Namibia as quickly as possible. We're sad to leave Sesriem (the "town" nearest the Sossusvlei desert, the oldest desert on earth), but it's rumored that there are tarred roads and a VW dealership &srvc station wit tires. Instead of backtracking along dirt roads to get back to the main tarred road, we decide, based on the recommendations of a local guide, to go NE on dirt roads to get back up with the main road. I was sweating bullets over the idea of blowing a crappy tire when we decided to take shortcuts, following a map. A map? Just because the map says a tiny line connects with a bigger line doesn't mean it actually does, I mean TIA!
While on the roads to Sossusvlei, other cars would pass us, laughing and taking pictures, but here we were dead alone. We do make it, but en route, Geoff notes that the brakes are getting really, really soft. We make it into Rehebooth, a town with tarred roads and a gas station/slaughtery, and pop the hood (the back hood) to put in brake fluid. This is the first city in which I'm being stalked by locals for dates/money, and I'm not having a great time, nor is Geoff, trying to figure out where the brake fluid goes.
Some guy pulls up and asks if we're ok (this is not unusual). I tell him what's going on while Geoff's head is still under the hood and he says, "You'd better just follow me to my shop." We talk for a bit, and he shows us that the brake fluid actually goes in the front, and helps us with that while he asks us about our trip in "this?!" car. We thank him for helping us and take off again, hoping to reach Windhoek before too long. This picture is of the dust that accumulated on our persons while on the dirt roads. Our hair looked like we'd dumped baby powder in it, like in a school play. I wrote, "wash" on Geoff's leg. The other pictures were right as we were getting close to the tarred roads (which is why the dirt roads are in such good condition).
As we enter town, there's a roadblock with police and when we stop, the stern woman looks at our car and says, "You must give me this car." Gulp. What? Geoff asks her for some clarification, and we realize she's joking. As always, she asks where we're from, and we tell her Cape Town. The standard reply is then a shocked expression and a burst of, "In this?!" We chuckle and say yes. She asks, as they all do, where we're going to. We tell her Maun, Northern Botswana and again get the, "In this?!" this time, with a gesture of disbelief. Then she outright laughed at us and waved us through. This was something that repeated, almost line for line, more times than I can remember.
Now, here I must back-peddle a bit. From day 1 (well, day 2) we have been surrounded by people who want our car. From bystandards at petrol stations to Park Guards. In the Sossusvlei desert shuttle (HUGE 4x4) that brought us into the desert, we heard the employees taking to each other (I don't know which African language) and all we could make out, was: gobbly-gobbly-gook-beetle-gobble." I butted in, and said, "The beetle?" and they smile big and ask if it's mine. Yep- and boy are they happy about it. They want to buy it- everyone wants to buy it, OR, wants to talk about how on earth we got to where we were in it. At the border, I had to tell the woman "1974" three times before she believed me. So, at this point, it was no surprise that someone wanted the beetle.
Using my deft map skills, I locate the backpackers we'd planned to say at, and w00t, they have a room for us, WITH a shower! We check in, shower and get dinner, hoping that the Canadians we're to travel with in Maun show up the next day. Chameleon Backpackers has a resident dog, Blackie, that while a biting puppy, was really sweet. Geoff and bananaman have a less than proper greeting.
I have a friend from entomology, Gail, who had invited me to stay with her had I come on my own to Windhoek, and I 
gave her a call the next morning. She comes over and takes us to see some sort of lawn bowling game that her family is very active in. National/International tournaments and whatnot. Turns out her dad works at a tire place, and when he heard of our troubles, he said to come to his place rather than a VW place so we'd not get ripped off. The next day we go to his shop and the staff were all laughing at our car, and it was amplified when they took off the tires and spilled sand all over the floor.
Ken (Gail's Dad) was fantastic (as is/was Gail) and gave us three tires at cost. No, my math isn't bad, we needed three. TUrns out the used tire from Solitaire was a dud. It had eleven (11) bubbles and a tear. It could have popped at any time, so we were lucky.
There's a mechanic next door to look at the brakes close by that Ken knows, so Gail entertains us for the afternoon to kill time. Gail takes us to an entomology museum, which was amazing for us, and Geoff was mildly entertained, 
too. It was a dusty old ridiculously disorganized room with shelves and jars of insects that looked like it had been abandoned for decades. Then we go to a geological museum that's much more fancy and maintained. Gail and I make the full pass in moments, while Geoff drools over every single display for what seems to be an eternity. He even finds a mistake in a molecular formula, and of course, has to tell the indifferent staff about it (for reals). When we return to the mechanic, he's super nice, and asks us the standard questions- which fuel his amusement. He's had it for 3 hours and has changed the air filter (which was indescribably full of dust, apparently), tightened the brake seals and did something else with the tires I didn't catch. When I asked what I owed, he laughed, shook his head and said, R40. Now, that's less than US7. Seven dollars. Africa ain't that cheap, my friends. We were his entertainment for the afternoon. I thanked him and gave him R100.
The Canadians don't show, and the internet is awful there, so we leave late that day, hoping to get a little distance 
towards Maun. In addition to being professional lifesavers, Gail and her Dad are also travel agents, and make a booking for us at a B&B in Gobabis, a town near the border of Botswana that will take about 3.5 hours to reach (see the "B" on the map to the left). We're on a high, as life is good! We have new tires, the car is running suh-mooth on these tarred roads (yeah, having all the same sized tires on the car sure made a difference) and we're on our way to Maun! We should make it the morning of the 29th, right on time and spirits are high. We see some new animal caution signs and even stop to see a wild boar on the side of the road, near sunset. That's when the car wouldn't start, after we pulled off to see a damned wild boar. All the lights worked, but there was not so much as a "click" when Geoff tied to start it. We do what we had previously done, wiggled the electric-taped ball of wires that meets the steering wheel column, but that doesn't work.
It's dark. Geoff gets under the car, as he's handy in these situations, and sees that some wire has come out of a box, but can't quite get under the car enough in his stints (I'd have him come out when a car came, obviously) to see where it plugged in. I call Gail and apologize, asking if she can help arrange a trailer. 1.5 hours go by while she sorts this out, and Geoff keeps putsing. We try to push start it, but that doesn't work (my knee isn't helping things). I hold the flashlight while he's under there and keep hearing something loud & closeby in the tall grasses/bush that are right beside us. I don't want to add to the stress of the evening, so I keep my mouth shut and just scan the grasses in front of me. Surely just a boar, right? A nice guy and his crew appear (by crew, I mean a truck full of black guys while he was in the front cab, alone) and I tell him what's going on. The 4 guys push her and she starts right up. I thank him profusely and we leave. The call is made to Gail to stop her attempts, as we've decided (cause we're dumb) to not turn back to civilization, but to keep going into the barren night with an unreliable car. Her dad calls me back to see if I'm sure, and that we should come back. "Nope, we're smart individuals, but collectively we're an idiotic team," I tell him. And so we were.
We arrive in Gobabis and find the B&B- late. They are kind, and show us to our room while the beetle drips oil onto 
their brick driveway. There's a little dog that Geoff doesn't approve of and hot showers. In the morning, the man tells us where to go for electrical work, and we get there with no problems (she push starts super easily if on even a tiny slope). Several hours later, we find out that the starting issue was due to the missed plug not being put into the right hole (it was out of Geoff's reach/sight) and also the lack of connection in the steering wheel column mass of wires. The mechanic, who also laughed at us, repackaged those, and even jimmied us a button, if the car wouldn't start again. He was worried we'd get stranded again. I have the oil changed but don't think to check the lights while we're right there (foreshadowing) and we press on.
We pass the border to Botswana and go through vet borders, as they're tough on foot/mouth disease. At every block we have to go through the same routine about the car and it's predictable now. Botswana's scenery is more...uhm, humble? than that of Namibia or SOuth Africa. Cows. Goats. Sheep. Donkeys. Repeat. This picture is all we saw- just change out the free-roaming animals.
I remember thinking, well, the safari is starting on an unenthusiastic note. We're again on a high, as the car is working, right? NOPE. In Botswana, we get pulled over by some enthusiastic road workers (I think they create potholes) who like our car, but want us to know the back wheel is wobbling. Well of course it is. Geoff eagerly insists 
that I stick my torso out of the window while we drive to see the extent of this wobbling. It's wobbling. I tell him it doesn't look like it's going to fly off the wheel or anything, but it's definitely not right. Tension fills the car as Geoff explains the worst case scenario (burning death) of the situation. Ok, let's get to the next "big" city, Ghanzi, to see if there's yet another shop. Botswana borders don't give out maps, so we only have a crappy one, and have no idea where we'll stay. There's something big going on, so the only hotel is fully booked (it looked nice- had internet) so we backtrack a ways to a fancier lodge we saw. They're booked too, but have campsites. We eat in their hall and then pitch out tents to sleep. I'm irritable at the constant car problems and am giving a lot of thought to the idea of just ditching the car as so many people recommended. Oh, it was this night that we realized that the back lights weren't working, and also the inner console lights stopped working. We pass some flooded areas and see people gathering water- yet another reality check. Below are some pictures of insects we found at the campsite in Ghanzi.
In the morning we find a tourism place, dirty kids to whom Geoff gives money, and learn that there are no car hire places in town nor a place to fix tire bearings (that's what we thought it was). So, no choice but to take it really slow to Maun. It was a horrible day- really the worst. BUT, we got to Maun OK and find the Backpackers place- which is literally past a raised patch of dirt through a marsh (sides of the Okavango river). The water is higher than it's been in 30 years, so they keep raising the dirt road. We immediately see Mike and Helen (we met them once in Cape Town when they stopped there, before they went on their own Namibian tour) and tell them of our woes. Below is the view from our tent, facing the river. Hippos in the past have been right there, but right now the water is so high, they're out checking out other places.
The backpackers may have sand floors, but the also have internet. I email 'Best Beetle' to tell them how the car was not prepared for travel as their mechanics had told them (I tried to help them save face) and spelled out all the money that had been spent on the car and that I was tapped for these newest issues. Henti replies that it was at our own risk and that essentially it sucks to be me, but is agreeable to my option that I take it somewhere for repairs while we're on safari, and they arrange for payment of this latest issue. He's fully aware of how I'll be unavailable during the safari and absolutely HAVE to leave Maun on the 13th to make it home for classes in time.
Mike and Helen pick up Mike's brother-cousin (their moms are twins) and we also befriend two guys traveling Southern Africa from AUS and New Zealand. We all go on an airplane ride over the Okavango Delta (thank you, Geoff, as I'm poor) and it's beautiful. I was convinced the plane wouldn't be able to take off with my girth, but it did- though I know the pilot was using all his strength to hold the plan level. We are all thrilled when we see elephants, or hippos, and point them out uselessly to everyone else, who usually can't locate them. It was a level 10 "Where's Waldo."
The next day they all (Marcus and Chris have joined them) go on their Delta tour thing I can't- cause of my knee, and I'm happy to have some chill time. That afternoon I was watching her sleep, like a date-rapist may watch a girl dance in a club. She was breathing so rhythmically, and she was warm and furry. I wanted that in my bed, I thought, and made a plan to get it. I treated myself and made a booking at the Backpackers for a tiny room, with a bed, and brought Myrtle to it several times that day, so she could get used to it. Each time, she got closer to the door, then put her foot in. Finally, at night, she came right in and settled on the floor. The next night, in the tent, I had to get a little rough with her, but once the tent was zipped, she relented and curled up on Geoff's mat. In the morning, I let her out, and she later came back and scratched at the tent flap, wanting to come in. See? "No" just means "I need a little coaxing." Below are pictures of Myrtle in the dorm room, then the tent, as well as some pictures of insects I found around the place during this time.
The owner of the place sees me alone and asks why all of my friends have left me like this. I explain to him the deal and he says I can't stay here like this, and says I can go with a motor boat to pick up other tourist that have taken delta tours. Basically, a free 3 hours on the Delta! w00t! I eagerly accept, say goodbye to my dear Myrtle and head out. The below pictures include a painstakingly persistent mokoro driver who wanted me to get into his boat. He finally relented, but insisted that I take his picture. That termite mound is easily over 10 feet tall, too, BTW.
The morning after everyone got back, we were to leave for the safari. Geoff and I leave early, as we have to drop the car off at a suitable location. Surprise, it took three stops to find a place that would help (white people owned it- it's good to be white here, we learned). I email Hentie where I left the car, and thank him to have it repaired so we can leave immediately upon our return to Maun on the 12th.
At Naga Safari's (I'm making this part of the story waaay short), where Geoff and I end up, we watch our huge truck being loaded. We have 9 days worth of food, plus all of the stuff that 9 people bring (yup, that's 5 tourists and 4 staff). We finally get in, and realize that we're just sitting on the edge of a high rolling truck with zero supports or seat belts. Little bumps almost propel you out of the open-air truck, and any little swerve causes your skull to riccochet off the steel sides. At any rate, we're on the tarred road for a bit, then hit dirt- real dirt, not gravel roads, for the next 9 days.
The next postings will be more entertaining- I promise.
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