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. Snug as it is, it has a bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, and dining room, and here I sit, typing in my “study”.

It’s currently raining. We find summer rainfall quite a novelty. Whispy, feathery clouds build into ominous, darkly bruised, menacing storm clouds: cumulonimbus. Like a powerful cymbalist crashing cymbals in a marching band, it warns of thunderous warfare in the heavens, with flashes and streaks of bright silver lightning, 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, soon streaming towards a river.

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But my story is a long way from there. I’m getting ahead of myself again. We’re back on the road, back to dust, desert, and dirt roads. The landscape and topography change as we head northeast. We slip through small one-horse villages unnoticed, stopping only for diesel.

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

Unlike the romantic picture of the suntanned California gal in frayed cut-off blue jeans, a white, off-the-shoulder skimpy cotton top, and a sprig of golden grass between her perfect white teeth, I couldn’t resist snapping a photo of the wind in my hair. In contrast, a few wisps of sun-kissed honey-blonde hair seductively frame her glossy cotton-candy-pink 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 send my allergies into overdrive as I blow my nose. Trucking's harsh truth says it all, so I wear a hat. I'm in control, not the elements! We may not look cool, but the temperature is.

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We often stop at farm stalls to stretch our legs, ease our backs, run to the loo, and fill up on coffee. In Namibia, we didn’t find as many farm stalls as in South Africa, particularly in the Western Cape, but we still made some fabulous finds. Butch looked for biltong, droëwors, and chilli bites first, while I headed for dried fruit, preserves, jams, and licence disk stickers that now adorn the Honey Badger, marking where we’ve been. 

To avoid the hassle of explaining that the Honey Badger isn’t a commercial vehicle but a camper van, truckers and overlanders have advised us to “advertise” it by beautifying the truck's exterior; they recommend a flag or traditional cloth on the dashboard. If it looks like a Mexican or Indian bus, people will understand us better. Gotcha.

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We've only been disappointed with one 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 driving for hours. Fortunately, we are self-sufficient. We had an early night and left early the following day. The ablutions were disgusting. When we raised the matter 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 from Outjo.

Without reservations, we arrived at the farm and were 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 startled, but I was adamant we should stay an extra day. Munsterland had an air of tranquillity. Organised, spotless, yet welcoming, it prompted my reply.



They showed us to our campsite and gave us the Wi-Fi password (without us having to ask). Jandre checked that our private ablutions were in order and that the hot-water gas geyser was switched on. Soon after, they delivered our complimentary bushel of wood, and they invited us to cool off at the pool.

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

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It is rare for a girl’s wedding to take place on the land where she was raised. On Munsterland, Jandre’s sister could do the whole shebang from home. A whitewashed chapel for the ceremony overlooks a small ravine and the mountains beyond. Guests could wander down from their well-appointed cottages or campsites for the formalities. Later, after the photographs, 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 in the decor was inspired by what I see all around me: a handful of stones I scoop up and the azure sky. A colour chart of creams, light grey, and duck-egg blues cools the heat and creates a welcoming space that 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. At six o’clock, just before the sun peeked out pink and yellow behind the mountains in the east, we stopped to witness the spectacular sunrise.

Out came the picnic hamper. With steaming mugs of coffee and his Mum’s beskuit, we watched the sunrise light up the vast expanse of indigenous forest and veld before us. Behind us, a river-carved canyon snaked languidly. We were awestruck.











Plateaus, canyons, rivers, and forests. The clouds, fat with storm-expectations, provided the perfect elements for a spectacular sunrise over the vast valley to the east and lit the canyons on the spit's western side.

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With Jandre’s assurance that the caves were nothing like the flooded caves in Thailand where the football team was holed up, I bravely ventured in. It was fascinating to see the fruit bats we disturbed without fear. “No, they will not fly into your hair or ears,” he said, dispelling that old wives’ tale!

Soil type, rock, and heavy summer rainfall all help form stalactites in caves. Erosion is a slow process. We can even make out the footprint of a very large leopard that once lived in the cave, where it could bring prey and devour it in peace.















On our circuitous drive, we saw a rare large herd of Kudu, including an impressive ram, along with many small klipspringers, tortoises, geckos, ostriches, goats, and sheep. We viewed the abandoned hunting lodge on the ravine’s edge and offered him liberal renovation suggestions; we assured him the building had so much potential. “No argument there,” he replied.

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We explored by bike, and we couldn’t wait to get started the next day. Butch let me lead the way, which is not always advisable. 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 across a small group of children who ran for cover when they spotted us.  

Just a few hundred metres away, everything was revealed. The adults were busy making and sorting charcoal. We were later told that this small group of Angolan refugees lives safely on the farm and is permitted to cut certain mopane branches and trees of a specified circumference.



They cut the wood to size, pack it into a cylindrical, domed mound, set it alight, and burn it slowly to produce hardwood charcoal. Once the pyre has cooled sufficiently, women sort the charcoal and bag it. Jandre buys their stock, then sells and exports it worldwide. I seem to recall sending the charcoal to Greece and Turkey.



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.



Do our prejudices change only when we confront the harsh realities of people’s plight face-to-face? I’m not inclined to see only the sterilised, sugar-coated tourist attractions in brochures, but to experience and witness the often-hidden underbelly of a society and a country for an accurate representation.

(Photos were taken with the ladies' permission while they were sorting the coal.)

After our quick stop and chat in rudimentary English, only one lady could speak heavily accented, broken English, so we sat under a tree to quietly reflect.

In the next few days, we cycled twice, each time on a different route.

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The three nights at Munsterland Guest Farm soon passed. Leaving that haven of tranquillity was hard, but we had a date in Hoedspruit and still many miles to go. 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, spoiling us, and going above and beyond to make our stay so memorable. You will be fondly remembered. May all your wishes, dreams and ambitions come true.

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Below is an excellent, concise review and description.



“This owner-managed guest farm is nestled between Outjo and Khorixas, on the edge of the Ugab Terrace, with panoramic views over the Ugab Valley and seasonal fountains. The farm offers five chalets, each with a patio for enjoying the breathtaking views. Each chalet includes a fridge and a kettle.”









Each of the three campsites, with private facilities, can accommodate 3 tents (6 people) and includes braai facilities. We also have a swimming pool and a boma with panoramic views. - Short walks - Free Wi-Fi at reception and in the swimming pool area. - Meals on request (breakfast and dinner).





For more information:

Munsterland Guest Farm
E-mail [email protected] 
or call +26 467 312 004.
WhatsApp only to +26481 209 1272 or +26 481  141 273.
Reservations: [email protected]  



The route we took leaving Munsterland led us down a dirt road with excellent views of the canyon we had visited at dawn the previous day; this time we could see from the valley floor and look up at the cliffs, getting the whole picture.

We had good recommendations from Jandre for a pit stop and coffee with excellent views of The Finger at Khorixas. We were eager to get going again.

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