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Waking hours largely comprise of driving, camping, sleeping and drinking (always in that order, I hasten to add), with little time for much else. But with 1,230 miles of driving under our collective belts, I’ve found time to sit under a sheet of stars, in a place I can neither pronounce nor spell, and poke at the keyboard for a little while.

Just under a week ago, I stumbled into Namibia off the Intercape bus service. Despite the journey’s longevity, it was a fairly painless experience, other than the unhealthy dose of Christianity (films and Bible broadcasts) pumped through the onboard entertainment system. I discovered later that the founder of Intercape was, and I daresay still is, a fundamental Christian, who feels it’s his duty to remind passengers that they’re destined for hell as well as Windhoek.

I arrived in Windhoek first.

I was met at the bus station by a man with a beard, who whisked me to the Chameleon Backpacker Lodge, which was where the three of us had arranged to meet. Davy, having arrived a couple of days previously, had collected our transportation, which lay await for me in the hostel car park. It was an impressive sight, and the first indication that what we were about to do was real. Most red-blooded men would be beside themselves with excitement at the prospect of navigating a hulking great Land Rover Defender 110 TDI across Africa’s rugged terrain, but I was just pleased it had an i-Pod adaptor.

After finding Davy, whooping and hollering accordingly, and imbibing copious amounts of coffee to wash away the fatigue of the bus journey, the two of us sped to the airport to pick up the third musketeer and his latte.

By 10am, our Triumvirate of Fun was at last together in Africa.


To celebrate, the three of us headed to what can best be described as a garage-cum-graveyard for 4x4s, where a man-mountain going by my name gave us an idiot’s guide to the vehicle. None of us understood a word he said, but we dutifully nodded knowingly throughout. Davy even took notes. I’m not sure where those are now.

I’m sure more specific details and anecdotes of the vehicle will emerge in later postings – most likely coinciding with the inevitable breakdowns we’re in for – here’s a quick summary of what we’re currently picking up chicks in: Land Rover Defender 110 TDI, two spare tyres, tool kit, high-lift jack, bottle jack, floor safe, lock box, disabler switch (in a secret location), duel batteries, spare filter, turbo hose, head gasket, door screws, alternator, shock absorbers, pans, cutlery, roof tent, ground tent, sand ladders, a fridge, and – at the behest of one member of our trio who will remain unnamed (Giles) – a French coffee press.
We’re hiring the vehicle from a company that Giles came across during his tenure in sunny DRC, Foley Specialist Vehicles (www.foleysv.com, www.foleyoverland.com). As well as providing us with the aforementioned list of goodies, we get comprehensive vehicle cover, which means Foley will send out parts by DHL to wherever we breakdown and provide a full check up when we reach Zambia. If we reach Zambia. They’ve also done us the huge service of organising our Carnet de Passage, which allows us to cross borders without having to pay duty for the vehicle. Like the cafeteria, an essential piece of kit.

We spent the rest of the day stocking up on supplies, gorging a late KFC lunch, and, come nightfall, romping around Windhoek. Our evening’s escapades ensured we missed our scheduled 8am departure, but did result in us procuring procure a Dutch, female, blonde to occupy our spare seat. Starting as we mean to go on. Excellent.