The Siren Serenade, the Road trip to Namibia begins.

  Jan 9, 2017   Edmond


Location: Port Nolloth, South Africa

I woke that morning with that familiar pounding, it had been a while since I had a proper hangover. One shouldn’t drink vodka and red wine together. Somehow the hangover felt fucking great, my theory is that it kick-started my dopamine levels and I was my normal self again. All it took was some booze and a lay and ole Edmond was back in the ring. With Molly still clinging to my skin, it just felt like heaven. It was Saturday and everyone was around, including extended family, Annette was cooking and before I knew it my kit was out and I was tattooing and I was stacking up South African Rand, by the end of the day I had more money than I had arrived with and was fucking stoked.

That day I looked at my bitcoin accounts and with debit and cash money thin. I waited, up down, thousands of dollars difference between morning and night, while the values of each coin went wild until finally I got a sign,

the number ended in 1229.11 per coin, (the holy numbers according to Edmond) and I initiated a sell, due to a 48 hour hold I had to wait and trust the universe that it was part of the plan, that good or bad, high or low I needed to wait 48 excruciating hours until I could sell. I finally ended up cashing in my initial investment and leaving the rest for ten-twenty years down the road. Cash would arrive in my account by Thursday, when I could book my month long AirBnb in London, at a pretty wicked rate, I quickly learned that it’s the only site worth looking at when booking long term. It would be my first time in London without the giant anchor of a fucking girlfriend, plunging me into the Mariana Trench. Finally my terror on the ladies of London could begin…lock your doors girls. A few are minding their watches already.

I spent all that Sunday mapping out a plan into Namibia. Just to get to the western middle of the country to the good shit was a 17 hour drive and pretty much all sand from here to there. It was the height of summer and the vast remote roads and heat could kill if you got caught out stranded in the middle of the definition of nowhere. I purposed a giant horseshoe going up into the middle west part of the country, up to Etosha National Park, then down south to the capital of Namibia =, Windhoek, then east to another national park in South Africa. I was buzzing with excitement, with the heat the animals would have to fight for water, meaning we could camp out at the water holes and the beasts would come to us.

Monday I shot into town and got a hair cut from Barnet Fair, my favorite barber in Cape Town and got a cut and a shave. (review under endorsed) I tipped handsomely for the proper straight razor fade and made my way to see my great friend and former co-worker that had moved to a different shop from my previous time in Cape Town. I entered Sins of Style and there was my old pal Rico, a fucking world class tattooer and wonderful human being. Big hugs and a little catch up and it was like I never left. Laughing and before long I was offered a guest spot upon returning from Namibia, to which I agreed, although I felt a little guilty that I wouldn’t be working for Manuela at the shop that fed and clothed me the last time I was in town. All the same, I really wanted to hang with Rico more. We talked for about a half an hour while his client bled out on the tattoo he was doing, I got introduced around and we made a plan before I let him get back to it and shot back to the house.

I was on fire after such a great morning and didn’t plan on wasting it so I pounded a big redbull and a provigil and fucking wrote and wrote until my wrists felt numb and the cigarettes burned to my lips and made my eyes teary. I caught all the way up to what I’m writing this very moment. During my breaks I called home and spoke with my parents for a while, they were concerned about the drugs on my Instagram, and understandably. I explained that Edmond isn’t gonna hide and I was so very sorry if it caused them concern, but that of course, I was fine and always would be. Immediately after speaking the words I had the fear creep in, I can’t let them fucking bury me. I just gotta out live them. I had already put them through enough.

There was a paperwork snag to get Alex’s 4x4 to get across the border to Namibia, which was a little terrifying being I was on a much shorter African time budget than the last two times I had been here. Still, Tuesday came, Wednesday was our projected blast off day and I started to prepare. That night Alex arrived later than usual and had papers in hand, we would leave at the excruciating hour of 10:00 in the morning, about 5 hours later than I would have wanted. All the same the great adventure into the Namibian desert was about to begin.

That night it was hard to sleep, I was watching the new season of Sherlock from the BBC and loving it, every bit. Bennedict Cumberbatch is a legend. Anyway, its well past midnight and I just couldn’t quite close my eyes, even after 10mg of xanax when my email buzzed through and I was denied the place I wanted to stay through AirBnb. “Fuck” I thought, what a mess and immediately started into trying to find a new place before I got fucked into moving every week while in the UK and paying hotel rates. I put in an offer on a place, that was cheaper than the first and started back in on Sherlock. It was close to the shop I would be working at and nearly £400 cheaper. I was enjoying how wonderful it is that Sherlock was taking drugs to keep up with his own thoughts in the show, very similar to the reasons I take drugs. Another email came through. My request had been accepted and I went back to actually look at the lodgings. This is where the universe plays its funny little tricks, and evidence, to yours truly at least, that my Gods guide me, everything is connected and sometimes life is just flat out strange. I read on about the room, the top floor, en-suite and all that, small kitchen with a shared larger kitchen, all the stuff I had breezed through in the photos without reading the description: then the zinger…it just so happened to be the former historically marked home of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Everything is fucking connected and the adrenaline shot down my arms.

Elated and 10mg later and I was comatose. I woke at 5 and gathered my stuff, packed the car and finally after waiting on Alex and Annette to find passports and finally pack we were on the road by about 11:30. I love Alex and Annette deeply, but it was a sharp reminder of why I travel alone.

I was prepared for a 16 hour long haul in order to make up for the time constraints having been placed on us by Alex’s job, which affords me free accommodation in Cape Town, so I couldn’t really fuss. It was 9 hours through wheat fields and flatlands to the border of Namibia, I really wanted to get across that day but was out voted and we ended up staying in a town called Port Nolloth on the north cape of South Africa. Port Nolloth was a funny little town, the heat of the desert met the cold of the Atlantic and created an erie fog that blanketed the whole town. In that stark environmental contrast from the heat of road I found myself in a jumper with a bit of a shiver.

The Atlantic fog creeping into the desert.

Port Nolloth, South Africa

We booked into a little hotel that was mainly for oil rig and mine workers and after planning and eating some of the lovely food Annette had prepared for us I retired to my room, where I wrote, did some research and then watched President Obama’s farewell speech. The speech brought me to tears a couple times, at the prospects of the future without him leading the United States. He is and always will be one of the greatest presidents to have served.