After my mad dash to the border, the subsequent journey to Amman is dull in comparison, only livened up by a chance encounter with an urbane Palestinian named Ahmed. Dapper and stylish, in a grey suit, smoking a cigarillo, we strike up a conversation at a bus break, and are soon engaged in a lively debate about...football. He loves Man U (which would usually be enough for me to turn my back) but I'm in a generous mood - and, anyhow, my team are five days from a historic Double...
Last stop…I’m here. Its 9.12 am…I should just be able to intercept the bus I need, which has come from Nazareth. I reach down to grab my backpack from the luggage section and out of the corner of my eye see my Nazarene Tours bus. It’s driving away from me, around the corner…then disappearing down the road towards Jordan. “No….no…”I wail, to the amusement and consternation of the driver and passengers. You see, there ain’t no taxis around and I’ve now no clear way of getting to that border. Save hiking. Which, of course, is what I do…
Consequently, we're now on the road parallel to the B8, which follows the river, only its more of a dirt track than a road and full of potholes – huge potholes that we're hitting every 30 seconds. We bumping along, being thrown around wildly, but still I'm coping. And then, without warning, we come to a halt. I look out of my window and see the wheel is encased in thick mud...
Over dinner, and a beer, the family ask me question after question (Why do I travel like this? Am I lonely, on the road alone? Do I want to get married? If I do marry, will I give up this nomadic lifestyle? Aren't I afraid, hitching around Africa?) I answer as best I can and then start pressing them for details of of their own life, out here in the boonies. Of course, they have plenty of good stories - camping trips out in the bush, growing up without tv, few modern appliances and a lot of electricity outages. Ah yes, and constant bouts of malaria...
After my intrepid hitching adventures and nights under the stars, I feel I'm due a few days of it. In the evenings, after cooking, we head off to the nearby floodlit waterhole, complete with observation platform, and one night are rewarded by sight of an elephant and her baby arriving to quench their thirsts. My only 'complaint' is that I don't get to spy a black rhino but, other than that, it is too marvellous for words...
I've come prepared, with a backpack full of water, a floppy hat and some serious sunscreen. And so we begin our ascent, which takes us the best part of an hour, to the first plateau. It's not as difficult as I thought it would be, though I'm glad I'm fit (and laid off the beer last night). But it's only when we start the second leg, do I realise how arduous the trek really is. I gulp at my water...
And then, as the sun sets, I look again, and then look once more for I cannot believe it. The dunes are now red – fire-like red, a deep and powerful red, a red so intense that it burns like a thousand suns. And though water might be scarce, in a climate where temperatures reach 45 degrees by day but drop to freezing at night, there is still life...for as I look down at my feet, I see a tiny lizard run in front of me...
We set off, trekking on foot to the Dead Man's vlei, an area so barren that even desert plants failed to grow there. Hundreds of years ago, a drought had struck and the existing habitat had been cut off from the river. Now I saw the result. Around me stood acacia and camel thorn trees scorched black by the sun. In simple terms, they were there because it was too hot for them to decompose...
But as the price of gems fell, little by little, people deserted the town. Boom to bust in less than half a century, it was left to the mercy of the elements – in the shape of harsh, relentless sand that blew in. No surprise then that the buildings crumbled and are now in ruins, shells of their original elegant structures...
Spying a tree, on the opposite side of the road, I trudge over, pull out my water bottle and settle down to wait. I drink in the solitude. Indeed, it's so peaceful, so serene, so empty that I accidentally doze off.
I am awakened with a start. A group of boys are peering over me, curiously. I reckon they're about 11-12 years old. Most are barefoot but they aren't dressed in rags and they definitely don't look malnourished. They're smiling broadly at me and laughing amongst themselves...
For the most part desolate, four times larger than the UK but with a population of scarcely 2 million people, Namibia was still not a major tourist destination when I visited there in 1997. Indeed, on my return to Europe, several people I spoke to had no idea where even to place it on the Africa map. But what did I care about its non-notoriety? I wasn’t looking for tourists, simply an adventure...
Putting my hand to my forehead, I knew I was burning up. After a long drink of cold water, I crawled under my net and into my sleeping bag, telling myself I was just overtired and needed nothing more than a good night’s sleep. Only a few hours later, I awoke to find myself drenched in sweat. Crying out in my sleep, the woman sharing my tent had woken up and switched on her torch, only to find me semi- delirious and running a fever of 40 degrees...
I’d trekked around the area, seen all kinds of unusual flora and fauna. and taken an early morning jeep drive, out in the bush, which had been spectacular. And, fearlessly, that morning, I’d canoed down the river, for over 2 hours, and found myself almost hysterical with delight when I spied a huge group of hippos not a few metres from my boat, lounging on the river banks and two or three 90% immersed in the water...
I'm asked again and again how I pack for a long trip. There's no easy answer – a lot depends on you personally, not to mention where you're going and for how long you're going. But over the years, there are five things I've learned never to leave home without:
Magilite Flashlight – When the electricity in your guest house conks out, don't assume the management is going to be able to fix it immediately...
The detective motioned to two of his men and without a word they grabbed me, one by each arm.
“You, madam, are going to a side room.”
Gripping me tightly, I was walked down a long, narrow corridor, at the bottom of which was a door with bars. Sick with anticipation, I willed them to keep walking on. They stopped, and one unlocked the door. With a rough shove, the other pushed me inside. It was a cell...
No-one said a word to me. I wondered how many times this had happened before, and cursed myself once more for having travelled alone. No-one knew where I was…I hadn’t used email for over a week, and hadn’t placed a single call to Europe in over a month and a half. My parents were used to these trips of mine, as were my friends. I’d chosen to travel incognito and now I was paying the price.
As I sat on the hard wooden bench, sticky and dehydrated from the heat and hot air blowing my way, I forced myself to face the unfortunate facts. However it had happened, I was in trouble. Zanzibar was semi-autonomous from Tanzania. There was no way – even if I could borrow the money for another boat ticket – that the authorities would let me leave without my passport. And all I had on me now was close to $20...
If you're planning on travelling for more than a couple of weeks, as a backpacker, then buying a pack that suits you and your specific travel needs is a critical decision. A well-made, sturdy backpack isn't going to be cheap but – and I can't emphasise this enough – it's going to be money well spent. When you invest in a decent piece of gear, it's going to be like a great friendship – it will hold up in good times and bad, and it won't disintegrate after the odd run-in...
