There’s something about an old battered Land Rover that
epitomises adventure more than any other vehicle. When I lent on the bonnet to sign the visa form,
I could smell the dust, the diesel and the sharpness of old rubber from the worn
tyres. I had a good feeling that the
expedition would finally happen. And it
is.
Now the visa is approved, my spare room is full of kit and
the butterflies play merrily in my guts.
I do the usual balancing act of the independent traveller: planning for the worst while not freaking
myself out at horror scenarios. I’ve
been here before and I know the process.
What keeps me focussed is knowing that once the rubber starts rolling
along the dusty roads of Angola my anxiety will melt into the excitement of
taking every moment as it comes.
Difficult situations are usually easier to deal with in reality than
they are in fantasy. I’ve been smacked
around the ear during an attempted mugging in Windhoek, been conned out of cash in Haifa and had my pack,
passport, money and airticket stolen on a Greek beach. It was shit.
But I’m still here and in one piece.
What I love most about independent travel is this excitement
and unpredictability. I feel alive.
This is likely to be my last post for a while. I don’t expect to be able to access the
internet while I’m in Angola and I’m certainly not lugging a laptop with
me. If I find an internet café in one of
the bigger towns and I have some time, I’ll try to post a quick update. I may manage the occasional tweet so follow
me on @Afriwheels.
Thanks to all of you
who have offered support and advice over the past year or more.
‘Bye for now! See you
in a month!
