Have you ever bought something that you ended up totally regretting? Something you didn’t really need? Something you bought despite your good judgment, despite the astronomical price and despite its many, many shocking and glaring deficiencies? Maybe you were the person that bought GOB’s segway, for example (http://gizmodo.com/208595/own-gobs-segway)?

Or maybe your desire to own a framed photo of Emilio Estevez clouded your better judgment (Margot) (For a great piece on Emilio’s next project, check out this link: http://www.theonion.com/articles/when-life-gets-you-down-sometimes-you-just-have-to,11426/ - Joyho, Emilio!). Or maybe you bought something that was incredibly, shockingly old because it had so much charm, so much character. Let me tell you something: When someone suggests something has charm or character, they are really just saying that it's old. Really fucking old. That's it, don't try and dress it up as something it isn't. It's just old.

In February, three Canadian idiots purchased a charming Mercedes that was downright bursting with character. They were blinded by a need for a car, any car (how else were they supposed to get to school for their one class a week? Walk? Pssh, walking is for hippies and salesmen) (Note to reader: the buyers were also concerned that one member of their party was close to snapping and killing them all if daytrips weren’t taken to the many wonders of the Cape. We’ll call the homicidal member… Alexa S…. No, that’s too obvious…. A. Swift then). Additionally, one member had recently found 10 Rand on the street, meaning the price was now considerably lower at just 28990 Rand! Did they care that the car had metaphorically circumnavigated the earth 7 times? Of course not, that gave it character. Did they care that the paint contained substances no longer considered safe for humans to touch (arsenic-coated lead)? Not at all, their immune systems could use the workout. Did they care that the windows operated at a speed similar to, and made noises one would expect of, a 91 year old entering and exiting a bathtub? They were open-window drivers anyways. Did they care that a significant leak appeared to have contributed to the creation of a bustling coral reef in the trunk? Are you kidding? Who doesn’t love marine life?

And you know what? In the city, their cantankerous cadaver of a car did all right. It navigated its 10 minute drive to campus and guzzled its gas and everyone was relatively happy. They weren't even all that mad when the sunroof flat-lined and refused to be resuscitated back to life for the month of April, including during a bout of weather that the author only half-jokingly referred to as ‘The Perfect Storm’ (Educational tip to reader: Cardboard cereal boxes are ineffective proxies for metal sunroofs during The Perfect Storm).

But then, but then! with school over and a month until the masses descended upon the fair nation of South Africa for the World Cup, the idiots decided to take their ill-tempered automobile on a road trip. What's the worst that could happen to a shockingly low-riding car on the slightly sub-par roads of Namibia, Zambia and Botswana? It may surprise you to learn... many, many things. Many, many things can go wrong. Many, many things can go wrong when you take a normal, hearty, new-age car through Southern Africa. When you take Morris the Baby Blue Benz? Well, read on my friend.

Note to readers 1: Yes, I was one of those idiots. But you know what? I don’t regret for one minute going on this road trip, or taking our weathered skeleton car. For one, as expected, it was an absolutely amazing trip. Incredible. We saw and did so many things in a month that I still haven’t processed it all. And you know what else? You know what taking a terrible car on a road trip through Southern Africa builds? Character, that's fucking what. And we all know that that's all that really matters anyways.

Note to readers 2: All of the following stories are subject to extreme hyperbole, as the author is a graduate of The Blake Anderson School of Storytelling: Where Breathless Exaggeration Isn’t Only Tolerated, It’s Encouraged

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It was an inauspicious* start to a definitely ambitious, certainly ill-planned, oft-discouraged, possibly incredibly stupid trip. Although I was buoyed by one final loving message from Mama Fin (Please be careful, your car sucks, Love Mom), we were just 10 minutes and 16 kilometres into a 30-day, 10 000km trip and already the dashboard lights were sparkling like beacons of death. You know the ones I'm talking about. They are the lights that suggest something is horribly, horribly wrong with your lightbulbs or your oil or your brakes or your seatbelts - or in our case, all 4 - but they may as well just be flashing "Hey You! Ya, You! YOU'RE FUCKED". I had just decided to ignore the dashboard lights for the duration of the trip when The Swift uttered 5 words for the first time, but certainly not the last: “Do you guys smell burning?”

*(Ainslie, ‘inauspicious’ means 'an event or happening that suggests one will not be successful in the future'; a bad omen; boding ill - you're welcome my dear!)

I guess at that point I probably should have realized that we were going to have significant car troubles along the way. Call it blind optimism. I wasn’t even all that bothered a few hours later when we exited the car and noticed that our back licence plate had abandoned ship. Of course, this may have been because we had stopped for lunch at a place called The Titbits Diner and I was using all my brain power to try and determine whether we were walking into a brothel (I’m still not sure). Later, I barely batted an eye at the relentless persistence of the ‘ABS’ dashboard light that was suggesting we would soon be careening to our deaths when the brakes failed – in retrospect, my rationalization that we didn’t really need brakes because Namibia is the second least densely populated country in the world (you win Mongolia, you always do) and there is soft sand everywhere to crash into was probably irresponsible.

Picture unrelated to content

African borders are very, very odd. Sometimes they are extremely porous and shockingly easy to cross. Other times they are extremely difficult and the overzealous officials are either valiantly trying to combat perceptions of African corruption or are looking for a bribe. The problem, of course, is that I can never tell which border falls into which category. This leads to incredibly awkward conversations with lots of loud, fake Finley laughs, and other times leads me to try to force money on bewildered border agents who weren't actually looking for a bribe. More than once in my life I've tried to surreptitiously slip money to an authority only to have it awkwardly fall to the ground. The South Africa-Namibia border was definitely of the porous variety. We were all stamped within 30 seconds and vaguely motioned to leave. We hesitantly got into the cars (our pals Caity and Alex aka The Big Nasty were with us in their own car at that point. Sadly for everyone, they were not driving The Ho Train) and drove away. We didn’t register the cars and paid no fees, and the cars weren’t searched or even glanced at. I believe that was the second weirdest border experience of my life, a distant second to the time an American border official flipped through my passport and felt it was his duty to confirm with me that “Uganda’s not in the Middle East, is it?” “[Shocked silence] [Shrug] [Smirk] No sir, it’s in Mexico.” “Good.”

After spending the night on a patch of grass by a gas station, we were on our way early and soon left the paved highway for the corrugated dirt track leading to Ai Ais Hot Springs and Fish River Canyon.

Fish River Canyon is the largest canyon you’ve never heard of. (Winston Churchill: Ending a sentence with a preposition is something up with which I will not put). Fish River Canyon is the largest canyon of which you’ve never heard. That’s better. In fact, it is apparently the world’s second largest canyon, who knew? Incredibly vast, beautifully red rock, I wouldn’t even think of kicking it out of bed for eating crackers

Unfortunately, a number of troublesome things happened on the deathtrap roads in and around Fish River Canyon. First, Caity and The Big Nasty’s tire exploded and had to be replaced. Second, we collectively killed approximately 17 birds, including one that will be embedded on the grill of The Big Nasty’s car for the remainder of time. Third, Morris the Mercedes chose to stop playing all but TWO of the CDs I had made, meaning we had 34 songs for the next 9400 kilometres. I didn’t take that well. Finally, and probably most importantly, on a truly amazingly terrible stretch of road, something went truly amazingly terribly wrong with Morris’s front left portion, or quadrant if you will, creating an ungodly metal-on-metal screech second only in my nightmares to the noise I once heard emanating from a pig as it was slaughtered approximately 9 feet away from a basketball court I was playing on in the Philippines.

That night, we battled our PTSD by lounging in the natural hotsprings of Ai Ais with Namibian beers and the coolest elderly couple on the face of the planet. They were from Australia, were doing basically the same trip as us around Southern Africa, and were seventy seven years old.

The next morning, after being ensured by a "mechanic" (read: a dust-encrusted nomad) that the noise Morris was making was just a lack of fluid in the shocks (he was so, so incredibly wrong), we embarked on a massive 10 hour drive to the incomparable sand dunes of Sossusvlei. The driving that day was much like the driving would be for the rest of our time in Namibia: stark and desolate, dusty, hot, beautiful.

The main roads were relatively good - the problem is that there aren't many main roads. This may be because there is absolutely nobody in the country. Literally!!!! We drove for 500km without seeing a single settlement; we did, however, see a golden-hued cow that I was absolutely certain was a lion. It probably wasn't.

We arrived at a camp known as Sesriem, the gateway to the sand dunes of Sossusvlei, at dusk. Completely unfenced, Sesriem's campsites were each marked by a gorgeous, giant climbing tree.

We picked one on the outskirts, cracked open a few Windhoek lagers and set up our tents as the sky exploded with colour

Sensing that it was a Disney moment, I pumped 'Circle of Life' (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vX07j9SDFcc - you're welcome! Is it weird that this actually gives me chills? Ya? OK, good talk, see you out there) on full blast on the iPod dock. With beers in hand, sitting high up a tree in the Namibian desert, the 5 of us belted that grand tune out as loud as we could. Then, and surprisingly I'm not even exaggerating, we were joined in song by a chorus of wild animals from just beyond the campsite. Naaaaaaannnn Seeevvvveeennnnnyaaaaaaaa, Bagithi Baba! [Annnniiiiimmmmaaaaallllllll Sooooooouuuuuuunnnnnddddssss, Animal Soooooouuuuunnnndddddsssss]! Siiithiiii Ooooommmm Sevenyaaaaa!!! [Animaaaaaallllll Soooooooooooounds]. It was very easily one of the best moments of my life, top 5 I would say, which sadly bumps out Dave and Chad's unsuccessful candidacy for Recycling Facilitators of Queen's University

Till we find our plaaaaaace

On the path unwiiiiinnnnddddiiiiiinnnnngggg

In! The! Ciiiiiirrrcccccllllleeeeee

The Circle of Liiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiffffffffeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.

Boom!

[ANIMAAAAAAAALLLLLLLL SOOOOOOOUUUUUUNNNNNDDDDSSSSS IN A SONG-ENDING CRESCEEENNNDDOOO]

Amazing.

The next morning we woke up at 5AM so we could catch the sunrise from the top of a dune. Dune 45, so named because it is both 45 dunes and 45km away from Sesriem, is the place to be at 5:30AM in Namibia. Seriously, there were more people on top of that dune than we had seen the entire time in Namibia to that point. And who can blame them? It was one of the most breath-taking vistas I've ever seen.

Have you ever been somewhere that is so vast and so painfully beautiful that it makes you realize how incredibly small and insignificant you are? And from that realization comes complete and utter silence, as it feels like even breathing could somehow ruin that perfect place? Me neither, but I would guess that Sossusvlei at sunrise is about as close as a time and place could come to shutting me up.

Combine an amazing place with some of the most underrated fun in the entire world, Sand Supermans:

and dune-rolling

And like many before me - Big Babe eating a freezee, Rosser with a sausage-stuffed steak wrapped in bacon, McLovin' viewing a painfully beautiful sunset, Sam teeing off for a 4AM Shoe-golf match or Darren Milliam bathing in Nutella - we've found my happy place. If only we could've gotten a beerdie table up there.

In a different part of Sossusvlei sits the world-famous 'Dead Vlei'. Why is it world-famous, you ask? Why because J-Lo's psychological thriller 'The Cell' was partially filmed here of course

The Dead Vlei, meaning 'Dead Marsh', is a dry clay pan that features a number of dead acacia trees. It is stark and beautiful and encircled by some of the world's largest sand dunes, some measuring 300 and 400 metres high.

In one of my reoccurring bouts with stupidity, I suggested that we try to climb the biggest one, the one behind 'Dead Vlei' that you can see in the pictures above. In retrospect, I think I was blinded by my insatiable desire for more dune-rolling. A half-kilometre of dune-rolling! The Big Nasty, in his infinite wisdom, reacted to my suggestion by making a bed in the sand and having a nap.

Although there were moments I was pretty sure I was going to die of heat exhaustion, dehydration, suicide or some combination of the three, the climb was so incredibly worth it. The view from the top was both rad AND awe-inspiring.

And rolling back down that dune was about as incredibly fucking exhilarating as anything I've ever experienced (I would like to apologize to those who don't like the number of swears used on this nerdblog. However, in my defence, sometimes by far the best descriptive word one can use is 'fuck'. For example, how better to describe how much fun rolling down a giant sand dune is than to describe it as 'incredibly fucking exhilarating'. Boom. Give that beautifully visceral word 'fuck' some emphasis and you have done the best you possibly could to convey just how amazing it was to roll down that sand dune. Again, I apologize, but when used in that way is 'fuck' really offensive? Yes? It still is? Oh... well then, I apologize).

Unfortunately, to see Dead Vlei we had had to park our car and walk through the sand for 5km. This was considerably more difficult after scaling the Mt. Everest of sand dunes with next to no water. However, on the bright side, I had my first experiences with dehydration-induced hallucination, which was pretty fun. Try everything once I always say

After what seemed like an eternity we made it back to the car and I stopped seeing large cartoon beasts in the distance, which was bittersweet.

I absolutely cannot recommend going to Sossusvlei enough, it is transcendent. Easily among the most amazing, unique places I've ever been.

From Sossusvlei we headed to the coast to the very oddly placed German colonial town of Swakopmund. Described as more German than Germany (except for, you know, all the sand), this town actually has a street named after Kaiser Wilhelm (Not to be outdone, Maputo, the capital of Mozambique, has streets named after such bastions of human rights as Ho Chi Minh, Mao Tse-tung, Kim Il Sung, and Vladimir Lenin - I especially enjoyed it when I was told not to go near Robert Mugabe Street because it was too dangerous). Aside from issues with how they name streets, Swakopmund also has a spelling problem

Swakopmund is famous for three reasons. First, Brangelina birthed a child here. Second, it's got all sorts of adrenaline-y type activities, like skydiving, ATVing over the sand dunes, and sandboarding. Third, Craig "Craig" Heintzman won the 2007 Namibian Sandboarding Championships here, which is commemorated by the statue of his likeness that now looms over Kaiser Wilhelm.

ATVing through the sand dunes is exactly as much fun as you think it is. Wow.

While in Swakopmund we happened upon a mechanic specializing in Mercedes and decided that the car should probably be fixed so that my ears would stop bleeding.

Mechanic: [With incredulous look on face] You guys were [shakes head] very, very lucky

D: Go on...

Mechanic: [Shakes head, feels pity for me] The wheel was very, very close to falling off your car

D: Falling off? Just... falling right off?

Mechanic: Ya

D: [What do you say when a mechanic has just told you the wheel almost came off your car? T.I.A. Bru? Well thank goodness the good lord Big Baby Jesus was looking after us!!! I opted for the very erudite...] Huh... you don't say?

[Silence...]

D: But a nomad told us it was just shock fluid

Mechanic: I'm afraid that doesn't exist

D: Hmmm, touche mechanic. So... Did you fix it?

Mechanic: Yes

D: So... you think we can drive it up the Skeleton Coast?

Mechanic: You want to drive... this car up the Skeleton Coast?

D: Ya

Mechanic: Surely you can't be serious?

D: I am most serious, and don't call me Shirley

Mechanic: [Shakes head in disgust, turns around and walks away]

In retrospect, we probably should have listened to him.