Solitaire

Travel Tip #12 – Never sell the Hilux

There is this place called Solitaire. It’s in Namibia. It’s on a stretch of road that rubs up against the Namib Desert. To call it remote is somewhat of an understatement. All there is, is a hotel, a petrol station, a small shop, and… a world-famous bakery. 

No really. Back in the 90’s a Scottish pastry chef by the name of Moose McGregor decided to move out to what really is the definition of the middle of nowhere. And then instead of focusing on the basics like… bread. Which is what I would have done.

Decided instead to specialise in, I kid you not, Affelstudel.

Now my wife loves to point out the fact that what he is making is actually apple pie and not apple strudel. But let’s not get into that today.

Moose and his baked goods single-handedly turned this otherwise unremarkable stretch of dirt into one of Nambia’s must-see destinations. 

Now, would I buy a ticket to Namibia with the sole purpose of sampling Moose McGregor’s famous baked goods? Probably not, the Strudel is good, but not travel around the world good. 

But would I pop in if I were in the vicinity? Well hell yes, and more so than that, I have pretty much done so every time I’ve been to Namibia.

And it was on one of these visits that we, my Dad and I, also known in those parts as “The ladder Guys” found ourselves in a rather odd predicament. 

We had stopped to fuel up our old Hilux for the second time that day. And while Dad drew the short straw and paid the fuel bill I went over and picked us up the obligatory coffee and strudel. 

It was shaping up to be a pretty ordinary, all-be-it-pleasant afternoon when out of the blue a bakkie, that’s a pickup for the rest of you, pulled in front of us and came to a halt in a cloud of desert sand.

The sand lingered in the air like an unwelcome fart and as the seconds ticked by I couldn’t help but feel that I had already swallowed more than my fair share of sand that day.

Was it time to get out the wheel spanner?

I never thought I’d be involved in an L.A.-style street brawl in the Namibian outback. Though if my experiences had taught me anything it was that anything was possible in Nam. 

“Where do we keep the wheel spanner?” I eventually managed in a girly panic-laden voice.

Dad didn’t flinch. 

“Behind the fridge.” It was like listening to Batman.

But this was a problem. I couldn’t imagine our nemesis just hanging around while we unpacked the entire back of the Hilux. Though to be fair, we still hadn’t seen his face through all the dust. 

I later learnt that it was called fesh-fesh which sounded more like Namibian slang for Crystal Meth.

But before I could unpack that idea the dust finally cleared and we settled our gaze on the driver of the offending bakkie. 

It was a modern-day Clint Eastwood-style stand-off. We all looked sufficiently scruffy and were just waiting for someone to break the ice. 

“I used to own one of these!” the other driver eventually shouted beaming from ear to ear. 

This was not the first time we had had this conversation, but my God, it had never been this dramatic.

“Biggest mistake I ever made, getting rid of it!” He carried on.

‘Was it really?’ I thought to myself.

Our Hilux may have been the envy of every 4×4 owner we met. But what all of them seemed to have conveniently forgotten about was the pain one suffered when holidaying in an antique.

It’s not just a little uncomfortable, it’s back-breaking, shake your fillings loose uncomfortable. It’s, I’ve gone deaf from all the noise and bankrupt from all the petrol stops.

So it was hard to know whether or not we agreed with his comment. Not that it mattered as he just kept on talking. 

“This is a real 4×4,” gesturing towards our piece of classic motoring. “Not like the rubbish they make today.”

And, once again I wasn’t sure whether he had quite thought this one through. He had ABS, traction control, air suspension and looked as though he was in enormous comfort.

“Look at all this plastic!”

He began slapping the side of his bakkie as though he had just spotted a mosquito. 

This was definitely a new approach to the whole, “I wish I hadn’t sold my Hilux” and had left us at somewhat of a loss for words.

One moment we were on our way to Moose’s bakery, and the next we were in a cloud of dust watching an unshaven Neanderthal slapping around his vehicle.

I was also pretty sure his vehicle also kept the dust out when he closed the windows. Which would have been really nice in that moment. 

But it turned out he wasn’t finished yet.

“How many flat tyres have you had?”

I mean what difference did it make what vehicle you had when it came to punctures? 

Only now he was staring at as with a sense of longing. It was as though he had just bumped into an old girlfriend, and that girlfriend was Uma Thurman. 

And I understood that look. It’s the same look I have every time I see an original VW Beetle. Only I remember how it would never idle, how the electrics only worked in the dry months and how the bonnet only opened when you really didn’t need it to. 

But then Dad and I realised something, he had stopped talking, was he actually waiting for a reply?

Had our conversation reached its climax? Was this the tipping point?

He was almost panting with anticipation at our reply, and given his fondness for slapping vehicles around this was not a responsibility that I was keen to take on.

I looked at my Dad.

“Have we had any punctures?”

“None,” he replied without hesitation.

I thought this would have made him happy but the casualness of Dad’s response seemed to only enrage him further. Veins on his forehead began pulsating and I half expected him to burst into flames.

“Exactly, exactly. That’s what I’m talking about!”

Evidently that was the right answer, though it didn’t feel that way. 

He revved his engine.

“Not one puncture!” He carried on.

His wheels began to spin and for the second time in as many minutes, we found ourselves in a cloud of fesh-fesh.

For a while we both said nothing before Dad broke the silence with

Well, apparently I shouldn’t sell the Hilux.

And that became travel tip #12.

After that our affelstrudel was extra crunchy but you came to expect such things out there in the Namib Desert. 

Now I don’t have any links to click on but if you are ever interested in this bizarre place, just Google Moose McGregor dessert bakery and you will find it. And if you want more stories please share them with your friends.