Windhoek, Nambia; a beautiful city I shouldn’t be in
Once I stop thinking about the mess I’m in I sleep well. I must fly to Windhoek, the first friendly visa-free destination I can reach, and do so via flights to Nairobi and Johannesburg. A total travelling time of 9hr 50min (15hr 30min with connection times) covering 6502km. Sorry Earth! Its a strange world we live in when I can get from Brazzaville to Windhoek via such a detour.
I’m at the end of the immigration queue and by the time I pass through into baggage reclaim, most of the bags have been collected, the other passengers gone, the baggage belt looking distinctly empty. My bag is somewhere which isn’t by my side. In it, all my Namibia info…
It takes me a while to work out where I think I am. It turns out to be either New Zealand or Switzerland: the mix of English and German, the cleanliness, the sense of order are all immediately apparent. At the hotel, I think for a minute I’m getting a free beer, but the owner is just getting the cashbox out of the padlocked fridge.
I still feel like I’m trapped in something I can’t get out of, and I feel out of sorts even after relatively cultured Brazzaville. The closest comparison I can make is moving from your house to Buckingham Palace without any warning.
I’m reunited with my bag at 8 the next evening, after a day of thinking of all the things I didn’t have with me. Then with my books and maps I have to start thinking of a way out of this mess…
