The drive to Jo'berg was long and hot through wide open spaces. The areas were very dry and at one point I approached what looked like a thick bank of red fog. When I got closer it was a dust cloud from a tractor working in a field at the side of the road - they really need some rain in SA. I was to stay with Michelle who I had met in Brum when she was working at the Kids Hospital. After working in New Zealand, Newcastle and Holland, she was setting up her own practice as a paediatrician specialising in kidney disorders. I eventually found her office - the majority of health care in SA is private funded by personal health insurance - and picked up a set of keys to her house. After getting well and truly lost, I found her gated & walled estate and let myself into her light & airy two story house. The next day I visited the Sandton Shopping Centre - eat your heart out Bull Ring - to find an internet cafe and then visited the SA Museum of Military History. It was very informative and well laid out. Displays covered the early days of settlement, through the Boer & Zulu wars to the internal freedom struggles and the county's various informal 'invasions' of neighboring countries. Reflecting SA's involvement in the Second World War there was a Hurricane, Spitfire and Mosquito. The biggest display was of armour - tanks and self-propelled guns. Outside they had one of the Buccanners that the UK had sold in the 1970s - I remembered the media coverage at the time.
One evening I went with Michelle to one of the City's small theatres to watch "Sofiatown" - a play about a black area that was cleared in the 1950s to make way for a housing development for whites. It was in a mixture of English, Afrikaans and Xosha - so I couldn't follow it all, but enough to understand and enjoy it. The next day was to be that of my departure but as I drove to pick up some provisions, the temperature guage shot up and there was a smell of steam! NOT AGAIN!!! I called the AA and was towed to the local Land Rover agent but it was a Friday so that they couldn't do anything until Monday. Worse case it was the cylinder head gasket (and up to a week off the road) or a split hose (which was going to be shorter). The main problem was that I had to be in Windhoek over 1,000 kilometers away by Thursday to provision and meet Breda for her two week visit. There was nothing to do but to break the news to Michelle that she was stuck with me for at least another few days. Saturday I went into hospital with her whilst she did her ward rounds and to the local hypermarket whilst she shopped for the big Jewish festival later in the week. The evening was a return visit to the theatre. This time to a charity performance in support of a children's home that had been burnt down. The play was called "Acropolis Cafe" and was about what was once a SA institution - Greek owned cafes that stayed open on Sundays when all other shops were closed. It was very funny and gave an insight into an obscure element of SA history. Jo'berg is a strange place - like elsewhere in SA: nobody walks. That's not quite true, the only people you see walking are black - but you see just as many black as white people driving up market cars. The biggest difference is Fortress Jo'berg - everybody lives in self-imposed prisons. Michelle lived in a compound (complex) with a remote controlled electric gate; bars to all windows; metal gates to both external doors and an extra one on the stairs up to the bedrooms. Banks are also caught in this approach to life: entrances & exits were all of an 'air lock' design with cash transfers always guarded by a guard on the street with an AK45. Sunday I was taken walking in hills to the North with a group that Michelle walks with on a regular basis. It was a hot ascent to a ridge that overlooked a massive reservoir that supplied the conurbation. We had parked the groups minibus at a 4x4 centre's base that had a picnic ground and swimming pool. Part of the cost of the walk was an excellent cold meat & salad meal. Monday I hassled LR to see what was wrong with the Disco and made initial inquiries about hiring transport to get to Namibia - just in case the worse case scenario hit. All's well that ends well: it was only a split hose!
So off I set late AM - on the road to Namibia but almost immediately fell foul of the inability of SA to place meaningful road signs - either directions or miles to go. I needed the N14 but seemed to find every number than the one I wanted and as there are few exits from the freeways it was a long & complicated cross country expedition to end up on the right road - the most worrying bit was when I found myself on the road back to Bloemfontein! The journey turned into the standard SA long-distance trip : long straight empty roads with the occasional farmstead set way back from the road to the accompaniment of 'golden oldies' on Radio 2000. The aim was to get to Upington - the last major town before Namibia. One of the oddities of SA roads is that you can be bombing along in a 120kph limit, when in the middle of nowhere there's a 4 way crossing with a minor road and a Stop sign on the main road. In theory you have to slow to a stop, even if there's nothing on the joining road. The surprise of the journey was the rain storm - well there were a few big drops on the windscreen. I was still zipping along at a steady 100kph (70mph ish) - a bit below the 120kph limit - as the sun went down in front of me and I start seeing the HGVs with no lights or just one set. So discretion being the better part of valour, I consulted the guide book and headed for the Red Sands Resort. I couldn't really see much of it as I drove the 2kms from the road but I was allocated a chalet. It was quite big with both a double bed and a single, a fridge & kitchen and a satellite TV. I grabbed a tough steak in the restaurant and headed for an early bed. I drew back the curtains at first light to a view across a valley with hills in the distance under an overcast sky. As the clouds dissipated, I was on the road again - a quick stop in Upington for some food shopping - and I was at the border by 1300. Here's how I fell foul of the infamous SAPS (South African Police Service). As I drew up at the border post I noticed an agitated SA truck driver debating something with a SAPS officer with two pips - I thought nothing of it and headed for emmigration. They send be back to the police counter to get a gate pass. Here I again come across the truck driver who was receiving the paperwork for a 1,000 rand [£88] fine for not halting at a Stop sign at the approach to the border post. In the background, behind her superior's back, there was a female officer smiling & mouthing words at me and making praying signs: friendly but decidedly strange. Then the penny drops as the senior officer tells me that I also had failed to observe the Stop sign. So, after pleading that I hadn't seen it (the truth) and groveling, I was let off with a formal warning and my name entered in an official looking book. The moral being: Never argue with the plod - they will always have the last say! The truckie was most peeved when I said I had escaped a fine - I'm afraid that his aggression/arrogance had cost him a big chunk of his day's wages! I don't think that it was a scam as no money changed hands and the truckie was told how he could pay the fine or appeal it in court - just a bored officer perhaps. After some cajoling, both sets of customs agreed to stamp my carnet so that it is up to date. After another 4 hours driving through the more hilly countryside of Namibia, I decided to stay the night in Keetmanshoop - a dusty little town in the middle of nowhere. There wasn't much choice in accommodation and, on the recommendation of a guide book, stayed at the Canyon Hotel. This must have once been a good hotel but was now beginning to fade and fray around the edges. Its publicity leaflet certainly seemed to show much happier days. But the room was clean (but the air conditioning didn't work) and it had a bath: the first in 2½months!
Back on the road I head Northwards in the direction of Windhoek where I have accommodation booked at Rivendell for the two nights before Breda arrives. Rather than spend a third in this rather uninspiring capital, I call in at Hardap Dam National Park: basically this is a large reservoir that has had a small reserve tacked on to it. It also has a 'resort': this is a range of chalets, a swimming pool, shop and restaurant. The central facilities are on a cliff top over looking the water and must, in their prime, been a very pleasant place to holiday. Since independence and the retreat of the South Africans, this seems have to hit hard times with the facilities showing a certain amount of neglect. My chalet as small but perfectly formed. Outside there was a car port to keep the Landy cool and in a small corner overlooking the water, a brai pit, a netted food store (presumably from before fridges were common), a concrete table + 4 chairs and a water tap. Inside was a massive wardrobe, a table & benches, a good sized fridge/freezer, an electric kettle and a single hot plate. The WC, basin and shower were en suite. And the whole place was air conditioned! As the back of the Landy hadn't really seen light of day since we left Kruger - 6 weeks ago - I took the opportunity to do a bit of spring cleaning & washing. The water in the laundry was scalding hot and for some reason the OMO scented steam triggered one of those flashbacks: straight back to my childhood and Mother's washing day! I also fixed my big battery powered spotlight - despite putting the bulb in so it illuminated the inside of its body. Getting back into the swing of self catering after all these weeks of being cooked for, I excelled myself: tinned Meatballs, Malay Curry Baked Beans with a spoonful of Peanut butter and rice - don't nock it until you've tried it! In the morning I had a drive around the small NP in search of the Black Rhino it was supposed to contain.
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