The (Southern) paths we cross
The truck has arrived the coastal city of Swakopmund, an old German colony sometimes claimed to be more German than Germany itself. I think it looks pretty African with its palm trees and beaches.
After two days bush camping with basic or no facilities, clean sheets and showers at a lodge feels like heaven.
But even with almost no sleep at all, I would give anything for another night up on the mountain of Spitzkoppe, under the starry Namibian sky, with nothing but a sleeping bag and the company of my new found friends.
(Although secretly, with my eyes fixed on the Southern Cross, my thoughts went out to you)
In Windhoek, four new people joined our group, creating a new dynamic and sparking new conversations. We are now four Swiss-Germans, two Canadians, two Germans, three Dutch and one Swede – that is, myself. All Northern people, and all more or less in our 30’s, we share a lot of the same ideas and we get along really well.
We’ve also crossed paths with other people, sharing a day or night together at campsites or in bars. But this kind of travelling doesn’t allow any lingering – the truck is always on a roll.
In about a week we will cross the border to South Africa, my home away from home, where I have a phone number, and people I can’t wait to see.
But until then there is more land to cover
…more rivers to cross
…and more stars to thank.
(PS. I miss you.)