Having Our Air Suspension Fixed on The Morning of Departure
Our First Camp on the Orange River
Fish River Canyon
Tank on the Vast Namibian Open Roads
Climbing the Wrong Dune at Sossusvlei
Taking Some Time Out at the Top
Sossusvlei and the Sand
How we Felt After Climbing The Dune!
When we reached the picturesque town of Swakopmund nestled where the dessert meets the west coast, we realised that 2000km’s in 7 days was overdoing it a bit. Not ones to do anything in half measures we not only decided to take 2 days off, but we decided to swap our rooftop tent for a shabby little fisherman’s cottage just on the outskirts of town to unwind properly without having to fight the pot, pan and carving knife into the same space for at least 2 days. We even treated ourselves to our first meal out for lunch and revelled in the opportunity to stretch our legs properly or the first time while taking in the old German buildings. Swakopmund suffers from being a severe tourist town which makes it impossible to throw a bratwurst without hitting a safari-suit-wearing German, so the touts were out in full force trying to peddle their scantily carved pieces of bark off as original Namibian crafts. One even tried to convince Shaun that a “Nyami Nyami” was the Namibian river god and it was only when Shaun corrected him politely and pointed out that it actually belonged to their neighbours over in Zimbabwe, that the man laughed and confessed to actually being Nigerian . . . who would have thought!
Our two days of “luxury” were however short lived and before we knew it, we were repositioning pot and pan into their very small space, convincing a square container that it really did fit into a round opening and re-filling our seemingly bottomless petrol tank for our travels up North. Shaun somehow convinced me that bushman carvings really were worth a visit so we stopped for a night in the dubious area of Twyfelfontein where we were shown the rock engravings of some very misshapen rhino and giraffe by a very disinterested guide. The fact that climbing Mnt Kilimanjaro is on our itinerary and so far, “climbing” or any strenuous exercise other than the emotional strain when filling up our petrol has been non existent, has weighed somewhat heavily on our consciences, so we took the opportunity of walking up in the rocky sandstone hills of Twyfelfontein to strain our muscles to the extreme, much to our guides consternation as she was quite happy spending the last hours of her shift walking at her leisurely “African” pace. Needless to say she was ecstatic when we eventually had to stop walking and drove off in our customary cloud of dust to Namibia’s pride and joy; Etosha National Park.
Bushman Engravings Having spent the night at a cheaper campsite just outside the park gates and continuing our haphazard travelling plan of no planning, we thought (read “assumed”) that we could get a 24hr pass into the park, allowing us a late afternoon drive, a cheaper night outside the gates again, and then an early morning return. Of course, this was not how it worked and when we arrived at the gate, eager to spot some animals, the guard at the gate enthusiastically crushed our plans forcing us to camp within the reserve that night at double the rate if we wanted to only leave the next afternoon. So our carefully constructed plans changed yet again and the afternoon’s game viewing commenced. It started off exceptionally slowly with some zebra and many many many springbok and impala. The lack of exciting animals soon got to Shaun who then decided that he would mistake any termite mount under a tree (and there were many) for a rhino, resulting in a heart shattering emergency break, a rapid reverse despite the protest from the engine, stopping again in a cloud of dust and whiplash, a scan of the offending area with the binoculars and a disappointed declaration at there not really being anything under the tree other than an innocent termite mound. This continued for pretty much the rest of the afternoon, broken up only by the spotting of what I can honestly say is the most boring looking brown bird I have ever seen, which for whatever reason inspired Shaun to whip out his dusty bird book to try and identify the genus, species and Latin name of the bird who by this stage was itself looking a bit bored of the whole thing. The rest of the long afternoon continued in pretty much the same 
fashion and it was only as we were breaking all park speed limits to make it to the campsite before sunset and the closing of the gates that Shaun redeemed himself by seeing the most magnificent male lion basking in the late afternoon sun in the long grass right next to the road. Had we not gazed at ugly brown bird for so long, we may have had more time to actually gaze at beautiful male lion!
fashion and it was only as we were breaking all park speed limits to make it to the campsite before sunset and the closing of the gates that Shaun redeemed himself by seeing the most magnificent male lion basking in the late afternoon sun in the long grass right next to the road. Had we not gazed at ugly brown bird for so long, we may have had more time to actually gaze at beautiful male lion! It was a night of little sleep between the lion making himself known in no uncertain terms and the gentleman of a rather portly stature camping next to us who seriously needs to consider surgery to have his nostrils unblocked! So it was with puffy eyes that we packed up camp the next morning at sunrise to embark on what I was hoping would be a “termite-rhino” free
morning. Thankfully we came across a pride of lion on a kill just as we left the gates, and then intruded on a family of Elephant having a bath in one of the waterholes. This inspired us to another unplanned day of game viewing but we seemed to overstay our welcome and were soon reduced to “termite-rhino” spotting all the way to the gate.
After Etosha we headed north into the Caprivi Strip and on to the town of Rundu. Just north of Etosha however, we crossed a veterinary line which must have been Swahili for “Al wedershein Germany” because the vast expanses of nothingness I had started to associate with Namibia soon changed to lush green landscape with mud hut villages, herds of cows and goats with tiny herd boys in tow, lining the main road. The town of Rundu itself seemed like a mini replica of Mthatha, complete with river and road-side car wash. After stocking up on Ouma Rusks in the Shoprite in town, we headed out of town to the campsite recommended to us. As we came to the river however, what was meant to be road was now also river and a rather morbid looking chap using this opportunity to do his weekly washing informed us that all of the campsites on the river had been flooded and unless our car was a submarine, its best we head back to higher ground. A bit miffed that our vehicular snorkel didn’t command any respect from this man, we heeded his warning and went back the way we came, spending the night in a rather cramped site probably on account of all of the others having been washed away. It was at this camp that we were approached by a young German couple looking for a lift into Botswana. Turns out that they decided it would be a good adventure to backpack from Cape Town to Cairo using only public transport. They informed us of their story thus far while eyeing out what now seemed like a very luxurious set up in the boot of our car and made both Shaun and I feel like traveller traitors at not seeing the continent the way you should – riding shoulder to shoulder, chicken on lap, in public transport with the rest of the continent. Shaun’s guilt soon evaporated with the steam of his morning’s filter coffee and did some guestimations, concluding to me in a whisper that it would take him at least 3 hours to move everything from the back seat to the roof, finding space, tying down etc etc so we really couldn’t give them a lift. I thought his calculations a bit embellished but we were in a hurry, and the Germans had only been doing this thing for 2 weeks so really needed to get stuck into it; a luxurious journey on the back seat of a land cruiser would only give them a taste of what they couldn’t have, so we were really doing them a favour. So we gave them each a steaming mug of filter coffee along with our apologies and promised to meet up with them in Malawi where we would try and make a plan. Every time I see a minibus come sputtering passed us at 200km’s an hour, I can’t help but wonder if they eventually found a way across the border and how far they are now . . .
Moving swiftly on for the sake of my conscience, the reserve we wanted to stay at on the border of Namibia and Botswana was also flooded, as were half of the campsites we wanted to stay at, so we decided to hotfoot it over the border into Botswana to Drotsky’s Cabins for some Tiger fishing and some much needed down time. Border crossings always make me nervous, possibly on account of my 1 year’s illegal stay in the UK, so it was with shaky hands and sweaty palms that we approached the Botswana immigration office with our file full of vehicle documentation. Turns out that at 15:30pm on a Tuesday afternoon, the Botswana immigration officials are far more interested in watching the shadows of the trees grow to a length that confirms that it’s time to go home than to interrogate tourists, so they sat outside and continued with their serious conversation regarding what could only be the painfully slow passage of time as determined by the shade of the tree, and let us fill in our forms and relevant books unsupervised. One did however eventually tear himself away from the conversation to stamp our passports and soon we were on our way into Botswana. For whatever reason, Shaun and I both relaxed the minute we entered Bots and I think finally away from the Germans and possibly the rest of Europe, it actually felt as though our African experience had finally started!
Northern Botswana is fed by the Okavango river, which makes for lush grazing ground for far too many cattle and even more donkeys, neither of which could tell the difference between the safety of grazing on the long green grass on the side of the road, or the tufts of grass in the road. So between donkey backsides and potholes that would give Julius Malema’s mouth a run for its money, the going was rather slow but we eventually came to the campsite which everyone talks about: Drotsky’s Cabins for some tiger fishing. Only problem was that our flooded luck followed us and the river was too “flooded” for good tiger fishing. We nevertheless decided it was time to put our feet up and give our tent a much needed 4 days of fresh air. The campsites themselves left a little to be desired, with the resident troupe of marauding monkeys making any mealtime feel like a call up to the frontline. I soon became an ace with our “kettie” but it was still Shaun’s shots that sent most of them scattering while mine only seemed to scare the babies and induce sniggers from the older crowd! We also had two resident hippos right next to our campsite which was a little more exciting, but neither ever showed themselves and were happy wallowing in the overgrown weeds. We did However get our tiger fishing opportu
nity when a retired couple from Durbs who we met in Rundu arrived at Drotsky’s and invited us to go on the boat with them the next day. Shaun was suddenly the happiest I’ve seen him in a while and quickly dug his fishing rod out from its hole and made sure all his equipment was ready for his first Tiger Fishing experience. Not the most avid or enthusiastic fisherman, I went along for the ride, to see the river and as it turned out, to be designated action photographer. Despite Shaun’s enthusiasm, his inexperience resulted in the “loss” of 3 but Fred and Rose kept us entertained
by catching 6 between them. Fred gave Shaun some tips and when they went back later in the afternoon, Shaun eventually bagged his first 3kg Tiger. All this talk about fishing however has put me to sleep, so we’ll leave it at the fact that I now have no doubt that whenever we are near a mass of water, a few days will be spent fishing for Tigers! After the four days at Drotsky’s, we headed south to Maun, the gateway to the Okavango apparently. Our first night was spent with friends of mine from school who are currently doing mineral exploration, so they kindly let us set up at their camp and inadvertently let us experience our best game viewing ever. As we were coming back along the sandy track to camp after checking out one of the drill sites, the entire road looked like it had just had the Bulls front pack having a scrumming practice and the branches of trees lay scattered everywhere. Turns out we had just driven through a most obnoxious herd of elephant, one even having the nerve to chase us, trumpeting all the way. I have never seen a land cruiser pick up speed so quickly in a deep sandy track!
We’re camping at Audi Camp just outside of Maun tonight after Shaun decided to flood our entire car while trying to fill up our water tank. Apparently getting a chocolate was far more important than checking the water level . . . Tomorrow ourselves and the swimming pool which is now inhabiting our back seat are heading up into Chobe Game Reserve (Moremi is still flooded) for three VERY expensive days of game viewing. I just hope there are no big boring brown birds . . .
