Showing posts with label AMANDA. Show all posts
Showing posts with label AMANDA. Show all posts

Thursday, 24 March 2022

160 CYCLE TOURING NAMIBIA (2) - PART 1

Shenanigans on a bike - By Leana Niemand 


NAMIBIA (2) Part 1

1 109 Kilometres - 16 Days

4 March - 22 March 2022

  

 

4 March 2022 – Vioolsdrift, South Africa – Aussenkehr, Namibia – 63 km

We chatted to Kathy, the owner, forever before getting on the dirt road for the return trip to the Namibian border checkpoint. At least this time, we’d our PCR tests, and all went smoothly. The first stop was at a petrol station to buy a SIM card and have breakfast. After that, Amanda pushed on to Aussenkehr and I enjoyed the last of the paved road for some time. It was a long and lonely stretch along the Orange River and the scenery desolate but spectacular.

Amanda located a lovely resort where camping was right on the river. The only problem was the lack of internet connection and thus no means of contacting me to tell me where to go, and she’d to drive back to inform me.

The lodge sported a pool as well as a bar, and the sunset was spectacular as we lit a fire to braai.

 

5 March – Aussenkehr – Ai-Ais – 78 km

Again, I set out before Amanda and was reluctant to leave our lovely campsite as it would be the last time I see the water or a paved road until reaching Walvis Bay. Fortunately, the road was in good condition and the riding almost easy.

Midday, Amanda came past and besides her, I only saw one other vehicle which turned out to be the manager of the Ai-Ais resort where we camped. Besides the baboons, there were no other guests as it was still considered too hot to visit this part of the world. Strangely, it didn’t feel the near 40 C predicted as I’d the slightest breeze to cool me and keep the flies at bay.

After sunset, we cooked pasta instead of a braai as there was no shop nearby. Once darkness fell, the heat became almost unbearable, and I was happy to leave the flysheet off.

 

6 March – Ai-Ais – Hobas Lodge – 70 km

I tried to get underway as soon as possible as the weather forecast was for sweltering weather. Although hot it wasn’t the heat that bothered me but the steady climb into a strong headwind. The first 30 kilometres thus became an exhausting ride as I could barely manage six or seven km/h. Still, one pedal stroke at a time will get one almost anywhere. I thus persevered and around midday the wind subsided, but the flies increased, irritating me to no end. Fortunately, Amanda passed and handed me more water as the slow pace required more water than anticipated.

On the upside, the scenery was spectacular as the Fish River Canyon was visible in the distance. I was exhausted upon reaching Hobas Lodge. You can imagine my relief when I found Amanda had booked a chalet instead of camping. Although pricey, it was a lovely unit featuring all the mod cons where I could shower and flop on a bed! Her main reason for opting for a chalet was the sight of the many baboons in camp. They can be quite a menace.

 


7 March – Hobas Lodge – Canyon Farm Yard – 62 km

The main canyon viewpoint was 10 kilometres away and gave spectacular views at Hell’s Bend over this second largest canyon globally. The canyon formation started with the separation of the continent Gondwana about 120 million years ago. With the uplifting of the African continent the gradient of the Fish River increased, allowing it to erode even deeper into the rock. Today, the deepest point of the canyon is 549 metres deep.

A few drops of rain fell during the night and pools of water were visible during the day, not often seen in this part of the world. I saw Amanda about 10 kilometres down the drag at the Canyon Roadhouse after which she proceeded to our agreed-upon camp. An ancient lime kiln and an old railway bridge were the only things of interest.

Our camp was a somewhat rustic affair without electricity or Wi-Fi and thus a peaceful setting displaying gazillion stars.

 

8 March – Canyon Farm Yard – Seeheim – 67 km

Due to our early night, I woke at around six and lit the stove for coffee. Still, it was eight o’clock before I eventually got on the dusty road to Seeheim. A few kilometres further, I found the road closed due to flooding and was diverted across the Naute Dam wall where the sluice gates were open and water poured spectacularly out of the dam.

Not much further, my path reached the paved Luderitz road and, aided by a tailwind, I flew to Seeheim where we camped at the overpriced Seeheim Hotel and Camping. We were the only ones there but still had to pay to use the pool. One could, nonetheless, use their internet if you ordered a beer or food. During the day Amanda drove to Keetmanshoop to stock up as we were running low on crisps and beer! We thus did not need their overpriced beer but I needed the internet.

 

9 March – Seeheim – Alta Kalkhofen – 53 km

We learned of a campsite at Alta Kalkhofen and I made it a short ride. As the entire way was paved, riding was pleasant and quick. I was amazed at the astronomical prices in Namibia for accommodation and camping. Still, mentally we were committed to camp and thus stayed put. The prices appeared high as I got used to 10-dollar rooms in Southeast Asia. Wi-Fi and electricity were only available at the reception building, and that’s where we spent a few hours charging our devices and posting updates. This service, of course, wasn’t entirely free as one needed to order something to eat or drink. I nursed my beer as I updated posts and watched rare rainfall in this dry region. The ground seemed as greedy as some of the campsite owners.

During the evening, Amanda and I made plans to visit the ghost town of Kolmanskop, situated 245 kilometres away and shortly before Lüderitz. Although easy cycling, I wouldn’t say I like backtracking. Instead of cycling, we arranged to leave the bicycle and camping gear at the Lodge.

 

10 March – Side trip to Kolmanskop, Lüderitz (by car)

It took forever to load all our stuff in the car, and the staff kindly allowed us to store our belongings in the shed until our return. The drive to Lüderitz was remarkable and tedious as the road beat a dead-straight track through the desert.

From the small town of Aus, the way descended from the escarpment and entered the famed Namib desert, a vast plain of nothingness. It’s incredible how vast, lonely and quiet this area is, especially since spending almost two years in tropical and densely populated Southeast Asia. Not only was the area remarkable, but we further spotted the wild horses of Namibia. Living on the barren plains around Garub on the eastern fringe of the Namib Desert, their origin is shrouded in mystery. Yet, despite the harsh, arid landscape, they’ve survived against all odds.

Many years ago, I explored this region and Kolmanskop; I was thus surprised to find the famous ghost town now had an entrance fee of 120N$. I must admit I left South Africa 15 years ago, and one can expect things to change. The visiting hours were more surprising, from 8h00 – 13h00, and thus didn’t allow investigating at sunset or sunrise (the best time for photography). One had to buy a special permit for this privilege at 200N$ (I think).

We thus continued to Lüderitz, where I was relieved to find a perfectly priced room right in the centre of town, just as I thought Namibia only catered for the super-rich! The shower worked overtime, and we charged all our devices. The internet was strong enough to allow updating my blog – at last! While updating the blog, I feared I didn’t have enough data left to complete the job, and Amanda and I walked to a shop selling trinkets, airtime, etc. The lady was busy attending to a Namibian man but was so rude it was embarrassing to watch. I stared in amazement as she rolled her eyes and was irritated as he’d a problematic surname to spell! He needed to scan a document that he wanted to load on his phone to forward. I nearly intervened as she spoke to him in such a dismissive and demeaning manner it broke my heart. Attending to us, she couldn’t be any sweeter! It appeared racism was still alive and well in Namibia.

At sunset, it became surprisingly cold as we meandered to the tiny waterfront where we’d a lovely meal. The service was excellent, and the food was delicious.

 

11 March – Kolmanskop, Lüderitz – Alta Kalkhoven

As we thought Kolmanskop only opened at 9h00, we were slow to get going, but, once there, learned the gates opened at 8h00. Still, we spent a few hours wandering about this village with its sad history. I’ll post a link to an article by National Geographic which is worth a read as it sheds light on that era’s brutality.

https://www.nationalgeographic.com/travel/article/eerie-fascinating-pictures-kolmanskop-desert-diamond-ghost-town

Once done, we returned to Alta Kalkhoven and spotted more wild horses but far in the distance.

 

12/13 March – Alta Kalkhoven – Bethanie – 46 km

What should’ve been easy riding became a battle into a headwind on a gradual uphill to 1100m. In Bethanie (the oldest settlement in the country), I found Amanda having tea at the hotel/guesthouse/camping which turned out the oldest hotel in Namibia. The place looked inviting, and we decided to stay the night. Not only was it a short cycle, but we further opted for a room instead of camping, all very out of character. No sooner were we ensconced in a comfortable room than a fierce wind picked up. Within minutes the sky darkened, and lightning lit the sky. The heavens opened with one almighty bang, and the rain came down in droves. In no time at all the whole place was underwater. Staff tried to sweep the water from the kitchen/communal area, but all to no avail. Fortunately, the rooms remained dry, but the entire neighbourhood lost power. We thanked our lucky stars we didn’t proceed or camp as the roads and campsite became one muddy mess.

Eventually, the owner boiled a few potatoes accompanied by a pasta salad. After that, the guesthouse became quite busy as, besides Amanda and me, three chaps working in the area and a farmer who couldn’t reach his farms due to flooding also overnighted. Reports came in that the roads were flooded and washed away, and Amanda was advised not to proceed in the morning.

It rained throughout the night and the farmer still couldn’t reach his farm by morning. The weather bureau predicted more rain and our chances of getting through diminished further. We thus stayed another day, planning to retrace our steps to Keetmanshoop and follow the main road north.  

Missionaries established the town in the 19th century due to the presence of a spring and, as we had the day free, we walked the tiny settlement visiting the Lentia Lutheran Church, built in 1899 and the original church built in 1859. Sadly, Bethanie was the scene of the first recorded deed of sale when a German representative “bought” the surrounding land. I think it must’ve been the easiest thing in the world to bamboozle people into selling land when they had no concept of land ownership. The indigenous people do not view land as their own property – instead, it is something that belongs to everyone.

 

14 March – Bethanie – Keetmanshoop – 140 km

Seeing the roads were still flooded, I stepped on the pedals and cycled the 140 kilometres to Keetmanshoop. Backtracking is never much fun, and seeing it was a long distance (to me, that is), I didn’t take many pictures. Still, I snapped a pic of the many critters on the road. Armoured bush crickets covered the road. They are meaty delights that make a good snack for many different predators. But they possess a remarkable array of defensive measures, including vomit, spikes and squirting blood from seams in their exoskeleton!

On reaching Keetmanshoop, Amanda had already found a guesthouse, and I was more than pleased I didn’t have to cycle around looking for accommodation.

 

15 March - Keetmanshoop – Tses – 86 km

The ATM spat out a few ND allowing the purchase of more data. Afterwards, a shop selling outdoor equipment, including bicycle paraphernalia, provided a pump as mine gave up the ghost. Still, it was remarkably early by the time I set out. Cycling along a highway is one of my pet hates, as it’s like watching paint dry, but there was no option. Linda arrived on the 18th, and there remained 500 kilometres to Windhoek.

Albeit the main road, the B1 is narrow without a shoulder; luckily it wasn’t very busy.

The only thing of interest was the Brukkaros Crater visible in the distance. The mountain is a large caldera, with a diameter of about 4 kilometres. The caldera collapsed about 80 million years ago, but there was no time for a visit.

Although on the main thoroughfare, there’s a lack of accommodation along this route, and the first camping was 180 kilometres past Keetmanshoop. Hence, the tiny Nama village of Tses, consisting of a few little houses, a small shop, a school, and a church, made a perfect overnight stop. It’s at the church where we found a room at 200N$. The room was sparkling clean with two single beds, a kettle, a bar fridge and a fan! It even had a communal kitchen and TV room! The rooms are most likely for the use of teachers.

Our early arrival allowed rinsing cycling gear, and we later took a walk, snapping pics of the kids who thought it the highlight of their day. Unfortunately, the thorns in this part of the world are massive, and I stood on one which went right through my shoe and into my foot! Ouch!

 

16 March – Tses – Gibeon – 96 km

Truly little happened during the day except for roadwork and reaching Gibeon, one more tiny Nama settlement, early. Like the previous day, this hamlet had a surprisingly charming guesthouse at a mere 500N$. Chatting to the people, we got a little insight into what happened in Namibia during the invasion.

https://www.nytimes.com/2021/05/28/world/europe/germany-namibia-genocide.html

It’s heart-breaking what occurred in the Americas, Africa, and Australia. The discrimination and superior attitude remain in many parts. The Europeans left such a deep-rooted legacy of pain and suffering I don’t think these countries will ever rid themselves of it. It’s exciting when one gets chatting to the people who live in the region. We visited the grave of Hendrik Witbooi, and I felt humbled standing at the grave of this great leader of his time.

 

17 March – Gibeon – Mariental – 76 km

The chickens woke me early and after a complimentary breakfast from Silina, I left, not sure if I should cycle the 150 kilometres to Kalkrand or whether to make it two short days. However, the scenery was unchanged the entire way. Once at the sad-looking village of Mariental, I found Amanda at the Wimpy having tea. She further located a bargain guest house consisting of two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a kitchen and a lounge for only 600N$. Even though barely midday, we opted for this lovely guesthouse and lazed about for the remainder of the day.

 

18 March – Mariental – Kalkrand – 78 km

The B1 must be the most mind-numbing road in Southern Africa and stretched straight ahead without the slightest vista change. The way is further dreadfully narrow with nowhere to pull off when trucks came past; phew! The only thing out of the ordinary was a sudden gust of wind and even a few drops of rain. No sooner was a rain jacket donned than the bad weather passed.

Meanwhile, I got word from Amanda that she’d uncovered a 200N$ pp room and there was thus no need to camp, not that there was a campsite.

 

19 March – Kalkrand – Rehoboth – 104 km

I was in no hurry to get out of Kalkrand but got underway after two cups of coffee.

The B1 resembled the Stuart Highway through the Australian outback. Every cattle grid and dirt road turning off to nowhere required a photo stop. There was thus no pedalling past the Tropic of Capricorn sign without snapping a pic. It’s not the first time I’ve taken a picture here! In the meantime, Amanda discovered budget self-catering accommodation and, on arrival, I found the beers already in the fridge. I did indeed train her well.

 

20/21 March - Rehoboth – Windhoek – 90 km

The fog was still lying low on cycling out of Rehoboth. What started as pleasant riding became a battle into a headwind on a hillier than expected road. I felt tired climbing over the Auas Mountains and on reaching the top at near 2000 metres didn’t appreciate the rain that set in. Fortunately, the last 15 kilometres were via a good downhill. I would never have imagined biking into Windhoek in a drizzle. Locating my sister and Linda was easy, and it was good seeing my friend again. Our reunion called for a pizza evening, and I scoffed an entire Col’Cacchio pizza!

The following day was a public holiday in Namibia, and most places were closed. The bike and computer shops thus had to wait until the next day.

 

22 March – Windhoek

We all had a busy day as much remained to be done before we could leave Windhoek. First, Linda and I cycled to the bike shop where they filled our tubes with sealant; afterwards, I handed in my laptop and returned later to collect it.

That evening, my friend Erma and her husband John invited us for a braai. It was a pleasant evening in their beautiful home. We returned home well fed and grateful for such welcoming friends.

Saturday, 5 March 2022

159 CYCLE TOURING SOUTH AFRICA (3) - A LAST RESORT

Shenanigans on a Bike - By Leana Niemand




 SOUTH AFRICA (3)

717 Kilometres - 15 Days

18 February - 4 March 2022


PHOTOS

 


8 – 17 February - Bangkok, Thailand – Cape Town, South Africa

Finally, I was Africa bound. It was indeed a last resort as, after nearly two years, Thailand still hadn’t opened its borders. I was cautiously excited to return to my home soil and see what Africa had in store for me. However, travelling wasn’t as easy as before, and I wasn’t sure if I would even take off. 

Eventually, I was airborne and landed in Cape Town, South Africa, after a dreadfully long flight. As can be expected, there was a great deal of eating and drinking before getting to the bike shop to do the necessary.

 

18 February – Melkbosstrand – Yzerfontein – 60 km

The time was late in the day before finally cycling out of my sister’s place. I popped into Caron’s along the way and cycled to the main road together. She returned home but promised to join my sister and me in Yzerfontein by car after work. My sister, Amanda was keen to drive along for a few days, which meant I, at least, would’ve been company during the evenings.

The road along the West Coast is utterly dull, and not a considerable amount was happening. I wasn’t too fond of the traffic flying past at high speed, but most seemed friendly enough, always giving a toot and wave. En route, I popped into Route 27, a small farm stall and restaurant selling homemade treats. Again, the people were immensely friendly. After a chat, I hopped on the bike to cycle the short distance to Yzerfontein. The short day made early arrival and allowed a visit to the supermarket to stock up on everything needed. 

Late afternoon, Caron arrived, and we drove to the shop to buy wood and stuff to braai. I also bought a chair to make camping more comfortable and planned on throwing it into Amanda’s car as it isn’t something I would lug around on the bike. Unfortunately, the weather turned icy, and I realised I didn’t pack while keeping cold weather in mind.

 

19 February – Yzerfontein – Langebaan – 50km

We woke to freezing weather and a reasonable possibility of rain. If I had known the weather would be this dreary, I never would’ve ventured so far south. Still, I crawled out of the tent, made coffee and tried reorganising my panniers as things were thrown in randomly. Around 10 a.m. I cycled out of Yzerfontein in the direction of Langebaan.

A windy 20 kilometres further was the turnoff to the West Coast National Park, where Caron had already paid my entrance fee and was waiting to cycle to Langebaan. The ride was beautiful, and we chatted endlessly, stopping at a little restaurant to have coffee and milk tart, where Caron again picked up the tab. Thanks, my friend; your kindness is much appreciated. The Langebaan lagoon was a Caribbean blue as we headed into town, where Amanda was waiting to give Caron a ride to her car. 

Again, shopping was done at the supermarket, and a fire was made for our nightly braai. 

20 /21 February - Langebaan – Laaiplek – 40 km

Packing up was a leisurely affair as we waited until the tents were dry. The time was thus around 10 a.m. before we got underway. Caron drove home, and Amanda took the scenic route to Laaiplek. I flew along, aided by a strong tailwind, and arrived at camp nearly simultaneously with my sister. The short distance was due to me needing off-road tyres to cope with the anticipated bad roads ahead. Langebaan had a bike shop but it was closed on a Sunday, and so was the one in nearby Vredenburg. 

Things are relatively quiet in these small coastal communities. But, after driving around, we eventually managed to find something to eat. 

We emerged to an uncharacteristic wind-free but misty morning and stayed in our tents until the sun warmed the air. Fortunately, the camp had a laundry, and we made good use of it before driving to Vredenburg in search of off-road tyres. 

It was a pleasant surprise to find a well-stocked bike shop where I bought two tyres. We further invested in a camping table and bowl to do dishes—luxuries I’d never experienced. 

Pat, a friend from my running days living in St Helena Bay, invited us around. A lovely afternoon was spent catching up while eating and drinking. Pat spoiled us rotten and dished up all kinds of delicious snacks. The wind was still howling, and we crawled in early.

 

22 February – Laaiplek – Elands Bay – 71 km

The West Coast can be an unforgiving place. The sun-baked, sandy soil looked forlorn in the ferocious wind plaguing the region. The plastic bags flapping on fence poles and tortoise skeletons added to the desolate vibe. 

An unexpected farm revealed kids waving enthusiastically. Stopping to take a few pics made them even more excited. Finally, the mum, baby on hip, quietly asked, “Mevrou, waar gaan mevrou heen?”

I replied, “Ek gaan Namibia toe.”

With sympathy in her voice, she said, “Oh, gaan mevrou daar werk soek?” (For what other reason would a person cycle to Namibia?)

I nearly burst out laughing but answered feebly, “Nee, ek ry sommer net.”

“Oh, ry sommer net,” she repeated, sounding tired but most likely thought her life was all bad afterall. 

And right there, I fell in love with the West Coast.

My route zig-zagged across the Sishen–Saldanha railway line, an 861-kilometre-long heavy-haul railway line. I intended to follow the service road, which cuts out a long detour. The line connects the Sishen iron ore mines to the port at Saldanha Bay. Trains transport iron ore (100 million tonnes per year!) and don’t carry passenger traffic.

Wagons carry 100 tonnes, and trains pull 375 wagons at a time! These trains (pulled by ten locomotives) and 375 wagons are more than 4,000 metres long, the longest production trains in the world.

Once in Elands Bay, Amanda had already found a spot to camp, and we set off to the nearby caves. Elands Bay Cave had been used at different times for various purposes; evidence found at the cave suggests a series of overlapping times. Research concludes people lived there around 4,400 to 3,000 years ago. Hunting and gathering activities persisted until the 17th century AD.

 

23 February – Elands Bay – Strandfontein - 91 km

We woke to a beautiful wind-free morning and felt reluctant to pack up. Instead, the way took me inland over hills sporting views over vast stretches of nothingness featuring only a lone farmhouse in the valley. This is indeed a sparsely populated area. The road stretched miles ahead, which added to the desolate feel.

Eventually, my path veered back to the ocean and Lambert’s Bay, from where I opted to cycle along the service road along the railway line. In hindsight, this wasn’t such a great idea. The road slowly deteriorated and became rutted, corrugated and sandy. It took all my concentration to keep going. The poor bicycle took a hammering, not to mention my electronics. In the process, I lost the bike lock, the mirror and the phone holder, and the odometer gave up the ghost. These items weren’t designed with rough roads in mind. Neither am I, for that matter!

The path eventually reached the tiny community of Doringbaai, from where a paved road ran six kilometres to pretty Strandfontein. Fortunately, my sister had already found a campsite and beer, an arrangement I could get used to. 

After sunset, the wind subsided, and the sky turned a beautiful deep red colour. The pretty scene masked the icy waters in the bay. The cold water along the West Coast of South Africa is due to the cold Benguela current that flows northwards from Cape Town to Angola. The prevailing southerly winds produce upwellings of water from a very deep part of the ocean (200-300m), moving in line with the rotation of the Earth. Hence the icy but nutrient-rich water. Thus, it is no surprise the primary income of villages along the coast is from fishing.

 

24 February – Strandfontein – Bitterfontein - 100 km

The day dawned wind-free but misty. Wanting to use the favourable conditions, I hurriedly packed and got underway, leaving Amanda to pack the car and clean up the mess at the campsite. 

I was in no mood to take the service road and repeat the bumpy ride the day before and, therefore, opted for the route to the dreaded N7.

I saw Amanda heading to Lutzville to shop at the little supermarket during the day. She later passed me but not before handing me a cold drink and a packet of jelly sweets. All luxuries I’m not accustomed to but very much enjoyed. My path followed the Olifant’s River as it meanders through the valley bringing life to the surrounding area, allowing for the cultivation of wine grapes, export table grapes, sundried raisins, watermelon, beans, potatoes, beetroot and pumpkin.

The rough road caused a flat tyre, but the Gu/sealant did the job, and after inflating the tyre, the Gu held, and I could be on my way without replacing the tube.

Not a great deal further, the paved road gave way to a dirt and hilly road, which eventually spat me out on the highway. Fortunately, it was only a 16-kilometre (but windy) bike ride to the hamlet of Bitterfontein, where Amanda found a gorgeous and intriguing cottage at the Art House. Unfortunately, the only shop and petrol station closed early in this tiny settlement. However, the lady offered to prepare a large bowl of French fries accompanied by a lovely fresh salad mostly from her garden. 

 

25 February – Bitterfontein – Garies – 63 km

Leaving Bitterfontein, the surrounding landscape reminded me of the Australian outback. Fortunately, not as harsh and widespread. En route, I met another cyclist en route to Cape Town. Henk Horstink hailed from the Netherlands and started riding in Windhoek. I met Tania and her husband on their way home to Strandfontein from the Kgalagadi. We chatted a while before moving on. 

Not a considerable amount happened along the lonely and hilly road, and my path soon reached the small settlement of Garies. Here Amanda had located a lovely cottage as the campsite was closed. 

 

26 February - Garies – Kamieskroon – 52 km

My unhurried departure was due to the short distance, and the sun was already high in the sky, cycling out of Garies. The way to Kamieskroon was hilly, and at the top of each rise, one could see the vastness of the surrounding area and the road far in the distance. It was dead quiet except for the occasional dassie scurrying to the safety of its den or a truck roaring past. I grinned from ear to ear on the downhill, but the grin faded on the slow slogs up the hills. Fortunately, the gradient was easy, and I pedalled into Kamieskroon, situated amongst stony hills, in good time. 

Kroon Lodge provided camping, a beautiful, well-equipped campsite where we were the only campers. By evening we lit a fire, Amanda braaied and I stuck to my bread and cheese sandwich. 

Laying in the tent one could look up at the sky and see a bright Milky Way. It was good the see the Southern Cross again.

 

27/29 February – Kamieskroon – Springbok – 70 km

It’s an immense pleasure to emerge from your tent in this barren landscape at sunrise. But, unfortunately, the nights can be cold and with a chill in the air I drank my coffee, enjoying the peace of this unique area.

The scenery was unchanged from the previous day, and the road stretched far into the distance over stony hills. Place names screamed adversity and hope. One couldn’t help but feel sorry for the people trying to make a living in this desolate and unforgiving area. Still, a strange air of calmness prevailed, and I enjoyed the ride up and over stony hills with their views over desolate valleys.

By the time I rolled into Springbok, Amanda had sent a message stating she was at the Springbok campsite, where she had booked a lovely chalet. Good thing, too, as we’d a few things to sort out before crossing the border into Namibia. 

The following day we did laundry and shopped for items we may need later; I found a new bike lock, chain tube, two spare tyres, and sealant. In addition, we stocked up on beer and crisps, as those are two things I don’t want to run out of. Hahaha. The main reason for stopping in Springbok was to get a PCR test before crossing into Namibia. The lady at PathCare informed a test takes up to two days and it will be easier and quicker to do the test at the border. We were delighted with this news and returned to the campsite.

 

1 March – Springbok – Vioolsdrif – 120km

Getting underway early was due to my fear of encountering a headwind or intense heat, but none materialised. Barely 10 kilometres outside Springbok was the turnoff to the mining towns of Okiep and Nababeep. Okiep is the oldest mining town in South Africa. By 1870, it was the richest copper mine in the world. Today, these two towns are only sad-looking settlements.

Midday, I met up with another cyclist from Italy and we chatted nonstop to Vioolsdrift.

Once at the border, we checked out of South Africa and on the Namibian side was escorted to the testing centre. To our shock and horror, we learned they stopped testing at that location that day! I felt sorry for the chap who accompanied us as it was his job and he was unaware of the new arrangements. No amount of explaining could change their minds, as the person doing the testing wasn’t there. We’d no option but to return to the South African side.

After much deliberation, Amanda and I opted for a night at the over-priced Vioolsdrift Lodge.

 

2/3 March – Vioolsdrift - Springbok – Vioolsdrift – By car

Amanda drove us to Springbok, where PCR tests were only done between 2-4 p.m. My word, what a performance! Eventually, we returned to PathCare, where we waited in line on plastic chairs. The process became a jovial affair and we learned the purpose of each one’s visit. The PCR results would be emailed and there was thus no reason to hang around. Finally, we returned to Vioolsdrift, where camping was at Kwelanga, a lovely spot on the river.

 

4 March – Vioolsdrift, South Africa – Aussenkehr, Namibia – 63 km

We chatted to Katy, the owner, forever before getting on the dirt road for the return trip to the border checkpoint. At least this time we’d our PCR tests and all went smoothly. The first stop was at a petrol station to buy a SIM card and have breakfast. Amanda continued to Aussenkehr and I enjoyed the last of the paved road for some time. It was a long and lonely stretch along the Orange River and the scenery desolate but spectacular.

Amanda located a lovely resort where camping was right on the river. The only problem was the lack of internet connection and thus no means of contacting me to tell me where to go, and she had to drive back to inform me.

The lodge sported a pool as well as a bar, and the sunset was spectacular as we lit a fire to braai.

 

Wednesday, 25 March 2020

CYCLE TOURING INDIA (4) - 2020

 Shenanigans on a bike - By Leana Niemand



INDIA (4) - Part 2 

509 Kilometres - 9 Days 

 18 February – 24 March 2020


 


MAP


PHOTOS

PHOTOS - AMANDA


 

 

18 February – 10 March - Thailand and India

Amanda, my sister, arrived in Thailand later than expected. A few days were spent in Pattaya before catching a flight to Kochi, India. The main reason for going to Kochi was to enjoy a night on a houseboat. Once there, locating a boat was straightforward as there were innumerable ones to choose from.

Our boat of choice was a private one with a single bedroom; thus, we had the entire boat to ourselves. In no time at all, we were slowly put-putting along the famous backwaters of Kerala. The price included lunch, dinner and breakfast, and we immediately settled in upon the deck, beer in hand. The only disappointment was the boat anchored overnight at the same spot we boarded. We assumed the boat would anchor somewhere but not in the same place!

The following morning and after breakfast and a short cruise we disembarked and went to Goa on a beach holiday. We ate, drank, swam in the ocean and cried with laughter. Before we knew it, Amanda’s holiday was over, and it was time to return to South Africa.

With my sister gone, I returned to my friends in Alibag to collect my bicycle and ended up spending three nights instead of the one planned! My delayed departure was due to Holi celebrations; a festival considered one of the most celebrated in India. It’s a fun and colourful event which lasts a day and night. The festival starts on the evening of Purnima or the Full Moon Day in the month of Falgun. The vibrancy of colours brings positivity and joy to the event and the country as a whole. The ritual starts by lighting a bonfire the night before, symbolising the triumph of good over evil. The following day was spent playing with colours.

Anil and Janhavi fed me endlessly, and I was shown around town on the back of an iconic Royal Enfield. It’s true what is said about India, you come as a visitor but leave as part of a family. Following the festivities, I headed north in the direction of Delhi to meet Caron for a month-long cycling holiday in India.

 

11 March – Alibag – Kalyan – 101 km

After almost a month since my last ride, it felt good to be on the move. As Anil suggested, I slowly made my way to the Rewas ferry, which took me to Karanja, making an easy escape from Mumbai. The rest of the day was spent trying to stay off busy roads and, in the process, I hit a pothole with such force, it resulted in an immediate flat tyre.

Replacing the tube and 101 kilometres later, I slinked into Kalyan where accommodation turned out more difficult than expected to find. The majority of budget places didn’t cater to foreigners and tail between my legs I’d to cycle off searching for an alternative abode. Eventually, a reasonably pricey establishment took me in.

 

12 March – Kalyan – Kasa – 86 km

I was umming and ahhing about which route to take and eventually decided on cycling along the coast as it looked more interesting than the inland option.

The first 30 kilometres were a fascinating ride as that section was a shortcut through an immensely rural part of India. I hadn’t seen so many surprised faces in a long while, and it appeared a rarity to see a foreign woman on a bicycle in that area. Again, and with a jolt, I realised just how far apart our worlds were. Try as I might, I didn’t think a foreigner could fully grasp their rural culture.

It became evident my rear wheel had a severe wobble; it must’ve been from hitting the pothole the previous day. There was nothing one could do and all wobbling, I resumed my ride.

Around midday, Caron’s message stated all tourist visas to India had been cancelled due to the Coronavirus. This was devastating news as I was looking forward to her visit, but far more devastating to her as she had already purchased her ticket and was packed and ready to roll. I called it a day at the next best hotel to chat with her and discuss further plans. The map was scanned to find a bike shop. The next available one was 55 kilometres north, or one could continue to Daman 65 kilometres northwest along the coast, where surely one would find such a shop.

That night, my abode was a room above a bustling 24-hour roadside restaurant, resulting in a noisy affair. At least the food was superb, and the room came at half the price, paid the previous night. My short cycling day gave me plenty of time to do laundry and I hoped all would be dry by morning.

 

13 March – Kasa – Daman – 65 km

The dreaded highway ran the next 55 kilometres to Vapi which had a bicycle shop. They looked at the wheel, and the problem seemed the tyre, not the rim.

Daman, a former Portuguese enclave, was a mere 10 kilometres further and not much of a tourist destination, with a black beach that wasn’t incredibly scenic. Nonetheless, the town still hinted at old Portuguese colonial times in Fort Jerome, Monti Daman Fort, and the Dom Jesus Church. While walking the narrow lanes to the fishing harbour, one could almost imagine being in Portugal.

 

14 March – Daman

One more day was spent in Daman while trying to sort out my internet connection and, in the process, I warmed to scruffy Daman.

History had it Diogo de Melo was blown ashore in a violent storm in 1523. He then claimed the land for king and country, built a fort and the area remained in Portuguese hands for the next 400 years. Daman is by no means picturesque, but the inexpensive food and beer prices made up for the lack of scenery.

The violent storm’s story scared me and I considered changing my plans and heading in the opposite direction. I’d been cycling into the wind the past two days - no fun at all.

 

15 March - Daman - Renbasera guest house - 25 km

During the night, I woke with the infamous Delhi belly and felt tired and weak in the morning. Unfortunately, staying an additional day wasn’t possible. I was informed the hotel was being renovated, and all rooms had to be vacated.

First, the idea was to move to another place, but once on the bike, I proceeded along the coastal road. My lack of energy caused slow progress. Still, I made the short detour to the Parsi Fire Temple built in 1742, to see what the temple was about. The Zoroastrian religion appeared complex, and I didn’t even try to understand it. Only Parians were allowed, and I, thus, couldn’t enter the complex. Outside, vendors sold tiny pieces of wood (some not so small) as offerings to keep the flame going.

Cycling and vomiting under the scrutiny of villagers is no fun at all. What a picture I must’ve made and I wondered what they made of such a spectacle. Reaching the highway, a guesthouse along the road came just at the right time, and I couldn’t have been happier. On trying to eat, nothing stayed down, and by evening the friendly man at reception offered to find me fruit. How kind of him.

 

16 March - Renbasera guest house – Surat – 100 km

In the morning, I felt a whole lot better and was keen to get underway. Unfortunately, the dry, hot, dusty air and heavy traffic, didn’t make enjoyable cycling. The temperature climbed to 38°C, and it was barely the beginning of spring. Caron couldn’t come to India anymore due to the cancellation of tourist visas could’ve been a blessing in disguise. By April, the mercury rises to 40-45°C, not a pleasant time to be cycle touring.

Even drinking a considerable amount, it remained almost impossible to keep hydrated in such weather. En route, I invested in a face mask as people gave me a wide berth. One couldn’t blame them as travellers were primarily responsible for spreading the Coronavirus.

I pushed onward with a mask-covered face until reaching the outskirts of Surat where I bunked down at the roadside Swagat Inn with an adjacent restaurant.

 

17 March – Surat – Vadodara – 130 km

Strangely enough, I didn’t feel sleepy the previous night and only switched the lights off at around 3h00. Yet, surprisingly, I still woke early and felt remarkably good and proceeded in the direction of Vadodara.

The mask bought was a blessing in disguise, as my mouth and lips didn’t get as dry as earlier. Six kilometres down the drag, I stopped to get a bite to eat and then pushed onward. Apart from a few roadside stalls selling colourful truck decorations and ladies in colourful saris collecting water from wells, not a great deal of interest was happening.

In Vadodara, the best place to find accommodation was in the train station’s vicinity as it’s usually there one found budget rooms. However, some hotels claimed they were fully booked, which I doubted, and I suspected they weren’t keen on accommodating foreigners. The Coronavirus had become a royal pain in the ass.

 

18 March – Vadodara

With the Coronavirus spreading like wildfire, cycle touring became no fun at all. Attractions were closed, hotels unwilling to let foreigners in, and all festivals cancelled. Phew! Rumours of a complete lockdown scared me and time to rethink plans as the last thing I wanted was to get stuck in a non-descript place for an unforeseen period. I’d two good options: one, to return to Goa and hang there until the virus blew over (not a bad one) or, two, retreat to Thailand which made financial sense as my accommodation in Thailand is free, but not as lovely as Goa. Whatever the decision, I had to return to Mumbai to arrange onward transportation.

With my mind made up, a train ticket was purchased for the following morning. As the bike had to be booked in at the parcel office, I returned to my abode, collected the bike and rode the short distance to the station. There the bicycle was sent on its way at a meagre 100 rupees. Sadly, one couldn’t book in the panniers, leaving me with a dreadfully awkward handlebar bag and four panniers to lug around. I say again, I intensely dislike using public transport - it’s far easier to cycle.

 

19 March - Vadodara – Mumbai by train

The train to Mumbai was at 7.30 and required an early tuk-tuk ride to the station. Luckily, there’s always a porter in India to help carry bags. So, I strolled unencumbered to the platform where my train was to arrive. This gave plenty of time to have a steaming cup of chai from one of the iconic chai wallahs and chat with the kids living at the station. I watched a family pack up following their night of sleeping on the platform and was in awe at how organised they were.

It felt all gave me a wide berth as foreigners were suspected of spreading the Coronavirus. I was, thus, left in peace and could decide what to do next. While on the train, a flight to Bangkok was booked and I could only hope the flight wouldn’t be cancelled. My train’s destination was 12 kilometres from Colaba, the main touristy area. I, therefore, looked for a bike shop and accommodation close to the station. The plan was to collect the bicycle, cycle to the shop, find a box and then grab a taxi to a nearby hotel. With the hotel booked and paid, I could kick back until reaching Mumbai.

The train reached its destination at around 15h00, where I located a porter, collected the bicycle and cycled to the predetermined shop. The shop gave me one look, covered their faces, told me they were closing and shooed me away. I was shocked! Round the corner, a friendlier shop had a box and was prepared to pack the bicycle. I grabbed a taxi to the place booked, but the staff informed me they were closed! What the heck? I tried contacting Agoda but without any luck. The hotel manager wasn’t accommodating either and referred me to Agoda. Security (with covered faces) again shooed me away. They were adamant I’d leave immediately and couldn’t do my phoning from the foyer.

Eventually, a taxi took me to Colaba, 12 kilometres away. Coloba, which usually had a lively tourist trade, was like a graveyard, with not a person in sight. Those walking around did so with quick, urgent, masked-covered faces. The warren of stalls usually lining the road was packed up, and restaurants closed. Mercifully, my chosen hotel allowed me in, and I was sure I was the sole guest. How bizarre had this whole situation become? I biked through the N1H1 and SARS pandemics but have never experienced anything this crazy. Worldwide, flights were being cancelled and I could only pray my flight would take off.

 

20 March – Mumbai

The usually bustling Mumbai was deserted, and it was the eeriest feeling walking through this megacity without a soul in sight.

 

21 March – Mumbai, India – Bangkok, Thailand

My flight was at the ungodly hour of four o’clock in the morning, and it felt I was the sole person at this usually hectic airport. Once again, a considerable amount was charged for the 5 kg overweight, but one couldn’t do much about that. I simply wanted the flight to take off and not be cancelled. While waiting, I kept an anxious eye on the flight schedules. I nervously watched as flights were cancelled, wondering if mine would be next.

Relieved, the plane touched down at Bangkok airport as scheduled, and I caught the usual bus to Jomtien.

 

22 March - Jomtien, Thailand

Finding myself in my little bunker wasn’t all bad, even though it wasn’t by choice or the best of areas. A nice long walk along the ocean put me in a better frame of mind and, once back, I unpacked and cleaned the place, which was a tad dusty by then. After reassembling the bicycle, a short cycle led to the supermarket to stock up with needed essentials, as I surmised I would be in Thailand a while.

 

23 March - Jomtien

I took a walk in the morning but found it tedious and started jogging. Not much further, I tripped over one of the uneven drain covers and knew something was wrong with my wrist as it didn’t look quite normal. I continued walking but, upon returning to the apartment, realised something was indeed wrong. A baht bus took me to Pattaya Memorial hospital.

The baht bus (so-called because back in the day, it cost a baht) is a pickup style truck with a canopy roof and two bench seats in the back for passengers. At 10 baht per person, per ride, the baht bus (aka songthaew) is the most popular and convenient way of getting around to and from Jomtien and Pattaya.

At the hospital, I was impressed with the service. X-rays revealed a fractured radial and the very competent doctor on duty suggested an operation to fit a plate. I wasn’t keen on such an operation and insisted on a cast instead, a painful process, but survived.

 

24 March - Jomtien

I did my usual morning walk as by now, the knee was also painful; all I could do was walk as running was out thof e question, and with the cast, it wasn’t possible to cycle. At least upon my return, I could soak halfway in the pool.

I further discovered I barely made it to Thailand by the skin of my teeth. The day following my arrival, Thailand closed all airports to incoming flights. It seemed anyone in Thailand would be in the country for an unforeseen time. Phew! With the limited amount I could do with the arm in a cast, I started editing my photos.