Nambia Part II

9th October 2004

I chat to some Germans about my trip and their PHD on climate change in Etosha NP over breakfast on the veranda in the morning sun. I dump some washing in the coin-operated machine, reminding me of my old uni days, and sort out some photos for an update. An Indian lady chats to me about the Asian communities of South Africa while her two young girls knock candles off the table and chew rocks. I head into town to send the update from an Internet café. Things are going well until I suddenly smell burning and look down at my melting memory stick in the front of the PC! After refusing to pay for any Internet usage, I find a local hairdresser in a small room behind some shops and get my two-month curly growth removed. The airport is 45 minutes out of town. I meet Craig and after a quick beer, drive back to the backpackers to catch up on the poolside in the afternoon heat. We eat in Joe’s Beerhouse on Nelson Mandela Av. and enjoy ostrich, kudu, zebra, crocodile and springbok washed down with lots of ale. On the way back, we stop in town for another at Fusion bar and end up chatting to an ozzy guy and dancing with his girlfriend.

10th October 2004

To kick-start the hurting body into life, I dive into the cool pool for an early morning dip. We pay up and stop in town briefly before heading north up to Okahandja on the fast B1 en route to Swakopmund on the west coast. After stopping in the small station town of Usakos for bread we crack on, leaving the tar to The Spitzkoppe, a 1728m-high granite landmark rising above the dusty pro-Namib plains of Southern Damaraland. It is actually the remnants of an ancient volcano, being first climbed in 1946. We drive between the red, rounded boulders exploring the different tracks and various rock art. We stop to make sandwiches next to an overhang, sheltering ancient rhino paintings. The decision not to drive back to the main road and instead attempt to find a tiny track, shown on the map as very thin and dashed, was a mistake. The track is non-existent through the hot desert so we are forced to continue along the fast dirt road to Henties Bay and follow the Skelton Coast road down into Swakopmund. The track to Henties Bay was taking longer than the map suggested causing some confusion to set in between driver and navigator but by using the compass and noticing the temperature was dropping rapidly and the clouds looming in the distance, confirmed the fact we were approaching the Atlantic coast. The road south to Swakopmund has flat desert to the left and the coast to the right, lined with small toilet blocks for anglers in front of the white rollers of the Atlantic. We get pretty confused when seeing a dead shark lying by the roadside. We drive down the palm-lined streets into Swakopmund (‘mouth of the Swakop river’), the most popular beach destination in the country and often described as more German than Germany. We find the Gull’s Cry campsite bang on the beach and find the Leeds lad who recommended it to me back in Windhoek. We grab a beer and walk on the windy, dirty beach in front of the bar, immediately noticing a number of dead seals in the sand and seaweed. We decide the place is grotty and over another beer on the balcony of The Tug restaurant, overlooking the jetty, refer back to our Lonely Planet. The original wooden jetty was built for cargo and passenger landing back in 1905 but only lasted six years before the pounding seas and woodworm meant a 500m, iron pier was to be constructed. The wooden one was removed in 1916 and the 300m unfinished iron jetty was left to the elements and is now closed to the public. We grab another pint and sit on the bonnet to watch the sun set behind the jetty as flamingo and cormorant silhouettes move across the sky. We decide to park up at the Desert Sky backpackers and after being shown round, immediately walk back into town for a bar meal at the Lighthouse Pub & Café. The walk back is pretty chilly but the town has a good feel to it, although most inhabitants do appear to be over 80.

11th October 2004

Up early to send Internet on the prehistoric, wind-up computer whilst Craig perseveres outside replacing the cover strap he accidentally pulled out when putting the roof tent away. We stop in town for permits to do the Welwitschia Drive and stock up with food before driving the 40kms down the coast to the busy port of Walvis Bay. We head straight through the uninspiring town past the flamingo-filled lagoon and onto the salt flats to Pelican Point, a natural spit creating Walvis’ superb natural harbour. As we approach the lighthouse on the end of the point the sand becomes very deep so we decide to slowly come to rest before getting into trouble; which I believed we were already in! By foot we walk to the end of the spit to photograph the seal colony. Again more dead seals are strewn along the sand. The elements here must be extremely harsh. Back at the car we find out how real the problem is and decide we are going nowhere. After a few more failed attempts with the shovel, we let the tyres down to about a bar and unbolt the sand ladders from the roof rack. Being watched by a beach-combing Jackal, the vehicle reverses out with ease showing how effective lowering tyre pressures can be to spread the vehicle load over a larger ‘footprint’. I run back to Craig to help him with the sand ladders and shovel. After admiring the incredible colours of the greater flamingos feeding in and flying over the water, we crawl back into town to re-inflate the tyres and make some lunch. A diversion on a desert track, parallel to the main coast road, takes us past Dune 7, a huge sand dune being conquered by some sandboarders. The Welwitschia Drive is just east of Swakopmund in the Namib-Naukluft park and takes about four hours along the desert tracks, stopping at various beacons marking points of interest including grey and black lichen, the moon landscape and the 1500 yr-old sprawling Welwitschia plant. At the moon landscape, I drive right up to the edge of the viewpoint overlooking this incredible view. Back in the car I laugh when we fail to get up a sandy incline back to the track and at a steep angle start sliding sideways to the bottom of the shallow gulley. Craig’s face is priceless as he almost jumps onto my lap to prevent the car from rolling. We drive up the other side, adrenaline pumping and laugh as I assure him we were far from a roll during our second ‘scare’ of the day; must be something to do with two old uni mates together! We head back to Swakopmund for booze and firewood and drive north to one of the angling spots called Jakkalsputz to experience some wild camping on the Skeleton Coast. The strong winds die down as we cook burgers and boerwurs on the braii and sip beers whilst chatting and staring into the flames.

12th October 2004

We walk along the green, foamy, pretty dirty beach identifying various gulls and sandpipers before heading up to the Skeleton Coast Park. On the way we stop at Cape Cross and stand photographing the hundreds of Cape fur seals trying desperately to ignore the looming, fishy stench. We see more beach Jackals and on the road to the park stop to help a chameleon cross the road. The gates of the park are often described as the Gates of Hell and when we see the skull and cross bones welcoming us into the park, we understand why. The sea is blue, crashing onto the shores and sun is hot. We get the table and chairs out for lunch overlooking the wreck of SW Seal, stranded on the coast in June 1976. We see no other wrecks along this harsh, desert coast, which is strange; most must be already broken up and hidden beneath the waves. We leave the park at Springbokwater gate and press on into the darker, flat-topped moon-like landscape seeing Gemsbok, Springbok and Kudu feeding on the green vegetation in the dry riverbeds. The ground is littered with large, round volcanic rocks. We stop at an animal disease gate for Craig to be thoroughly checked over. I notice a rip in the rear tyre wall but no puncture caused by one of the sharp rocks. We stop to camp at Palmweg lodge and sit at the bar sipping Hansa. The lady shows us where to camp and we see a desert elephant in the dry, rocky riverbed metres from the campsite. After a few more cheeky pints we get a fire going and enjoy sweetcorn followed by burgers cooked on the braii, washed down by the cheap but drinkable Overmeers Grand Cru which comes in a 5-litre box and is disco juice.

13th October 2004

I wake an extremely disorientated Craig in the night to see four pairs of eyes in the bushes, which we decide must be jackals. Craig leaves the tent early for a bush walk and returns sunburnt and dehydrated two hours later. I change the injured tyre while Craig fills the water jerry. We swim and relax by the pool in the heat of the morning sun – bliss. Under the awning on the car, we have lunch, read and I catch up with the diary before leaving for Sesfontein when the wind gets up. Sesfontain is a Damaraland’s most northerly, dusty outpost built around a petrol station. We stop outside a liquor store full of local men drinking and playing pool while the women and children chat and play in the dust outside. After filling up and asking about the different routes north up to Epupa Falls, we decide to go for the more adventurous route up through Purros. The track worsens and takes us over rocky hills and passes, through sandy riverbeds and across open grassy plains. The sand changes from yellow to a deep red and the trees get larger as we follow the dry riverbed of the Hoarusib. After passing only two local vehicles all day and failing to find the town of Purros, we decide to bush camp in the riverbed behind a large thicket. We walk off to explore the wide sandy bed observing spore, dung and tree damage from elephant, which obviously pass through here frequently. We light a fire and watch the sunset in the complete silence of this magical place.

14th October 2004

I hear Craig getting up for his usual early morning stroll so climb down from the tent to relight the fire and make coffee before the sun rises over the wilderness. We practice some chipping in the sand with the pitching wedge and golf balls I brought along, initially for some bunker practice back in the Sahara! We pack up and set off finding out we were very close to the few huts of Purros. We approach the start of two valleys where the road splits and after 7kms heading due west along the open valley floor decide the dropping temperature and direction must mean we are heading towards the coast so turn round to take the other track. Then we see a herd of wild giraffe feeding metres from the track – unreal. We stop in Orupembe, comprising of three huts, one surprisingly having a coca-cola sign painted on the wall where we choose to buy some drinks and snacks from the Himba woman. I notice one of the rear brakes is now sounding slightly different to its usual squealing, so stop under an acacia to remove the wheel. We are shocked to see that both split pins holding in the pads had failed due to the patches of harsh corrugated track and one of the pads was missing, the piston hard against the disc! After carefully retracted the piston from the disc, replacing the missing pad and some careful thinking using wire, we are able to carry on. We start to climb and the track worsens before completely disappearing amongst large rocks. We stop to ask a Himba tribe sitting under a tree watching their cattle for directions and can’t help noticing, other than the bare-chested females, the numerous dead cattle lying about with fatal wounds suggesting leopard kills. Craig moves large rocks out of the way so I can respectfully drive around a dead calf. The track becomes the worst route so far in Africa. We are forced to build up sections of the track over large rocks with smaller rocks and take the conditions very slowly, the vehicle performing excellently. Four and a half hours later we come to a crossroads marked with a green stone with white birds painted on showing rough directions. We decide to press on for another 28kms to the community campsite in Otjitanda. We follow the signs to the campsite passing Himba kraals, fenced off areas containing the huts of the various tribal families, and wave back at children running out onto the road to greet us. The campsite is very basic and empty. We park under a tree and start to prepare dinner under the inquisitive eyes of a local man and his son. When Craig tosses the scraps of an onion into the bin the man rushes to pluck it from the bag and starts to eat it. The son begs for the biro with which I write our details on the scrap of old paper which is the camp register. We eat and drink most of the lethal wine and can’t remember going to bed.

15th October 2004

We relight the fire feeling a little worse for wear and notice the man has turned up again, this time with a Himba girl, covered in the orange mixture of butter, ash and ochra used to protect their smooth skin from the harsh climate. We set off immediately getting lost and after asking a local pickup, get on the right track. The track is as steep and bad as yesterday, if not worse, Craig handles it very well. We are starving and feel terrible but crack on telling each other very bad jokes, all which cannot be written. We stop in Okangwati for snacks and coke trying not to stare at the Himba girl who has walked in. We cross the Omuhonga River and the track gets wider and faster. I drive the remaining hour towards the Zebra mountain range and the Angola border. We drive over the top of a rise and shout out in awe at the sudden tropical oasis of palm trees and greenery in the middle of this dry landscape. We have reached the Kunene River and Epupa Falls. We immediately walk over the slippery rocks to the 37m main falls surrounded by fynbos-covered hills and Angola on the far side. The campsite is bang on the river. We set up camp and sit in one of the natural Jacuzzi pools next to the Falls, being careful not to be washed over the side like a few others have unfortunately done. We chat to a Dutch bloke who is currently overlanding with his wife whilst a group of locals sit far to close to us drinking rum straight from the bottle. We leave the bubbling water when a huge rolling lady decides to show off her ripples and a rather large bloke starts to wash ‘himself’ – thank God we were upstream! We all walk to a local shop for booze and water in the stifling heat and we get shown where to buy bread by a pretty local girl called Anna who can speak very good English for a ten year old. We sit eating cheese sarnies by the car next to the river, write diary, look at photos and read. At 5-30pm, we take some sun-downers up the nearest hill and sit on a boulder for sunset. The view over the palm trees, greenery, and numerous waterfalls and pools on the Angola side is magical. We sip beers watching a family of baboons leaping from rock to rock to the safety of a secluded rock outcrop for the night. Back at the car we cook dinner before an early night.

16th October 2004

Up early and take anti-malaria drugs for the first time for two months due to the increased threat on this latitude. The river has dropped significantly overnight possibly due to the Angola dam upstream. We have a quick dip in the morning sun before heading back down to Okangwati, stopping at the Good Road Market store for cokes. The road improves so we fly along leaving the Himba women and children in a cloud of dust, frantically trying to flag us down to buy crafts or the like. In the slightly larger, dusty town of Opuwo we stop and stock up with fuel and food. When we eventually find the correct road out of town, the going is fast, although the road is under construction. We swap over driving at the C35 south and stop to make the usual cheese sarnies for lunch by the side of the road. The road runs along the west side of Etosha NP and ironically we see goats inside the park fences and large buck on the opposite side of the road. We stop in Kamanjab forgetting it’s Saturday and all shops are closed. We decide to camp at the cheetah farm of Otjitotongwe Lodge just off the C40. At the farmhouse gate a man shows where to drive to the camping area whilst a female cheetah casually wanders up behind him to the gates. We set up camp and chat to the farmer sons at the bar waiting for the ‘tame’ cheetah to arrive. We watch in amazement as a pickup rolls up to the bar with a cheetah happily sitting upright in the passenger seat! The driver places a collar and leash on her neck and walks her into the bar letting her to freely wander around the pool table. We each stroke the thick hair behind her head listening to the deep purring sound – unreal. We shoot some pool until being loaded into the back of the pickup to be taken to see the wild cats being fed; hopefully not us! As soon as we enter the fenced off area, we are surrounded by twelve wild cheetah. The driver gets out with only a stick for protection and throws donkey meat from a dustbin to each side of the pickup causing the cats to fight in a dust cloud until a successful cheetah runs away with the prize. We drive to two more cats, one having no tail, the result of it being skinned in the V of a tree. When we see a female with two cubs, the heavens open and we are driven back to the camp for warm showers and dry clothes. Apparently there is a party in town for all the farmers so when we try the bar after dinner, we are not surprised to find it closed – probably for the best.

17th October 2004

We leave the camp early and head towards Etosha NP via fast dirt tracks and approach the Andersson gate in the south at 10ish, keeping a careful eye on the rain clouds in the distance. Outside our campsite of Okaukuejo we pass the remains of an old giraffe carcass. Each camp in Etosha has it’s own floodlit watering hole so we check ours out immediately, finding it full of impala, kudu, giraffe, wildebeest, jackal, zebra and a large bull elephant! We take a late morning drive round the west side of the saltpan before lunch. The awning then comes out for some reading. Loud weaverbirds make a racket in their huge grass nest above the car, which isn’t helped when we start feeding them breadcrumbs. Later on we set off for an evening drive east of the camp around watering holes returning before sunset. We light the fire and take beers to the waterhole until it is ready to cook over. We enjoy great steaks and boerwurs. After a few glasses of the disco juice during the meal, we start throwing bits of fat from the steak over the fence in an attempt to attract hyena or even lion; the only result it did have was to attract the park security who ask, ‘is there a problem?’…oops. We head back to the waterhole whispering to each other when our wine glasses are empty, while giraffe amusingly do the splits to drink. Then a black rhino coolly wanders up to the water, closely followed by another from a different direction. After over two hours we leave them still drinking copious amounts of water and hit the tent.

18th October 2004

Up at 5-30am for a morning drive. Before setting off we take the flask of coffee down to the empty waterhole. As we leave the camp, I notice a woman sitting on a wall smoking a cigarette smugly looking at us shaking her head. I understand why when we get to the gate and notice we had previously got the two clocks on the gate showing sunrise and sunset mixed up and the gates don’t open until 7am, painfully late for a morning game drive. We ‘av a word’ with the gateman who eventually lets us through at 6-15am – who’s laughing now, lady?! Off we trundle into the morning seeing literally nothing and stopping at the Halali camp for breakfast. The full breakfast looks perfect but the pathetic waiter says we are five minutes late and have to resort to cheese sandwiches and a yogurt instead – not what we had in mind. We head on and the uneventful morning is forgotten when we sit and watch the entire contents of Noah’s ark by a waterhole. A huge herd of elephant drink in front of us, the young play in the dust and itch themselves on dead trees and two young bulls in must, fight meters from the cars. We get to Namutoni camp in the east of the park and fill up with fuel and crisps before heading to the most northern part called Andoni, where we see blue crane. After driving round Fischer’s Pan and a very long day, we feel exhausted and like we’re going mad so leave the park via the Von Lindequist gate in the east. We decide to press on through Tsumeb down the B1, through thunder, lighting and torrential rain to the market centre of Grootfontein, in the heart of the country’s major cattle-farming area. In the dark, we find Die Kraal campsite and steak house. We are the only people there and forget that restaurants etc. are closed on Mondays but the friendly German owner promises to rustle us something up. We join him at the bar for a chat over a couple of Windhoek lagers before being presented with a delicious dinner of Eland steak and chips. After a shower, we hit the tent after a long day for some much needed shut eye.

19th October 2004

I wake to the sound of Craig f-ing and blinding about the racket three bull frogs are making next to the car. He climbs down and thinking there are only two frogs, moves one to a bush using the spade, resulting in silence. As soon as he zips up the tent the commotion starts again, resulting in a few swear words and the need to move the car to the other side of the campsite. More swear words are muttered when we find the only place to go is still downwind of the noisy blighters which can still be heard; I suggest using the spade again but this time in the vertical direction. After eventually getting some sleep, we wake and head back into town for a healthy breakfast of pies and pastries from the local Spar and to get some route advice into Botswana from the tourist info office. We find out the only way is north to Rundu so set off on the mammoth journey for Botswana. Shortly after the passing through Rundu on the banks of the Okavango River, we stop in a lay-by for lunch and a driver change. Because Craig has no international driving license we decide not to tempt fate and swap over again just before a police stop, shown on the map. This is usually a simple procedure but Craig decides he’s going to bring the car to a rolling stop in the middle of the road, resulting in a speedy change of driver before any traffic approaches. In the end there is no police stop but I carry driving until the Botswana border……

Distance travelled since London : 38,839 kms

To see the pics, click here!-------> Photo Link!