” Looking at my tent flapping like a parachute, I collapsed it and took up Carl and Harald’s offer to crash in their tent. Sandwiched in between the boys, they promptly fell asleep. How I am not sure. The wind was howling and buffeting the sides of the tent right across their faces. Me, I had the best position in the middle but the sound of the wind kept me from dropping off. In between the synchronized Norwegian snoring I heard some mutterings outside the tent. “For fuck’s sake just drop some rocks on it.” I poked my head out and there in front of me was a Norwegian, a Danish and an Australian. It looked like the start of a bad joke.
“What’s going on?”
“Our tent blew down the hill.” I looked at Nicole.
“I thought the guys were playing a joke on me and collapsed my tent on me.”
“We were trying to help! We saw you sliding the hill,” protested Hendrik. Oddly looking like Heidi with his South American beanie.
“Do you want tent pegs?” They looked at me. “Better than dropping rocks on them!” So there we were freezing in the wind, sleep deprived trying to jam pegs down into the rock hard ground. Returning back to the tent I managed to trip over Carl’s feet and narrowly missed landing on Harald. Neither woke up.

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Photos

Cosy Mountain
Golden gateway to heaven and I wonder who will be there to explain it all...

Gateway to Cosy Mountain
Outside cosy mountain after a long fay of driving...

Sunset in Nowhere
Soft fading light over nowhere...

Campsite at Cosy Mountain
Sleep deprived, cold, stiff and not even a warm shower... just another day in the middle of nothing.