The commute

Mornings I wake up around 07:10, wash my face, down a yogurt and go stand next to the road at 07:30 looking like “boy” on the street corner. I dress neat wearing a shirt and a beanie to keep my wild-morning-hair down, which I drop in my back pocket as I enter school.

Everyday I have a different teacher that picks me up outside my apartment. Charles (who also works on Seokmodo Island at a middle school) and I share the ride to the ferry. Monday mornings used to be the worse. Charles’s co-teacher would pick us up in his small automatic car and chase it to Oepori (the ferry port). The conversation would consist of the church, blind dates and that it’s time to settle down with a girl, the English language and stressing about whether we would make it in time to catch the ferry or not (we usually make it with a few seconds to spare).
He has since bought a new car which makes me feel a little bit safer and we now get there on time.

One thing that all foreigners and even Koreans agree on is that Koreans can’t drive for shit. Always in a rush, lacking confidence and skill or sometimes over confident is the cause for numerous accidents. A red light acts as a yield sign and gets ignored most of the time. Their hand will be put on the hooter before deciding how to take control of the situation. Impatient and always on the hooter, but never a: “Hey fuck you (middle finger), look where you’re driving!” The first few weeks were scary, especially on Mondays, but I have become used to it now. If I do die in Korea then it will be in a car crash.

At Oepori I board a 15min Ferry ride across to Seokpori. My mornings start off with the beautiful soundtrack of the ferry engines and the nod of the head to all the familiar faces on the ferry. Charles and I go stand on the deck where he smokes 2 cigarettes and we absorb the morning view. On the other side I get a lift to school with whoever stops first to pick me up.

At the end of the school day I must always ask around to find out who will be going to the ferry port. I just say the ferry port name: Seokpori. There have been days that no one can take me to the ferry and you don’t want to miss the ferry, because then you wait another 30 minutes for it to return, resulting in missing the bus too. So on these days I decide to hitchhike and I get picked up real quick as this is an island with only one road that goes around. I’ve become good at it and some of the teachers without a car follow me to catch a lift. A South African showing the Koreans how to wing it! At school rumors are going around that I am a professional hitchhiker and they laugh at me, but when they too want to go home they follow me and take the back seat.

Seokmodo is an island visited by old people and tourists with kitted color matching hikers’ gear who come here to climb Haemyung Mountain. You’ll also find tourists flocking here to see Bomunsa Temple (the main tourist attraction) and then leaving as soon as possible to not be stuck on Seokmodo. All these tourists have one activity in common, which is to feed chips to the seagulls hovering around the ferry looking for a free meal. It’s an exciting event that I also often participate in. It’s a great opportunity to take photos and for Korean’s to show off their latest SLR Cameras.

Back at Oepori I walk in the road hoping that someone feels sorry for me and picks me up so that I don’t have to wait for the bus. It’s happened several times that someone has picked me up, but I often end up taking the bus back. I wait 15 minutes for the bus to arrive and with my Ipod blasting I take the back seat (the seat with the least chance of having to stand up for an old person) and I fall asleep till I arrive back in Ganghwa 20 minutes later.

A total commute of just under an hour in the morning and an hour in the afternoon. I could compare it to sitting in Cape Town rush hour traffic – just with a little bit more excitement.

Journey to the Deserts Edge

I’ve recently returned from a 2 week trip to Namibia. My long time school friend Emile Borman currently resides in Windhoek Namibia where he is a pilot. We remain in contact all the time and he’s been telling me about all the great places he’s been to in Namibia. He also told me that he flies over the Namib Desert for scenic flights and that there are often an extra spot on the plane.



“Albert, I am quite sure that if you make it to the Desert next week, then I’ll be able to take you on a scenic flight” – Emile Borman.







With this opportunity in mind, I started to plan a trip up North. Last year I went traveling through Southern Africa and paid a brief visit to Namibia. I haven’t been to the Namib Desert since 1997 when I had the opportunity to go with my parents. In April 2008 I visited the South of Namibia, but I’d always wanted to go back to the Desert.



I arranged a lift with a truck driver last year before leaving to Namibia for my Southern Africa trip. Unfortunately the Margarine order due for Windhoek that time failed and I opted to go up with the bus. This time, a year later, I contacted the same truck driver and asked for a lift up to Windhoek.

With hardly any money I would try to make use of free or cheap transport to visit Emile and hopefully be able to get a scenic flight over the Namib Desert.







The journey up north started on Sunday morning. My father dropped me at Fritz Brandt the truck driver’s house in Porterville. We journeyed up to the Namibian border through Namakwaland’s flower region. The sceneries up to Namibia were beautiful. Past the border we stopped for a braai next to the highway and grilled some lamb chops and sausage.

I would catch this free lift with Fritz and then hitch to the deserts edge to meet up with Emile. I packed enough food for the road to last me 2 days. With my tent, sleeping bag, gas stove, pots, canned Tuna and water bottles I was prepared for the adventure that lay ahead.

Fritz dropped me early on Monday morning in Windhoek where I met up with Emile for a brief hour. He was on his way to fly a group of tourists to a lodge in the desert. Luckily I had made it in time to meet up with Emile in Windhoek as we shared valuable information about the travels ahead. I took a quick shower at Emile’s flat, filled my water bottles and told him that I’d most likely make it to our meeting point in 2 days time.

He then dropped me at the side of the B1 highway to start my hitchhiking journey westwards to meet up with him again.

Within 20 minutes I was off with my first lift. This lift took me back south to Mariental where I climbed off and headed west to Maltahohe. The man that had picked me up was originally from Denmark and had been traveling and working through out the world as a UN refugee consultant. He’d been traveling through Africa numerous times and all the stories inspired me for my journey ahead.

At the turn off westwards I got a lift with a baster from Rheboth. He and his farm worker drove into town to buy bullets to kill the baboons on the farm as they were a threat to his livestock. He poured himself a double brandy and coke in a foamlite glass and said that it’s because of the baboons that he was drinking. This lift took me only halfway to Maltahohe and I had to wait 3 hours for my next lift.

A grumpy old man picked me up and took me to Maltahohe. The only words of this trip were at the end when he asked me if I had enough water for the road ahead. So I went to the only café in town and bought a 1.5 liter water to add to my 1.5L I already had. Never through out the journey did I buy water again as I always filled my bottles with tap water.

If there’s no tap water then you drink Beer!

I got a lift on the back of a bakkie from Matlahohe in the direction of Sossusvlei. By this time my boere-tan started to take shape.

I was dropped at an intersection and within 10min a German women and her son picked me up. This was my first encounter with the Germans as Namibia has more German tourists than Jacob Zuma has wives. I climbed into the rented car with Sonja and Felix and we started off with a wheel spin. At first they thought I was from England and when I told then I was from Cape Town they thought I was American. Welcome to Africa, Cape Town is 1600km south from here, be careful of the lions. They dropped me at the intersection I had to take and took off in the sunset.

As the sun started to set the horizon became more colourful and I realized that this would be where I’d have to spend the night. In 2 hours not a single car had passed and I started to walk to the nearest tree. The girl in me decided to build a fence with thorn branches incase there were some Hyenas. I started up my gas stove and made a filling tuna meal where after I went to bed in my one man tent. That night there were no hyenas though I was kept awake by an owl in the tree above me.

At sunrise I was up and standing next to the road. The first 4x4 convey that came past picked me up. We did not have much to say to each other as they were Italian and I was American/English/South African.

I was only 60km away from where I was supposed to meet Emile. The Italian group took me to the turn off for the lodge and Emile told me that there would be cellphone reception at the gate (I bought a Namibian Simcard in Windhoek). Arriving at the gate there was no cellphone signal. It was a 20km hike to the lodge and there was no way I would make it. I only had 500ml of water left.

A German group in a rented 4x4 came from the opposite direction and I opened the gate for them. They looked at me as if I got paid to stand there for a day opening gates. Before driving off I stopped them and asked for some water. Again they looked at me as if I was some dirty backpacker Bushman with hidden water in Ostrich eggs behind the gate that I open for the 5 cars that pass per day.

Off they went without giving me water (I hope they got a puncture and could not read the instructions on how to use a jack and ended up being dehydrated). I had 500ml left, so I would make it.

Within 5min the staff of the lodge arrived at the gate. I asked them for a lift in to the lodge and 20min later I knocked on Emile’s door where he was still in his boxers watching The Hangover.

It was Tuesday morning and I had made it to the edge of the Desert. I washed all the desert dust off, drank a cooldrink and joined Emile to watch The Hangover.

The day before I was nursing a boere-tan, taking a shit in the bush and being a girl about Hyenas. Here I was clean and chilling at a 5 star lodge with 3 meals a day having a laugh with one of my best mates.

Scenic Flight over the Desert

Emile had a scenic flight booked for the Wednesday morning. A French couple on their honeymoon wanted to view Sossusvlei from the air and this gave me the opportunity to join. Emile asked them if I could join and they approved.

At 07:00 we where up and flying across the dunes. I had the front seat next to Emile which gave me a great opportunity for taking photos. Flying over the desert gives you a different perspective and you realize the sheer size of this massive sand landscape. We took an hour flight and only viewed the start of this enormous desert.

Everywhere you would look there would just be more and more dunes. I am sure that some pilots could become bored by this landscape over time, though I was so excited and privileged to be flying over the Namib Desert I did not want the flight to ever end.

The scenic flight took us up to Sossusvlei, Deadvlei and through the dune corridor back to the Lodge.

Emile and Norman Esplin refueled the planes and we spent the rest of the afternoon just chilling.

The whole mission to get here was worth it. I had the opportunity to fly over the Namib – for free!

That night we drank lots of beers and red wine. I had a 4 course meal in the lodge and went to bed quite late.

Life in the desert can become lonely as one of the staff members pointed out:

“Tjom, dis die woestyn die, hier naai ek enige iets met ‘n hardklop, behalwe ‘n pofadder” – I am not going to translate that into English.

Both Emile and Norman would leave the next day to take their guests to other lodges. I arranged a lift with the lodge’s staff shuttle to Sesriem for the next morning to go view the dunes from ground level.

Sossusvlei and Deadvlei.

At 06:00 I was on the shuttle still half drunk driving to Sesriem. The August east winds were blowing sand into my eyes and I was not excited to be standing next to the road. I left my backpack at reception, bought my park ticket, filled my water bottles and went to stand next to the road to hitch a lift in to Sossusvlei.



At first no one wanted to pick met up, could they see I had a hangover? Then a French group stopped to pick me up. The Combi’s door opened and there sat a beautiful girl. Hell yeah, driving into the desert with a hot girl. I then found out they where French and could hardly speak a word of English. The girl sat in front of me reading the whole way. Could she also see I was hung-over? Her brother with his designer clothes sat next to me also reading. He did not look up once. I wanted to tell him: dude, look out the window, you’re in the f**king desert! But who am I other than a hitchhiker. At the drop off to Sossusvlei he grabbed his jacket and bubblegum and walked to the shuttle thinking he was boarding a party bus with his hot sister. From the drop off to Sossusvlei is 5km and you can only cover it in a 4x4 vehicle. If you don’t have a 4x4 then you take the shuttle for R110 or you walk like me.



I started to walk and thought I was never going to reach my destination. Even the crows knew I was hungover as they kept hovering over my head. Then as most tourist destinations would have it an idiot would get stuck in the sand. I helped them along with some other people and grabbed a lift with one of the other helpers for the last 2km to Sossusvlei.
At first I paid a visit to Deadvlei and it was amazing. All the dead trees standing between the dunes like statues. I took lots of photos while raping my water.





I then walked across to Sossusvlei, but before I could climb the dune I had to take a nap under a tree. It was in the heat of the day and I first had to get my powers back. The hot French girl and her gay brother passed me on their shuttle heading out. They had taken all their photos and were heading home while I still had/wanted to climb the dune.



I eventually reached the top with each step feeling like I might be climbing Everest. Took my photos and back down I went. An empty shuttle passed me and picked me up – for free. He could see I had a hangover that by this time was close to heatstroke.



From the drop off to Sesriem I got a lift with an Overland truck. They stopped halfway for lunch and I went to go lie under a tree again. Before departure one of the German tourists asked if she could empty the sand in her shoes in the parking lot. O my God, you’re in the f**king desert, look at all the sand around you! What question is that?



Back at reception I made some enquiries about camping. At first I thought it would be R150 to camp, cool, but then they informed me it would be R150 pp plus R300 for the site totaling to R450. I hadn’t even spent that much money to reach Sesriem.
So I walked to the only garage, filled my water bottles, bought a sandwich, lost my South African simcard between the rocks and took off in the direction of the mountains to find a quiet place to camp.
Getting back into the Sossusvlei nature reserve to find a tree or something would be a different story as the fences where raised and the park rangers where driving Germans around for sundowners or something. I felt like a Kudu looking for a place to jump the fence. Up and over the fence I speed walked to the river bed, hiding behind the bushed as the Land Rovers came past.
I pitched my tent camouflaged between the bushes and made the same old tuna meal while the jackals kept crying in the mountain.
The morning I woke up to the sound of a grunt. I zipped open my tent and saw a heard of Springbok standing around my tent also camouflaged from the German tourists.



Just after sunrise I was back at the garage for breakfast and on the road again north towards to Swakopmund.

This is not the end, but it is the road

At the Sesriem garage I met a man building garages around Namibia. He was a grown up jock, but we had a cool chat. Knowing everything and everyone he asked the fuel truck drivers to take me to Walvis Bay.
The drivers are not allowed to pick up hitchhikers as they transport fuel and are one of the biggest logistical companies in Namibia. They said they would give me a lift to Solitare from where I would hitch further north. I was not allowed to take a photo of the truck as the driver was paranoid I would do something with it. So respecting his wishes I climbed into the truck and listened to the repetitive Owambo music all the way.



Solitare is a very small place with a garage and some tourist attractions. There is a nice bakery where I bought a big cinnamon bun. Solitare is similar to Ronnie’s Sex Shop as it is a place where everyone stops on route to their next destination.

I don’t like asking people for lifts while they refuel. I’ll rather wait outside or next to the road for a lift. Maybe if I was desperate I’d have a different strategy, but standing next to the road worked through out Namibia. This may sound arrogant, but playing the White-card also helps.

Manfred picked me up just outside the Solitare garage. I waited for about 40min. He drove a Corsa bakkie with a Speed and Sound sticker in the back window. With a sticker like that I knew I was in for a ride. We passed all the people that did not pick me up as we were cruising on the gravel roads between 120 – 140km/h in an air conditioned car while listening to loud Nama music.



He was on his way to Swakopmund and at the Kuiseb Pass we made a brief stop. A truck had rolled over the week before and the driver died. The truck was transporting flat rocks and Manfred stopped so that we could pick up the rock for him to build his braai area. While sweating in the sun helping Manfred load rocks the hot French girl and her family drove past. She waved at me smiling as if she could see that today I did not have a hangover though I was twice as dirty.



Manfred dropped me in Swakopmund’s town centre from where I walked to the backpackers and booked in for the weekend

The West Coast Mist In Swakopmund

As I arrived in Swakopmund so to did the mist. This time of the year sees the West Coast being covered in mist.

The first day’s weather was grim and I decided to pay a visit to the museum. I remember this museum from 1997 and I loved all the stuffed animals back then. This time I walked straight past them and read up on Namibia’s mining sector, fishing resources and local tribes.

When you first enter the museum you’re bombarded by German colonialism and stuffed animals. Tourist friendly artifacts for the millions of Germans that visit here. Walking around I wondered where the other cultures and influences towards the modern day Namibia was. And there in a hidden away extended wing you find info on the Himba’s, Owambo’s, San and others. Since my visit in 1997 they extended the museum to cater for everyone.

One thing that stood out for me was at the cashier till where you can buy a sticker of the Old South African Flag, this next to the current Namibian President Hifikepunye Pohamba’s face,

“Does anyone buy this sticker?” I asked the cashier.

“Yes, lots do. Mainly South African’s” she replied.

I assume it’s for those guys that also have blue balls hanging from the back of their bakkies tow-bar or the one’s only brave enough to wear 100% Boer T-shirts in Hartenbos and maybe here in Namibia. I am sure Mr. Pohamba would not approve this sticker in his Government museum. But hey, it’s misty in Swakopmund, why visit now?

At night I went out for a few beers. The town was empty or maybe it was because I went out at 19:00. I was tired and went to bed early.

The next morning I slept late and went for a walk around Swakopmund. I watched the Rugby at a local pub, paid a visit to the aquarium and saw some cool colonial buildings.

That night I went to the local hang out Grunen Kranz and played pool till the place closed.

When I arrived I played pool with Goofy. Goofy thought he was a mean gangster and told me about all his criminal records, showed me his petrol bomb scars and 8 ball tattoos. It feels good when you beat a mean gangster at pool. I only won the first game and he won the next two till his brother apparently phoned to use his gun. Goofy left the pool table and I was joined by some of the locals. We played till late and I could see my pool partners becoming drunk as the night progressed. By the time the place closed I was on their level and walked down to the Backpackers to pass out in my tent.

I was up late and decided to go view the flamingos in Walvis Bay. Walvis Bay is the harbour port of Namibia and is about 30km south of Swakopmund. Two lifts later and I was dropped of at the flamingos. I walked around and snapped some shots. From there it was three lifts back to Swakopmund.

Arriving back at the Backpackers I met up with some German girls. They were going to eat out at the Lighthouse Restaurant and invited me to join them. I’ve mentioned this before on my Southern Africa trip: “seeing a good looking girl in Africa is like spotting a Leopard in the Serengeti. They are there, but hard to find”. I only saw the French girl thus far, so when four girls invite you out you say: Hell yes! They were really cool and we had a good party (even though none of them could play pool).

The weekend was over and I was ready to leave the mist. On Monday morning I walked to the station and booked a ticket for the night train to Windhoek. Taking the bus would be much quicker but almost triple the price. I wanted to investigate the Namibian trains. The train travels through the night arriving in Windhoek early the next morning. I was over hitchhiking and thought I could take the train from Swakopmund to Windhoek then south to Keetmanshoop and further on to South Africa, but soon found out that this option did no longer exist.

The Night Train to Windhoek

Everyone I spoke to had different opinions regarding the train. Most of then did not know much but still had something to say. Goofy said that it was dangerous and that I would need to be able to fight. The owner of the backpackers said that in the good old days they traveled by train but now all the blacks took over. Michael Mackenzie that gave me a lift to the flamingos said it was awesome and a cool experience.

I was at the station an hour before departure. The train came in from Walvis Bay and was an hour late.

Whenever you board a bus or train you always look at the people around you thinking who would I sit next to? Leaving for Namibia in June 2008 I sat next to the coolest girl I’ve ever met on public transport – Sam Murray. This time would not be the same.

The train arrived and everyone boarded. It was empty and we could choose our own compartments. I walked into an open compartment and put down my bag. Behind me stood a figure that I could smell a mile away. This slangoog (snake eye) character asked me if he could share the compartment with me. Not wanting to be rude I said yes. The whole train was open, why share with me. Then he started going on about how he was not an Alien but a Human being and I should not judge. He was drunk and repeated himself several times. I was quick to say: “sorry friend, you speak too much. I am finding somewhere else to stay”.

I ended up sharing a compartment with a middle age black man and his young son who were on their way for a doctor’s check up. The compartments did not have doors and the Alien luckily did not bother me again.

In Windhoek Norman picked me up in the city centre. Emile was only arriving the next day. I made us a filling chicken stir-fry and we just chilled at the flat.

The night of Emile’s arrival we went out in Windhoek for some beers. Norman, Emile and I pub crawled between Joe’s, Zanzibar and Kiepies. In Zanzibar and Kiepies I met some of the guys I played pool with in Swakopmund on the weekend. I also met an old Simonsberg friend of mine, Frey Ulrich. Namibia is such a small place. Everyone knows each other.

I find Windhoek to be quite behind. Behind in terms of music, fashion and trends you’ll find compared to cities in South Africa.

If there is one thing that will never ever be behind in a small town or a place like Windhoek then it will be the latest in Afrikaans Sokkie Music. Kurt Darren’s Kaptein span die seile is more prominent than all the Chinese investment being pumped into Namibia.

In Windhoek I mainly spent my time with South African pilots. If there is one thing all these pilots have in common then it is that they don’t want to be in Windhoek.

I only spent a short time in Windhoek. I wanted to take the train further south to Keetmanshoop before the weekend rush. Thursday morning Emile took me to the station and I booked my train ticket for that night to Keetmanshoop.

The Night Train to Keetmanshoop and beyond

Emile dropped me at the station and I immediately found my compartment. This train was a lot busier than the one I took from Swakopmund to here. The platform was active and we left two hours late. I had another character that fitted the slangoog profile in my compartment. He was a friendly guy wearing a faded Fubu sweater and slops with feet that looked like he walked barefoot through the desert with eyes fitting the slangoog profile. He soon decided our compartment was to boring for him and moved next door to the party cabin where the Nama tunes played through the night.

I was left with three women, an old man and his grand child in my compartment. The old man and the child was in a ‘who could speak the most’ battle but soon went to bed. The babies did not cry once on the trip, but coughed as if they had TB. The compartment had a door and we closed it because Slangoog and his friends were partying next door. It was hot and stuffy in our compartment. I had the top berth and the babies slept on the floor. I had a good night sleep rocking to the movement of the railway tracks.

From Keetmanshoop I wanted to take the train South to Karasburg and then to Upington, De Aar and Cape Town. The Karasburg train only went the next day; there was no passenger train from Karasburg to Upington and also no passenger train from Upington to De Aar. From De Aar I would only be able to board a 00:00 train to Cape Town. This option seemed stupid and I decided to rather travel back by road to Cape Town.

In Keetmanshoop I asked around for the next bus south. Intercape and Ekonolux would only be leaving Keetmanshoop at 23:00. It was 09:00 and I had all the time in the world. While walking to the ATM to draw money for an Intercape bus, I thought of giving Fritz Brandt a call. I’d been in contact with my father and according to one of his sources Fritz was in Namibia. Fritz told me he would only be in Namibia in 3 weeks time. It was 2 weeks on, but I called him anyway.

Fritz was loading fish in Walvis Bay due for Cape Town. He would be in Keetmanshoop around 04:00.

“I’ll give you a lift if you’re willing to wait till then”

The bus would only arrive at 23:00 and they might even be late. With Fritz I had a free lift to Cape Town. One time, I was taking the truck.

I walked 4km out of town to the Engen garage where I sat waiting, killing time by reading and listening to my Ipod.

After sunset I moved to a seat in the Wimpy watching the Leopards VS Griqua’s rugby game. When the game finished I moved back outside and pulled my usual stunt by sleeping under the tree till Fritz arrived.

It was as if I had seen him yesterday. Two weeks passed and I told him all my adventures.

Back in South Africa we passed through the same flower fields again. In two weeks the landscape had changed and new flowers where prominent.

I arrived back in a wet and cold Cape Town on Saturday 22:00.

In my short two week trip to Namibia I met up with an old friend and made new friends along the way.

Had some great experiences and took nice photos.

The trip hardly cost me anything with most expenses going towards food and booze. It was almost cheaper to travel than stay at home.

What an amazing trip I had all by just making use of opportunities, being flexible, tolerant, patient and having faith in others.