Beserker
Grey Hound
Angola, Angola
A tale of “três cavaleiros”
Day 1, 2 and 3, Ruacana to Foz du Kunene:
Crossing the border is a no problem, tedious affair….everything gets copied by hand in triplicate.
Emigration window first, at the Customs window a real live chicken in the chair. After a minute or two of scrambling around, they managed to find and rouse the customs official..it is however debatable who was the most efficient, at last count the chicken was still ahead with a layed egg.
The aircon was off, emigration officials conducting their business at the border post:
Pulling away from the border an awful realization….Pete, during some idle hours in the bakkie driving up from Seffrica, played with my GPS…and by accident wiped off all the tracks that constitutes our planned trip.
Not to be deterred, we carried on…we were here for some adventure after all, what more can we ask for.
The guy with his finger up his nose is the GPS delete specialist:
The rest of the afternoon was spent cruising deeper into Angola, on an Westerly heading, in the general direction of Monte Negro.
Some random shots (and it is at this point that it should be noted; not one of us aspires to the title of photographer, nor travel writer – we are three happy snappers that went riding for the sheer petrol headedness fun of it – The photographs are a collective effort)
The road is long..
Quite a bit of water in an otherwise dry area.
Huge piles of firewood (Should make Gideon’s hart beat faster)
We also bumped into a local chapter of the “A(r)sses Wild” gang…check out the onboard stereo system, and the “ShowaLottaOfGat” protective attire.
First evening in Angola, made camp, and true to tradition, the Himba appeared out of the sand.
Fortunately for us though, as logistical problem #2 just manifested itself…we had 4 15l bladders, 45l fuel, 15l water. Somehow, they got mixed up, and the water was in an old petrol bladder….undrinkable, we were reduced to two 1.5l Camelbac bladders and these, Danie’s personal stash…2 x 2l coke bottles, 1 x 350ml coke bottle.
He started guarding them jealously, fortunately, this chap showed up and guided us to a well.
Next morning we were entertained by a round of Ram fighting, and shortly after we were off, en route to Monte Negro.
Some more random shots of the route..
Apart from the odd water crossing ,
The route got progressively more rocky.
Till..a whole lotta rock!
Fortunately, considering our dire water situation, the dry spells were broken by these water pumps, erected by the Portuguese before they took flight in the mid 70’s.
A small river crossing saw us to Monte Negro,
A shot of the Active Virgin gyming..
And a welcome beer.
I tried rinsing Pete’s contaminated water bladder in the Kunene with soap, to no avail…it was ruined.
Following this track from Monte Negro,
We headed of in the general direction of the 1400 m high Sierra , you will notice it peeking over the horizon in the above pic.
The route led us through some dongas,
To the Olopima river bed where we camped for the night…all in all, a pleasant day of riding.
The next morning we hit the road early.
Still life with Zaar:
Pretty soon we came upon Iona, and contrary to all advice of avoiding the station, the police were friendly and courteous, their station spanking clean, and best of all, a deep freeze with water.
As it was our last known watering spot before Foz, I drank till I felt like drowning, and then filled my Camelbac.
We headed out on a nice, sandy stretch, and noticed abundant wild life.
Some Welwetchias
Till we had to turn of…
Crossing the barren wastes of the Northern Namib on a compass heading.
The severe water rationing was starting to take it’s toll, the heat…..we decided to drop in at the roadhouse for take outs..
Mirages, heat, thirst and desert…a dangerous cocktail, and dry!
Heading further west, I was half expecting a troop of Foreign Legionnaires to come marching across the Wadi.
Some kick starting for those who appreciate such models.
According to the map, “in the middle of fucking nowhere”, and NO ENTRY! HaHa, nobody to stop us.
Negotiating a desert canyon,
We eventually made it to the Foz du Kunene beacon. Looking east, Danie and Peter approaching.
Making our way down, a small victory, we made it to the mouth of the Kunene.
Foz du Kunene however, is a miserable, windy place, a place where the police sees fit to post their drop outs.
After showing our passports, we started making our way North along the coast, in order to position ourselves favorably for the Langewand stretch, or, as it is know quite melodramatically, die “Doodsakker” , graveyard to all that misjudge the forces of nature.
The sand being so soft that you could only pull away with great difficulty, we hop scotched the rocky outcrops till we found a suitable place for camp, about 20km from the start of Langewand.
We were here..
Next up….
Riding the
ot: 
