We saw maybe a dozen elephants. They were always close the road and lumbered or thundered away as the bus approached. For the first two, I shook Sam so she would wake up and see them. She didn’t seem to enjoy the elephants enough to justify having her freshly awake and questioning why I would do something as stupid as waking her up, so I stopped doing that. I am always impressed with elephants, so I kept awake and kept my eyes peeled as we made our way through the Kaprivi strip. I have decided that I need to research this little strip that’s been making cartographer’s lives a little more interesting since- I guess- colonial times. Why is it here?
Then Felix and I talked about pioneers. We talked about the changing definition of a pioneer. We decided that the pioneer of today is pioneering intellectually instead of actually clearing a physical path in a new land. After the conversation, I took two Benadryl. Twenty minutes later I was drooling on myself.
I fell asleep to a Bob Dylan song on my mp3 player. I only woke up when the bus pulled into an Engen petrol station. The three of us stumbled off the bus in that rumpled, matted state that comes from hours of sleeping on transport. I was starving.
We walked up to the convenience section of the store and found the doors locked. A station attendant was selling convenience items through a window. “You can buy anything you want through the window,” a man standing outside said. I looked, but could see nothing on the inside of the store from the outside. I decided that the process of discovering the stores inventory through a series of questions directed at a man behind a window would be a little more than I could handle in a strange place with two Benadryl in my system. I turned around and looked at the road that passed in front of the station. I had no idea where we were or how long the bus had been rolling along.
When I got back on the bus, I used the mildly disgusting bathroom and was glad that it was only mildly disgusting. The toilet has surely seen years of groggy bus passengers relieving themselves in a moving vehicle.
I worked my way back up to the dark upper level of the liner and fell- almost face first- into my seat. Sam had brought along a bag of trail mix that was roughly the size and weight of a bowling ball. It was at this point that it made its appearance. I took two handfuls and chewed them slowly. Thanking Sam, I put my headphones back on. The shuffle function had brought the mp3 player around to a song by Beyonce Knowles that featured a siren. I turned the player off and fell back to sleep almost immediately.
When I finally woke up, Felix was watching the sunrise over the country just outside Windhoek. The terrain had changed quite a bit while I slept. The land was now all low sand and scrub brush. It was nearly 0600 hrs and we were nearly to our destination. The sunlight was all golden fire and it lit up a strange new land and the Benadryl was wearing off, so I was beginning to feel like a human being again. We made short comments to each other about the beauty of it all and chose to keep the really profound thoughts to ourselves.
We pulled into the bus station (a parking lot) at about 0630 hrs and got off the bus. I would like- for the sake of the story- to say that we were incredibly relieved to be getting off the bus because of how long and grueling the ride had been, but I can’t really say that. The ride had actually been quite pleasant. It had been the most painless eighteen hours I had ever spent on a bus.
We had two options for the cab that would take us to the backpackers where we are staying. The local cab would take us for N$6.50 (Namibian dollars) a person and a private cab would take us for a flat fee of N$40.00. We started to walk for the local cab, but we were approached by the driver of the private cab who told us that the local cab may try to rip us off. He said that the local cab may double the price because we are foreigners. We did some quick math. Doubling the price made the fare N$13.00 per person. This multiplied by three made the fare for the local cab N$39.00. “So the local cab might rip us off,” I ventured. “But you’re definitely going to rip us off.” I was relieved to see that despite the big buildings and development around us, a little bit of logic had followed us from Zambia.
So we took the local cab to the backpackers. The place is called The Cardboard Box. When we arrived, we were told that they had never heard of people with our names or descriptions. So our reservations were gone gone. This angered Sam- our logistics officer- because she had been corresponding with someone here since November via email. So Felix and I sat in the lobby reading magazines and Sam discussed our situation with the new girl at the front desk. The boss is away because of the holiday and we needed to talk to him. Sam sat down at the computer there in the lobby so that she could retrieve the emails as proof, but the thing wasn’t working very well and she just spent a lot of time looking despondent. I walked up to her and placed my hand on her shoulder. “It’s going to be o.k. Sam.” Then my brain screamed at me: WE’RE IN A STRANGE CITY IN A STRANGE COUNTRY AND WE HAVE NO PLACE TO STAY! WHAT THE HELL ARE WE GOING TO DO??!
“It’s going to be alright, Sam. We’re going to get this figured out.”
So we decided that we would go sit down at the bar and have a beer while we waited for a room to open up. They said that they could put us in a dorm room for tonight and then they would have to figure something out for the next couple of nights. That is the closest to a feeling of security that we are going to get for the time being, so we decided to have a couple of beers to make that secure feeling last.
We are drinking the local beer here in Namibia, so when we went down to the bar we ordered three Windhoek Draught cans. We sat at a table in the bar area and looked at each other and ate pancakes. The pancakes in Africa tend to be more like crepes. They are rolled and you sprinkle sugar over them. I don’t know any pancakes that act that way in the USA.
I put a piece of “pancake” in my mouth and asked why Windhoek Draught was being served in a can. We decided as a group that none us know how draught beer can be sold in a can. I decided by myself that I would research draught beer.
At one point during the conversation, I got up to take care of a matter of great importance to my bladder. I don’t know how draught beer can be served in a can. I do know that two cans of it make me pee like a race horse. While I was up I passed by a table where a middle aged woman and a young Asian man sat talking. They were discussing development work with American accents and I had to quickly suppress the urge to run up to them saying, “you’re Americans?!? I’m an American too! Can we talk about current events and then be friends forever?”
I relieved myself and then walked back to the bar area. With the more pressing issues off my mind, I decided to stop to talk to the Americans. I was very glad that I did.
I found out that they are Peace Corps volunteers in Botswana and that they are spending their Christmas vacation doing almost exactly the same thing that Felix, Sam and I are doing. The middle aged woman’s name is Jolene, the young Asian man (who, as it turns out, is only half Asian) is Frank and they even have a third person in their group- a blonde girl named Susan. They are three volunteers from Botswana. We are three volunteers from Zambia. They have a blonde girl and a half Asian guy. We have a blonde girl (Sam) and a half Asian guy (Felix is half Thai). We have met Bizarro Us. Jolene is Bizarro Me. I haven’t worked out how, but she just is. Bizarro Us is a great group of people and they have almost the same itinerary, so we will be spending a lot of time with them on this vacation.
We have decided to go shopping. We are spending the afternoon walking around one of Windhoek’s malls. It seems to me that this city is made up- almost exclusively- of shopping malls. The main mode of transportation is the escalator. There is a distinct mall smell and it is universal and it permeates everything. Even now I smell like mall.
Felix and I have been walking around for almost forty-five minutes. We have been looking for a Christmas gift for Sam. Buying this gift probably should have been done some time ago, but Felix and I aren’t good at shopping. I’m only good at impulse buying and Felix is not good at spending money in general- it makes him nervous. So I’ve spent most of the afternoon pointing at random things and saying that they would be good gifts and Felix has spent most of the afternoon telling me that the things I have been pointing at are impersonal. I think we are at an impasse. We have decided mutually that the things we have seen in this mall are all empty gestures. In fact, this entire mall might be devoid of a deeper meaning.
Hundreds of people, thousands of people, millions of people are looking for something. They are searching for whatever it is that will make them feel whole. And the places that they are left with all have that mall smell. They search and eat Cinnabun and their weapon is a Visa card. The mall smell permeates them and they keep searching through this empty world full of things.
We have decided that we will have to buy Sam’s present tomorrow. We are obviously not in the right frame of mind for shopping. We will buy her Christmas present- or maybe just find her Christmas present- on Christmas day or maybe the day after. If we can manage to find something that isn’t an empty gesture, it won’t matter.
Tonight we are going to have a Christmas Eve dinner with Bizarro Us. We are going to eat game meat and drink African beer on this balmy Christmas Eve in Namibia. I will wait to record those events tomorrow.
It doesn’t feel like the holidays to me without snow, but I am happy to be with Felix and Sam. I stopped thinking of them merely as friends a while ago.
I’m happy to be with family.
Happy Christmas Eve.
Then Felix and I talked about pioneers. We talked about the changing definition of a pioneer. We decided that the pioneer of today is pioneering intellectually instead of actually clearing a physical path in a new land. After the conversation, I took two Benadryl. Twenty minutes later I was drooling on myself.
I fell asleep to a Bob Dylan song on my mp3 player. I only woke up when the bus pulled into an Engen petrol station. The three of us stumbled off the bus in that rumpled, matted state that comes from hours of sleeping on transport. I was starving.
We walked up to the convenience section of the store and found the doors locked. A station attendant was selling convenience items through a window. “You can buy anything you want through the window,” a man standing outside said. I looked, but could see nothing on the inside of the store from the outside. I decided that the process of discovering the stores inventory through a series of questions directed at a man behind a window would be a little more than I could handle in a strange place with two Benadryl in my system. I turned around and looked at the road that passed in front of the station. I had no idea where we were or how long the bus had been rolling along.
When I got back on the bus, I used the mildly disgusting bathroom and was glad that it was only mildly disgusting. The toilet has surely seen years of groggy bus passengers relieving themselves in a moving vehicle.
I worked my way back up to the dark upper level of the liner and fell- almost face first- into my seat. Sam had brought along a bag of trail mix that was roughly the size and weight of a bowling ball. It was at this point that it made its appearance. I took two handfuls and chewed them slowly. Thanking Sam, I put my headphones back on. The shuffle function had brought the mp3 player around to a song by Beyonce Knowles that featured a siren. I turned the player off and fell back to sleep almost immediately.
When I finally woke up, Felix was watching the sunrise over the country just outside Windhoek. The terrain had changed quite a bit while I slept. The land was now all low sand and scrub brush. It was nearly 0600 hrs and we were nearly to our destination. The sunlight was all golden fire and it lit up a strange new land and the Benadryl was wearing off, so I was beginning to feel like a human being again. We made short comments to each other about the beauty of it all and chose to keep the really profound thoughts to ourselves.
We pulled into the bus station (a parking lot) at about 0630 hrs and got off the bus. I would like- for the sake of the story- to say that we were incredibly relieved to be getting off the bus because of how long and grueling the ride had been, but I can’t really say that. The ride had actually been quite pleasant. It had been the most painless eighteen hours I had ever spent on a bus.
We had two options for the cab that would take us to the backpackers where we are staying. The local cab would take us for N$6.50 (Namibian dollars) a person and a private cab would take us for a flat fee of N$40.00. We started to walk for the local cab, but we were approached by the driver of the private cab who told us that the local cab may try to rip us off. He said that the local cab may double the price because we are foreigners. We did some quick math. Doubling the price made the fare N$13.00 per person. This multiplied by three made the fare for the local cab N$39.00. “So the local cab might rip us off,” I ventured. “But you’re definitely going to rip us off.” I was relieved to see that despite the big buildings and development around us, a little bit of logic had followed us from Zambia.
So we took the local cab to the backpackers. The place is called The Cardboard Box. When we arrived, we were told that they had never heard of people with our names or descriptions. So our reservations were gone gone. This angered Sam- our logistics officer- because she had been corresponding with someone here since November via email. So Felix and I sat in the lobby reading magazines and Sam discussed our situation with the new girl at the front desk. The boss is away because of the holiday and we needed to talk to him. Sam sat down at the computer there in the lobby so that she could retrieve the emails as proof, but the thing wasn’t working very well and she just spent a lot of time looking despondent. I walked up to her and placed my hand on her shoulder. “It’s going to be o.k. Sam.” Then my brain screamed at me: WE’RE IN A STRANGE CITY IN A STRANGE COUNTRY AND WE HAVE NO PLACE TO STAY! WHAT THE HELL ARE WE GOING TO DO??!
“It’s going to be alright, Sam. We’re going to get this figured out.”
So we decided that we would go sit down at the bar and have a beer while we waited for a room to open up. They said that they could put us in a dorm room for tonight and then they would have to figure something out for the next couple of nights. That is the closest to a feeling of security that we are going to get for the time being, so we decided to have a couple of beers to make that secure feeling last.
We are drinking the local beer here in Namibia, so when we went down to the bar we ordered three Windhoek Draught cans. We sat at a table in the bar area and looked at each other and ate pancakes. The pancakes in Africa tend to be more like crepes. They are rolled and you sprinkle sugar over them. I don’t know any pancakes that act that way in the USA.
I put a piece of “pancake” in my mouth and asked why Windhoek Draught was being served in a can. We decided as a group that none us know how draught beer can be sold in a can. I decided by myself that I would research draught beer.
At one point during the conversation, I got up to take care of a matter of great importance to my bladder. I don’t know how draught beer can be served in a can. I do know that two cans of it make me pee like a race horse. While I was up I passed by a table where a middle aged woman and a young Asian man sat talking. They were discussing development work with American accents and I had to quickly suppress the urge to run up to them saying, “you’re Americans?!? I’m an American too! Can we talk about current events and then be friends forever?”
I relieved myself and then walked back to the bar area. With the more pressing issues off my mind, I decided to stop to talk to the Americans. I was very glad that I did.
I found out that they are Peace Corps volunteers in Botswana and that they are spending their Christmas vacation doing almost exactly the same thing that Felix, Sam and I are doing. The middle aged woman’s name is Jolene, the young Asian man (who, as it turns out, is only half Asian) is Frank and they even have a third person in their group- a blonde girl named Susan. They are three volunteers from Botswana. We are three volunteers from Zambia. They have a blonde girl and a half Asian guy. We have a blonde girl (Sam) and a half Asian guy (Felix is half Thai). We have met Bizarro Us. Jolene is Bizarro Me. I haven’t worked out how, but she just is. Bizarro Us is a great group of people and they have almost the same itinerary, so we will be spending a lot of time with them on this vacation.
We have decided to go shopping. We are spending the afternoon walking around one of Windhoek’s malls. It seems to me that this city is made up- almost exclusively- of shopping malls. The main mode of transportation is the escalator. There is a distinct mall smell and it is universal and it permeates everything. Even now I smell like mall.
Felix and I have been walking around for almost forty-five minutes. We have been looking for a Christmas gift for Sam. Buying this gift probably should have been done some time ago, but Felix and I aren’t good at shopping. I’m only good at impulse buying and Felix is not good at spending money in general- it makes him nervous. So I’ve spent most of the afternoon pointing at random things and saying that they would be good gifts and Felix has spent most of the afternoon telling me that the things I have been pointing at are impersonal. I think we are at an impasse. We have decided mutually that the things we have seen in this mall are all empty gestures. In fact, this entire mall might be devoid of a deeper meaning.
Hundreds of people, thousands of people, millions of people are looking for something. They are searching for whatever it is that will make them feel whole. And the places that they are left with all have that mall smell. They search and eat Cinnabun and their weapon is a Visa card. The mall smell permeates them and they keep searching through this empty world full of things.
We have decided that we will have to buy Sam’s present tomorrow. We are obviously not in the right frame of mind for shopping. We will buy her Christmas present- or maybe just find her Christmas present- on Christmas day or maybe the day after. If we can manage to find something that isn’t an empty gesture, it won’t matter.
Tonight we are going to have a Christmas Eve dinner with Bizarro Us. We are going to eat game meat and drink African beer on this balmy Christmas Eve in Namibia. I will wait to record those events tomorrow.
It doesn’t feel like the holidays to me without snow, but I am happy to be with Felix and Sam. I stopped thinking of them merely as friends a while ago.
I’m happy to be with family.
Happy Christmas Eve.
