In a country where the population density is 2 people/km squared, a good hike can be hard to find.

Many of you have expressed interest and/or concern about the fact that my main mode of getting around Namibia is hitchhiking. It’s all very romantic and Kerouac-ian. I’ll explain my first experience hiking by myself.

Sunday December 20th 2009 was a day I’d been looking forward to for a while. It was the day Peace Corps said we could begin traveling within our region. I had been planning on going to Otjiwarongo, a city just 2 hours north of Okahandja, the site of my good friend Sarah, and an easy hike on the B1 (the I-75 of Namibia). I haven’t waited more than a few minutes to get a hike in any spot on the B1. Sarah SMSed me the day before my departure however to tell me she was still in the 4 O’s for a wedding and didn’t think she’d be returning in time for me to come on the 20th. I took a quick look at a map, send a few SMSes, and decided to head to Khorixas, my friend Vanessa’s site. Turns out there were a few other volunteers there who would hike to Otji with me on Monday to meet Sarah.

I woke up on Sunday and did some last minute packing. I locked up my valuables and walked to the hike point where the B1 meets the B2 that heads to Swakop. Some women there told me I was in the wrong hike point to head north, so I gullibly took their directions and headed to another hike point I knew of. Sadly, this was not the right hike point either. Finally a woman heading to Swakop took pity on my and drove me to the correct hike point. Feeling pretty dumb, I got out of the car, gratefully took a bottle of cool drink that was offered, acknowledged her words of advice about how dangerous hitchhiking is, set down my pack and waited for my next ride.

It came quite soon. A family heading to Waterburg Plateau said they’d bring me as far as the turn off for Okakarara – about 20k from Otji. We made good time, and they even drove me into Otji since they had to fill up on fuel. I took my first ever steps off the B1 and started the long walk out of Otji on the C28 towards Outjo. It soon became abundantly clear that though I was halfway there, this leg of the hike would be significantly more difficult.

I got hike #3 when I was almost on the outskirts of town. They brought me about 5k outside of Otji to a turn off, where I stared walking. I walked for about 20 minutes before I saw a car coming in either direction. I waved my hand at a car that pulled over. The driver was clearly a taxi and didn’t want to bring me for free. Now this I can respect. If it’s your job to drive people back and forth, I understand. If you’re just going through and can easily drop me off on your way, I’m more hesitant to pay for petrol.  Still, I bargained him down to N$10 from N$50 with the old “I’m a volunteer and the Peace Corps only gives me money for food so if I pay you I don’t eat for a week” trick. He seemed to only half believe me. I argued for most of the ride to Outjo about how just because I’m American doesn’t mean I’m rich. He also gave me the whole “You should marry a Namibian” schpeal. I told him about my fake American husband in the states. Mr. Taxi Man assured me that my husband is cheating on me. Excuse me Tate. You don’t know my fake husband. He just kept laughing at me. Annoying. Hike #4 was not so much fun.

I made it to Outjo, gave Mr. Taxi Man a N$10 after sneakily taking it out of my wallet and hiding all the N$100s I had, and walked to a gas station to try and find a hike. I got some food and chatted with the gas station attendants, who thought me crazy to be looking for a free hike. After not having much luck for about an hour and getting tired of the crazy man who kept trying to steal my chips, I walked out of town towards the turn off to Khorixas.

Outjo is known as the Gateway to Etosha, one of the main tourist attractions and game reserves in Namibia. This being so, you can find lots of white people dressed in safari gear traveling to various lodges in the area. These types of people tend to look at a white person standing along the side of the road, waving their hand into the 35 degree desert like they’re crazy. They tend not to stop, no matter how pathetic I look. And believe me. I looked as pathetic as I felt crazy. I paced back and forth in the sand. I finished the last of my water and even tried to drink the boiling cool drink I got from hike #1. I shared “aren’t we pathetic” glances with the man trying to hike across the way. Every time a car drove by we both shared a look that said “Maybe next time…” Hiking on the not-B1 is not fun.

Finally, my chariot arrived. A bakkie coming from a shopping trip in Outjo with a woman and her children in the back sped by. I sent my most pathetic puppy-dog-stuck-in-the-desert look her way and she asked the driver to stop. My hero.

A friend I made on Hike #5

The final leg to Khorixas was wonderful and well worth the wait. Rainy season had turned Damaraland’s rolling mountains green and purple with vegetation. We pulled into the petrol station at Khorixas and I ran gratefully to my friends. Two months of being alone at site were over. It only took 6 hours to make it 400k. I wasn’t at site for the first time in 4 months, but I was with my friends. I was home. Winter holiday had begun.