Luanda, Angola: Street Entrepreneurship, More Bribing and a Side Trip to Soyo

A little known fact; for foreigners, Luanda is the most expensive city in the world. While most Angolans live in poverty, expatriates pay upwards of $15-20,000 a month to rent a 3BR house. A moderate dinner typically costs $100 per person, and a 3-star hotel room will run at least $300 a night.

Yikes. When I wasn’t waiting in traffic, I spent most of my time in Luanda marveling at the prices. Of strawberry jam, of meat and toilet paper and motor oil. All very, very expensive.

I wish I knew more about history and economics to be able to explain why prices are so high. I read that during the Angolan Civil War (1975-2002), families thronged to Luanda. It was farther away from the fighting. The large surge in population put stress on the city. The government–getting rich from oil and diamond revenue–has since heavily invested in Luanda infrastructure. Like Dubai just a few years ago, cranes poke out of the skyline. New roads are lain, even a new airport is under construction. Unlike Dubai, however, Luanda isn’t nearly as organized. There’s government corruption. Many of the buildings are broken. Sidewalks are puddled and attract malaria-carrying mosquitoes.

Street Entrepreneurship

The traffic is abysmal. Not as bad as Lagos, Nigeria, but close. Idled in the city’s cramped streets, a thick layer of carbon monoxide hangs in the air. Hawkers meander from car to car, selling anything and everything. Mouse pads, air freshener, cold sodas, clocks, mini-violins, toilet seats, hats, socks and pirated DVDs. Hustling in the finest sense of hustling there is. It’s a wild scene. Just off the streets lie barbed wire, scaffolding, dust, trash and exposed sewers, indicators of a city that’s running too fast for it’s own good. In the distance, ratty soccer goals line the sandy shore. At the end of Ilha de Luanda, a skinny and posh peninsula that juts out from the center of the city, an oil rig stands tall.

More Bribing

One afternoon, I helped my driver pay off the police to get out of a traffic violation.

Side Trip to Soyo

This particular cost-of-living study required a few nights in Soyo, a small city at the northwestern-most part of the country, bordering the Democratic Republic of Congo.

Accommodation at one of our client’s oil camps had been arranged. The first afternoon, I was asked to participate in a mandatory site orientation. Ben, a large man who spoke in a slow, southern drawl, outlined the camps facilities. “They have a big incinerator there, sometimes it work, sometimes it don’t.” Ben mentioned that over 1,000 snakes had been relocated from the camp over the last year. Forest and black spitting cobras, gaboon vipers, and Jameson’s mambas. Not to mention the killer bees, wasps, scorpions and spiders. I made sure to stay on the path.

I was escorted around town by several of the expatriate wives. They’re probably the most hardcore foreign workers I’ve ever met. These women have lived all over the world, for years, in places like Kazakhstan and Nigeria. One of them took me through Soyo’s largest outdoor market.

At first, Angola was slow to issue me a visa–my first passport picture was deemed too “inappropriate.” (I had apparently exposed too much chest?) I’m glad they decided to let me in. What a week.

Windhoek, Namibia: Crazy Meat, Sandboarding and a Haircut

In the heart of downtown Windhoek, two streets intersect at a large roundabout that houses an old Lutheran church. It’s an otherwise normal, nondescript arrangement, save for one small detail. Now, I’ve seen some goofy and funny street names in my day, but this pairing has to rank as one of the quirkiest; Fidel Castro Street and Robert Mugabe Avenue, named respectively after Cuba and Zimbabwe’s iconic dictators. Apparently, Namibia’s first president had befriended the two during the country’s struggle for independence. An interesting tidbit, I thought.

Some other fun facts about Namibia:

  • Behind Mongolia, it is the world’s least densely populated country.
  • A third of the population speaks German.
  • Mining accounts for 25% of the economy. Currently, it’s the world’s fifth largest producer of uranium.
  • The Namib Desert is the oldest desert in the world.
  • The Namib Desert is home to the highest sand dunes in the world.
  • Shiloh Jolie-Pitt, the daughter of Brad and Angelina, was born in Namibia.

Disclaimer: the learning of interesting and awesome things is good for your health.

Crazy Meat

Vegetarians beware; Namibia is a nation of meat eaters. One place in particular, Joe’s Beer House, is notably light on the vegetables. A large, quasi-outdoor expanse just outside of Windhoek’s city center, Joe’s Beer House is the place to go if you’re looking to expand your culinary repertoire. Check out the menu!

I opted for the Bushman Sosatie, a “variety of ostrich, crocodile (when available), zebra, kudu and chicken meat, served with corn fritters, sour cream and salad.” Each meat had it’s own unique flavor. The chicken tasted like chicken, of course. The zebra was light and flavorful, the ostrich rich and beefy. The prices were surprisingly reasonable, the beer cool, the atmosphere inviting, just the kind of place I feel good about recommending to a fellow traveler. I must say, though, that I went almost an entire week without meat after that meal. It’s an overwhelming experience. Be prepared.

Sandboarding

Always in the mood to escape city life and thrust myself into Mother Nature’s open arms, I traveled five hours outside of Windhoek to go sandboarding. From Rhino Park in Windhoek, I paid about $15 to ride in a fifteen-passenger van. It was nice, not as crowded as I had anticipated. Cruising down the B2 highway, we passed Karibib and stopped in Usakos, where I bought three samosas, a coke, some juice, a Nestle bar and some chocolate covered raisins. I like to travel in style, folks.

As we entered the desert, the landscape became more distinct; distant and undulating hills, sun-bleached shrubbery, the occasional craggy outcropping. Termite mounds, reaching up from the cracks like long, skinny fingers, sporadically spaced out amongst the brush. It was ragged, dusty, seemingly endless, Namibia’s own sandy heart of darkness.

The van stopped again in Arandis, a small town adjacent to a much larger uranium mine. The driver, who had been towing some luggage behind the van, stopped to unload some items; two tires, a mattress, an HP printer, and three very large, industrial-size bags of clothing.

We arrived in Swakopmund just as the sun was setting. Due to the location of the shoreline–where the Atlantic’s cold water reaches Africa–there’s often a thick fog that covers the road, but that evening it was clear and temperate.  I checked into the Desert Sky Lodge and ran down to the beach.

It was a Sunday night and the city was quiet. I found a German pub, had some beer and fish and walked back to the guest house. The next morning, I was picked up at 9:30a by Alter Action, a Swakopmund-based adventure company. I hopped in a van with a guy from Portland, Oregon and was soon joined with a group of overland travelers from the U.K. and Australia. Fifteen minutes later and we were on site, at the base of the dunes.

Instead of traditional sandboarding (standing up on a waxed snowboard), I opted to lie down on a flexible wooden sheet. I was told I’d go faster, be able to ride longer dunes and, since I’m not too comfortable on a snowboard, I’d have more fun! It was fun indeed; on the steepest run, I reached a speed of 74km/hr (46mph). This is what it looks like.




It was a once-in-a-lifetime kind of morning. That afternoon, I found another passenger van that drove me back to Windhoek. I arrived just after dinner and went back to work the next morning.

Haircut

The summer of 2008 was the last time I paid for a haircut. I was in Istanbul, traveling with my brother and some friends, and a guy named Mustafa worked his magic. I looked all slick and European. I miss that haircut. Since then, I’ve had this routine of letting my hair grow long, buzzing it, letting it grow long again, buzzing it, etc. Back in Windhoek, in an unseen dash of spontaneity, I walked into a German hairdresser and got myself a haircut. The barber did a much better job than I’ve been doing the last couple of years. Maybe it’s time to stop buzzing my head.

Have any of you gotten your hair cut on the road? Any interesting or funny experiences? After reading my friend Earl’s tribute to underarm shaving, I wonder how many more wacky stories I might be able to round up. Care to share?