One long, uneventful flight with a medical entomologist and two very bad flight meals later, I landed in Windhoek. It was blindingly bright – especially so after a dark, rainy summer in Chicago and 34+ hours in transit.

My fellow passengers and I all received a special colorful brochure, informing us that we had been exposed to the H1N1 (Swine Flu) virus. Welcome to Namibia!

A few minutes to clear customs and immigration and I finally saw Rock Star for the first time in a couple of weeks. With his full-on field beard (no comment). We hung out with a colleague of his who was heading out for a few minutes, then took the beautiful drive from the airport to Windhoek.

We quickly stopped by Camping Care Hire so I could sign their waiver and be added as a driver for this:

Woot! I love trucks!

We tried to go to Pupkewitz MegaBuild for US-Namibia power adaptors and a poikie but they were ‘CLOSED FOR STOCK TAKE.’ Tomorrow is Sunday. Essentially everything but the grocery store will be closed, so we will have to find one as we drive around the country.

We’re staying at Hotel Safari in the capital city of Windhoek, which is quite a compound. They were recovering from a very full house of top SWAPO leaders as I arrived.

Dinner at Joe’s Beer House – finally, I’m feeling better – and I ordered the Devil’s spare ribs and a couple of Windhoek lagers. Rock Star had the game stroganoff. All was delicious and I was psyched at the prospect of a trip without the stomach troubles that had plagued me since I left Chicago.

The tables there are communal and we were eventually joined by an Italian couple and their guide – a blowhard Hemingway-wannabe Namibian who never shut up. Matt and I are so pleased to be without guidance.

Back at the hotel, I go to sleep contemplating the sign next to our table: “The only cure to a real hangover is death.”

Tags: namibia