NEW TO AFRICA

There I was sitting quietly having breakfast in Rivendell with everything under control and plenty of time, when Dave comes in and says "I‘ve just phoned the Tower - they say that the Gatwick flight is early and I‘m off to pick up Mum".  A quick gulp of OJ and a grab for a piece of toast and I‘m off in his tracks — it‘s almost 40kms out to the airport and I can‘t be late.

As I come over the last rise in the road, I see the plane on finals and so it was on a cool Saturday morning that I eventually lined up with the other metres & greeters and Windhoek International Airport to celebrate the arrival of Breda — her first visit to Africa! Should have stayed and had a second cup of tea as Namibian immigration & customs grind exceeding slow and it‘s almost an hour before she appears!

I‘d cleared the back seat of the Landy to ensure that there was enough room for all her luggage but — being an experienced traveller — she only had three small bags: very impressive. So, after slinging these in the back, we set off for the longish drive to our first night‘s stop. The first bit was back down into the outskirts of Windhoek past the sign for a taxidermist that consisted of a 3D yellow Kudu with a blue Lioness on its back which in turn was surmounted by a green baboon: very surreal.   As ever, the tar road was heading straight for the horizon through brown farm land but Breda did get her first sight of wildlife as we passed a group of dark shaggy Baboon grazing at the road side.

On the way South out of town the road passes under Hero‘s Acre — a big Eastern European heroic statue to the fallen in SWAPO‘s fight for independence. Just before we left the smooth tar we stopped to start of trip on to the back roads with a tankful of fuel. Here we experienced a typical African contrast: a lad trying to sell be a lock-knife at an outrageous ‘tourist‘ price (he at least had the grace to laugh when I pointed out his mispricing) and a conversation with an Asian driving one of the other vehicles at the pumps — he was a missionary from the UK who was working in the local town and had seen my UK registration.

Breda was following our progress on the map — making sure that I didn‘t drive her even further into the wilderness.  The map showed such metropolis as Bullsport and she was surprised when what the substantial symbol on the map turned out to be only a couple of huts, a small store and a fuel station. Eventually we reached the gates to the Nakuluft NP — usually an entrance to a national park has a custodian who at least takes the registration of your vehicle, but here it was a self-service entrance where Breda had to get out unchain the gate and push it open.  The gravel road now became even rougher as we snaked up into the hills and after about 10 miles we reached the NP office.

We duly booked in and they agreed to us having one of the camp pitches by the river — they are further from the ablution block but much nicer (and quieter) than those higher up on the terrace. Before leaving we were warned about the baboon who was ‘naughty‘. The campsite is another mile or so and Breda drove this last stretch — including the rather rocky and steep decent to the riverside. We decanted to decide where to put the tent etc and, as we looked around, we heard a slight rustling from behind us. This was the ‘naughty‘ Baboon sitting in the driver‘s seat grabbing a bunch of bananas off the dashboard — he must have been lying in wait as we had only left the vehicle for about 90 seconds to walk around the other side. Later one of the staff came round on patrol carrying his AK47 rifle asking if we had seen the baboons!

After a lazy afternoon, we cooked our meal as the stars became even brighter as the sky became darker and the cliff opposite gradually disappeared into the night.

The next day we arose fairly early — certainly before the sun became too hot — packed a snack & some water into a backpack and headed off for a walk on the wild side.  Out of a deserted camp site, up the dry river bed and past a small cliff that had a Rock Fig smeared down its face as it hung on to cheat gravity.  After ducking through a tunnel of reeds, we were in increasing shade as more trees filled the riverbed.  As the gorge through which we walked became more constricted, the riverbed became rockier and we began to hear the tinkling music of water — it had been a long time since I had seen running water: it had probably been the Crocodile River back in the Kruger NP. When pangs of hunger took charge, we sat amongst a jumble of large rocks and sat to eat our food overlooking a small rock pool. As we sat there we heard baboons and gradually they came down the gorge past us — mostly they didn‘t realise that we were there: when they did see us, they stopped and it wasn‘t clear who was most interested in who. When we arrived back in the camp there was a mini-bus parked by the toilet block. It was a group of Germans of a ‘certain age‘ that had driven into the NP as a break on their journey from Sisreim to Bullsport. Unfortunately, it had picked up a flat tyre and their driver was gushing sweat changing it as they all sat around watching from whatever shade they could find. We speculated whether they though Bullsport was going to be the small metropolis we had envisaged the previous day — I hope not as they would have been disappointed as it wasn‘t even a one-horse town: even one-donkey would be pushing it.

The following day‘s drive was a long one through the typical brown Namibian landscape with occasional cliffs rising from the dry plains and small farms overseeing the barren land.  The highlight was an Ostrich that decided to race us on the other side of the fence — this was accompanied by dark mutterings from Breda as she struggled with the controls of her sister‘s video camera.

Eventually, we arrived — hot and tired — at the entrance to the Sesriem entrance to the NP. Through the grand entrance gates to a sandy area bounded by a petrol station, a small (largely empty) shop and some staff accommodation. As we waited to be processed in the office we were assailed by the smell of freshly baked bread. Following our noses we came to a small window next to the shop were a lady was baking bread and muffins — the smell alone forced us to buy some of her wears.  The campsite is very large and this means that there are big spaces between the various pitches.  Each pitch is surrounded by a low stone wall forming a circus-ring enclosing room for the vehicle, the tent, the brai pit and the water tap (it seemed to grow straight out of the Camel Thorn tree] with room to spare.

After setting up camp, a cup of tea and the hot snack we had bought, we decided not to visit Sesreim Canyon just down the road. Instead we ‘chilled‘ by the pool — this was a misnomer in terms of air temperature but not the water temperature! Back at the circus-ring we started to cook the evening meal: the only trouble being the hurricane that had sprung up. Various attempts were made to construct a windbreak but they kept being blown over. Luckily by the time the cooking got serious it had died down a gentle zephyr.

After a good night‘s sleep, we were up by 0500 — early but we weren‘t the first to leave the site. As we drove into the National Park, the desert, hills and dunes were turned silver by the full moon. The sun gradually struggled above the horizon staining the sky with yellows and oranges. At the same time, it turned the silver into gold. By the time we arrived at Dead Vlei the sun was fully above the horizon cutting sharp shadows on the crests of the dunes. Everybody else had gone to the famous Sosus Vlei and we were by ourselves as we were the first to leave our footprints on the freshly blown sand. Eventually we drove round to Sosus Vlei where the crowds were busy scaling the dune — at the bottom one of the groups had their driver laying out their breakfast on tables — it‘s a hard life but somebody has to do it. At the 2x4 carpark there were six big tour coaches disgorging their passengers. There they were — 300 people queuing for the 4x4 shuttle down to the dunes — unfortunately by now the superb earlier lighting had diminished and was now much harsher and the sharp shadows smudged.

As we drove on towards our next campsite — Ganab in the middle of the Namib Desert— the map showed a big blob entitled Solitaire. Yet again the map promised civilisation but only delivered a dusty conglomeration of a filling station, a café and some basic accommodation. However, Solitaire isn‘t famous for its bright lights but for two other things — it has the only fuel for miles and home cooking. A big bloke called Moose is famous for his freshly baked Apple Strudel and bread — so we obliged and bought some for a lunchtime snack: highly recommended.

The road twisted and turned up and down through a twisted rocky landscape cut by a number of deep dry river courses.  This gradually gave way to the typical flat dry landscape dotted with the occasional Ostrich.  After a while we started to worry that we had missed the turning for our campsite for the night — Ganab.  Eventually, we first saw a windmill and then a small sign off into the largely featureless desert.  The windmill fed a small waterhole, 200 yards away, that was surrounded by 40+ Ostriches that moved off as we drew up.  The desert quiet was only punctuated by the steady thump, thump of the water pump — evidently the windmill didn‘t work after all.

There was no sign of a camp site here, so we backtracked a little way until we saw concrete seats and tables under a lonely thorn tree — this was home for the night.  It was the standard southern African campsite less a water pipe — it looked as if we would have to walk to the waterhole if we wanted water or to use the long-drop toilet.  Luckily we had enough water with us to save a walk and only the night would tell whether the other facilities would be needed.  As we sat with an initial brew of tea, we saw a steady procession of animals to the water just 100 yards away: Gemsbok, Warthog, Springbok and Ostrich. Just down from the camp was a colony of Ground Squirrels popping out of their holes, scurrying around foraging and indulging in occasional acrobatics as two males clashed in a test of dominance.  After a while a backie came over the hill and somebody exited and seemed to inspect the waterhole. Then it drove over to us and for a while we thought we might be having company for the night but it was a NP Ranger who chatted a while and reassured Breda that he would be back later to switch off the thump-thump water pump so as not to disturb her sleep.

After a good meal we sat and listened to what was going on around us — an occasional shine of the big spotlight would trigger a thunder of unseen Zebras in the darkness.  Off on the horizon we noticed an orange glow and we speculated that it was a local town until we realised there wasn‘t one with a 100 miles or so.  It gradually became more intense and colourful — the speculation turned to a slow truck on the road off in the distance.  And then the full moon gradually lifted itself above the horizon: mystery solved.

The next day we drove on to Walvis Bay and drove along the hard packed dirt road that connects the town with the salt works just down the coast cutting through the shallow lagoons dotted with pink Flamingos and white Pelicans.  This idyllic scene was punctuated by the passing thunder of big HGVs moving tons of salt into the town‘s docks.  Having been a while since our desert breakfast, we wandered into town to a very stylish café just inland from the seashore.   The town centre was a bit rundown but seemed to have a lot of Chinese owned establishments — perhaps originating from seamen that had enough of working on the fishing fleet that operated in the area.