Resuming The Journey And Why I Wear A Hat - Munsterland Guest Farm - Khorixas

We’ve been on the road for five months. The Honey Badger is our tiny home; although snug, we have a bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, and dining room, and here I sit and type in my “study”.

It’s currently raining. We find summer rainfall quite a novelty. Whispy, feathery clouds build up into ominous, darkly bruised and menacing storm clouds, Cumulonimbus. Reminiscent of a powerful cymbalist clashing his cymbals in a marching band, a warning of thunderous warfare in the heavens with flashes and streaks of bright silver lightning and then the downpour we’re not accustomed to. There’s no wind, and it’s warm and dank. Puddles quickly pool and break through, gathering momentum, snaking fuller and faster and soon streaming towards a river.

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But my story is a long way from there. Getting ahead of myself again. We’re on the road again and back to dust, desert and dirt roads. The landscape and topography is changing as we go north east. We slip through small one horse villages unnoticed, stopping only for diesel.

In the dry heat we wind our windows down, and with the wind in my hair, our latest book on the radio, we sip our coffees and nibble wine gums as we happily roll along. I glance out of the window and notice my coiffure in the side mirror.

Unlike the romantic pictures of the suntanned Calafornia gal in her cut-off frayed blue jeans, white off-the-shoulder skimpy cotton top and a sprig of golden grass between her perfect white teeth, I couldn’t resist a photo of the wind in my hair. In contrast, a few wisps of sun-kissed honey-blonde hair seductively trills above her cotton candy pink, glossy lips as she whips along in her red Mustang with the top down.

My reality; after a few minutes; my thick hair has whipped a welt across my cheek and veins have burst in my eyes. No saline solution is strong enough to stop the watering. The golden grasses along the way, have my allergy levels peeking as I trumpet to get my nose unblocked. The harsh truth of trucking tells it all and that's why I wear a hat. I'm in control and not the elements! We may not look cool but the tempreture is.

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We often stop at farm stalls to stretch our legs, bend our backs, do a bathroom run, and fill up on coffee. In Namibia, we didn’t find as many farm stalls as the beautiful selection in South Africa, particularly in the Western Cape, but we had some fabulous finds. Biltong, droë wors and chilli bites were the first things Butch looked for while I headed for the dried fruit, preserves, jams and licence disk stickers which now adorn the Honey Badger, indicating where we’ve been. 

To avoid the hassle of explaining that the Honey Badger isn’t a commercial vehicle but a camper van, we have been advised by truckers and Overlanders that we should “advertise” the fact by beautifying the outside of the truck, on the dashboard, a flag or traditional cloth have been recommended. If it looks like a Mexican or Indian bus, we’ll be better understood. Gotcha.

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Only on one occasion have we been disappointed with the campsite we stayed at. Unfortunately, we were late and had no choice but to stay at Acacia Park in Otjiwarongo. It was late, and Butch had been behind the wheel for hours. Fortunately, we are self-sufficient. We had an early night and left early the following day. The ablutions were disgusting. When we brought the matter up with the “camp manager,” he agreed but said his hands were tied. There was zero budget for cleaning or maintenance—such a shame.

Every town or village in Namibia boasts a Spar or Boxer store where we often stop to fill a basket with necessities and, on occasion, even a few packets of our friend Amanda Cloete’s  Just Popcorn. Available exclusively at Spar in South Africa too. We enjoyed our flavours.

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iOverlander’s excellent reviews persuaded us to stay at Munsterland Guest farm in the Kamanjab district not too far, in Namibian terms, from Outjo.

Without reservations, we arrived on the farm to be welcomed by Jandre, the farm manager and fourth generation Weakley on the family farm. Say what you like, but first impressions count no matter how PC we are.

“Three nights,” I chimed in before Butch could ask. He looked pretty startled, but that’s how adamant I was that we should stay an extra day. There was this air of tranquillity about Munsterland. Organised, spotless, yet welcoming was what prompted my reply.

We were shown to our campsite and given the wifi password (without having to ask for it). Jandre checked to ensure our private ablutions were perfect and that the hot water gas geyser was switched on. Before long, our complimentary wood bushel was delivered, and we were invited to cool down at the pool.

After a swim, I went exploring. Butch did warn Jandrè (and everyone since) that I’m incredibly inquisitive and suffer from an acute dose of FOMO (fear of missing out).

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It seldom happens that a girl’s wedding can take place on the land she was raised on. On Munsterland, Jandre’s sister could do the whole shebang from home. A white-washed chapel for the ceremony overlooks a small ravine and the mountains beyond. Guests could wander down for the formalities from their well-appointed cottages or the campsites. Later, when the photographs had been taken, guests walked through the acacia forest and indigenous gardens to the small function venue to celebrate, dine and dance.

The elegant palette of earthy shades used in the decor was inspired by what I see all around me, in a handful of stones I scoop up, and the azure sky.  A colour chart of creams, light grey and duck-egg blues have been used, cooling the heat and creating a cool welcoming space which blends and balances perfectly with the natural colours of the gravelly,  dry earth.

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Jandre offers guests a relaxed morning or evening drive with short walks. The early bird catches the worm. At five-thirty the following day, Jandre picked us up and showed us around the farm, and at six o’clock, just before the sun peeked out pink and yellow behind the mountains in the east, we stopped in preparation to witness the spectacular sunrise.

Out came the picnic hamper. With steaming mugs of coffee and his Mum’s beskuit, we watched the sunrise, which lit up the massive expanse of indigenous forest and veld before us. Behind us, a canyon carved from rivers running from the mountains snaked its way languidly. We were awestruck.

Plateaus, canyons, rivers, and forests. The clouds fat with expectations of a storm provided the perfect elements to create  a spectacular sunrise over the vast valley to the east and shed some light on the canyons on the western side of the spit we were standing on.

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With Jandre’s assurance that the caves were nothing like the flooded caves in Thailand, where the soccer team was holed up in, I bravely ventured into the cave. It was fascinating to see and not be afraid of the fruit bats we disturbed. “No, they will not fly into your hair or your ears,” he said, dispelling that old wives tale!

The type of soil, rock and a high rainfall during the summer months all make it possible for the formation of caves with stalectites. The erosion is a slow process. We could even make out an old footprint of a very large leopard who had taken up residence in the cave where he could bring his prey and devour it in peace.

On our circuitous drive, we saw a seldom-seen large herd of Kudu with a very impressive ram and many small klip springers, tortoises, geckos, ostriches, goats and sheep. We viewed the abandoned hunting lodge on the ravine’s edge and gave him liberal renovation suggestions, and the building has so much potential, we assured him. “No argument there”, was his response.

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Exploring by bike is our way of doing things, and we couldn’t wait to get on our way the next day. Butch let me lead the way, which is not always recommended. As he often reminds me, “you and a map are terrible!” I seldom know my east from my west. But, there are unexpected sightings. This time we came upon a small group of children who ran for cover when they spotted us.  

Just a few hundred meters away, all was revealed. The adults were busy making and sorting charcoal. We were later told that this small group of Angolan refugees live on the farm safely and are permitted to cut certain mopane branches and trees of a specific circumference.

The wood is cut down to size, packed in a cylindrical, domed-shaped mound, set alight, and slowly burned until hardwood charcoal is produced. Once the pyre has cooled sufficiently, women sort the charcoal and bag it. Jandre buys their stock which is later sold and exported worldwide. I seem to recall Greece and Turkey are some of the places the charcoal is sent to.

The littlies ran away because they’d never seen anything as queer as two old white people in cycling shorts. We are a sight to behold. When one witnesses the lives of refugees, one can only respect and admire their tenacity and their will to create a better life for themselves and their children at any cost—heart-wrenching.

Is it only when we are confronted, face-to-face with the harsh realities of people’s plight, that our prejudices change? I’m not inclined to only see the sterilised, sugar-coated touristy attractions presented in brochures but to experience and witness the often hidden underbelly of a society and country to get an accurate representation.

(Photos were taken with permission from the ladies sorting the coal.)

After our short stop and chat in rudimentary English, only one of the ladies could speak a heavily accented, broken English, we needed to sit under a tree to quietly contemplate.

In the ensuing days we were able to cycle twice, each time taking a different route.

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The three nights at Munsterland Guest Farm soon came to an end. It was hard to leave that haven of tranquillity but we had a date in Hoedspruit and still many miles ahead of us. After hot days we were rewarded with spectacular sunsets. The deeply saturated colours, I remind myself, are true, that's why I photographed them.

Jandre,  your enthusiasm for life and the future gives us hope. Thank you for being an excellent host, for spoiling us and going beyond your normal duties to make our stay so memorable. You will be remembered fondly. May all your wishes, dreams and ambitions come true.

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Below is an excellent review and short description.

“This owner-managed guest farm is situated between Outjo and Khorixas, on the edge of the Ugab Terrace, with a panoramic view over the Ugab Valley and seasonal fountains. The farm offers five chalets, each with its patio, from where you can enjoy the breathtaking views. Each chalet is equipped with a fridge and a kettle.

The three campsites, each with private facilities, can accommodate 3 tents/6 people and has braai facilities. We also have - a swimming pool and boma with a panoramic view. - Short walks - Free wifi at reception and the swimming pool area. - Meals on request (breakfast and dinner).”

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