Namibia in a week.
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| The Waterhole at Okakuedjo in Etosha National Park |
It was
6.00 am, and the only thing I could find fault with at the guest farm 70 odd
kilometres from Sossusvlei, was that I had to get out to the dining area to make
my morning coffee. The guy next to me, said something about being a farmer, and
having to have coffee as soon as he woke up. Oh, I thought, he’s actually
local, where does the sort of German accent come from? Politely, I asked what
he farmed. ‘Cattle, small stock and tourists’. He then added, that the tourist
part was the more lucrative of his farming efforts.
In
retrospect, I think the forced coffee making trip was great, it forced people
out doors early. As a bird watcher, I had all ready been up and seen the rosy
faced love birds scavenging for food, and a lonely little Springbok walk past
my verandah. Now having coffee in hand, the bird watching was more enjoyable.
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| Weltevrede Guest Farm, near Sossus Vlei |
A few months
before our trip, Donald Trump had made another of his gaffs, and called
Namibia, Nambia, and sparked off a few hilarious videos, which ridiculed Trump,
and put Namibia firmly on the tourism destination maps of the world. Trump’s
gaff did wonders for the country’s tourism industry. Namibia had also
benefitted from them having their own video in the older, ‘(Insert country
here) First’, series; Namibia was now known to the world. Tourism had grown,
thanks to Trump. The tourist farmers were happy.
I had been
there 13 years ago, and this trip was unexpected. Shall we go to Etosha, said a
friend? I said yes, and started planning. Originally, the trip was to be all
Etosha, but we decided that we had both seen more than enough game, and that 7
days, even in a huge park, would be too much.
We met at
Johannesburg Airport, and boarded an Air Namibia flight for Windhoek. Air Namibia
runs a very slick operation, and we landed at hot and dry Windhoek’s International
Hosea Kutako Airport a few hours later. We went to collect the car I had hired,
to be met by a blank look from the front office man. He searched through
papers, checked on my surname several times, and asked for my confirmation
document. He kept a professional face, but he must have been thinking I was
some kind of stupid – I had reserved the car to be picked up in Walvis Bay. Ja
well no fine, ek se niks nie. Alright, in that case what did he have available?
Cars were available, but if not pre – booked, the price as good as doubles. So
we went shopping at the various companies, and Thrifty Car Hire had a car a
decent price. A VW Polo, which lived up to the old VW saying: You can take a VW
anywhere.
The drive to
Windhoek was like already being in a game reserve, there were warthog and
baboons all the way into the city. And a serious police road block. Uh uh, was
my initial reaction- but it turned out
to be a very pleasant and efficient check, the first of many we were to go
through. One question that I was so pleased to be asked, was ‘are your
headlights on?’ I was completely taken aback, but answered yes, I always drive
with my lights on. ‘Good’, he said, ‘it’s compulsory here.’ Why is it not
compulsory in South Africa?
We checked
into Rivendell Guest House, in Beethhoven Strasse in a quiet suburb. Rivendell
had also been our Windhoek base on the previous trip. I remembered the guesthouse
as lovely, but had forgotten the name. During the planning stages, I had asked
a friend who guides in Namibia for advice and recommendations. His
recommendation of Rivendell and the memory trigger of the name was welcomed.
Nearly
all street names are in German, as are a large percentage of shop signs. After
independence, it was decided to make English the official language, so as to get
away from the languages of two oppressors; German and Afrikaans. A good call,
but it wasn’t really followed through in daily life. I brushed up on my German
sign board reading, and spent the week speaking Afrikaans. It rained that afternoon;
I was so surprised that I went on to Face Book to ask if that was normal. The
answer: not really, but all rain in Nam is good.
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| A river crossing with water in the Remshoogte Pass. |
In the
morning we drove north east, Namutoni Camp in Etosha Park being our
destination. Namibian roads are good, both the tar ones and the gravel ones.
The only road that we drove on, that wasn’t so good, was the Remshoogte Pass,
that we were advised as the best road between Solitaire and Rehoboth. It was
interesting, and there was a couple of places where, I thought if we get stuck here,
we have a long walk to find help, as we
saw nobody on the road until we got near Klein Aub, but the scenery was
spectacular, and we saw real, wet water in two rivers!
We drove
through the towns of Okahandja (where a sign pointed to where gross barmen
could be found – we avoided them), Otjiwarongo (very pretty with brilliant
flamboyants lining the main road), Otavi and Tsumeb. Namibia is clean. As in
super clean and litter free. I drove 2000 odd kilometres, and I think I saw
five pieces of litter, which must have been escapees from a litter bin.
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| Lake Otjikoto |
About 15 kilometres
from Tsumeb, you can stop at Lake Otjikoto. This is really a sink hole that has
filled with water. It is very pretty, and the birdlife is fantastic. As with
most places of interest in Namibia, the lake is gated, and you a pay a fee to
enjoy the beauty. I think that this is a brilliant idea, as the money goes to
the local communities. The local community here, are the Etosha Bushmen, who
did a traditional dance for us on the way out. Not being sure about which
people the locals are, I asked the older man who was in charge of the
performers. He proudly said they were Etosha Bushmen, which is why I use the
term here. Bushmen is not a term that I’m uncomfortable with, so I asked if
they were Khoi or San.
The old man shook his head, and said no, they were
Etosha Bushmen, so I accepted that. We had a lovely chat about their lifestyle while
the youngsters danced. The money generated from visitors to the lake, goes back
into their community, and pays for, amongst other things, the school teachers
and electricity. Personally, I think it wonderful that these people can have a
foot in both worlds, the old cultural one, and the modern one. If you are one
those people who resent paying for the pleasure of viewing other peoples’
backyards or natural resources, please stop and think for a minute and ask
yourself: do you resent paying the entrance fee at a museum or zoo? Just because
an area of beauty is part of nature, it still needs maintenance to be kept in
the pristine condition you enjoy, and the people who belong there, if they
cannot make a living of it, and view it with pride, will have no reason to look
after it. I live on South Africa’s Wild Coast, and am involved in tourism; for
many years I have been rooting for our area to adopt a ‘pay and enjoy’ policy;
unfortunately most people think my ideas as ridiculous and it is not
implemented (insert rueful emoticon here), so there is no pride in the natural
resources, and ownership and guardianship are not worthwhile, with the result
that many environmental tragedies happen on a daily basis.
Etosha Game
Reserve was now directly ahead of us.
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| The Namutoni Gate |
At the gate, forms were filled in, and then
we drove towards Namutoni, playing the old game – the one who sees the first
animal is bought the first drink by the other person. The first animal was a
giraffe, lying down, right next to the road. He or she just lay there, under
few trees, and balefully stared at us. It wasn’t my sighting, so the first
drink was on me.
Having done some homework, I knew that there
is a German Fort at the camp. But nothing actually prepares you for the
gleaming white fort that looms up ahead of you.
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| Namutoni Fort |
It really is unexpected and
spectacular. We checked in; our rooms were large and beautifully appointed,
without being flashy. We headed for the waterhole, for a quick look see before
going out for late game drive. Oh yes, welcome to Etosha, Namibia’s largest
game reserve: a herd of between 20 and 30 Oryx (Gemsbok in Afrikaans), arrived
for a late afternoon drink just then. I think that after Sable, Oryx are the
most beautiful of African antelopes. I was now in heaven. I had never seen that
many Oryx at one time before.
Our first
game drive didn’t produce much in the way of game, some zebra, some springbok
and some Kori Bustard.
And of course, the great flat expanses of the smaller
pans in that area were beautiful.
Dinner at
the restaurant was lovely, complete with a lion roaring in the distance. After
dinner, we took a trip up to the waterhole, but just a few zebra were roaming
around.
I was up at
dawn, and bird watching, seeing new species and old familiars. After breakfast,
we drove towards Okaukuejo, the camp on the western side of the park. Zebras
and springboks by the hundreds, if not thousands, were everywhere. I regard
myself as spoilt, as I was partly brought up in East Africa, and I have seen a
lot of wildlife, but even so, Etosha’s large herds were impressive. Seeing and
experiencing the actual Etosha Pan is what we were there for, the animals were
a second consideration to me; it would have been lovely to see lion or cheetah,
but it wasn’t to be.
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| A road leads into and onto the Etosha Pan |
The pan
itself is an amazing study of seemingly nothing. A huge expanse of shimmering
sand. A few hardy bushes cling to life on it, and insects, I would imagine, but when looking out at it, one sees an incredible emptiness.
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| A small shrub somehow stays alive on the dry pan. |
A hundred years ago, the Germans were in
charge, building their Namutoni Fort in the middle of nowhere, and having
battles with the local people. A plaque at the entrance commemorates (in German
of course) a battle at the Fort, where 500 Hereros, and 10 Germans were killed.
The Germans’ names are listed. As is the norm in battle, only the victor’s losses
were noted.
What was it
like to ride out in to this inhospitable land, trying to find one building
(albeit a big white one), in the middle of thousands of square kilometres of
bush in the baking sun? ‘Kurt, you haf ze kompas, ja? Left or ryet at zees bush?’
Dressed in heavy military uniforms; it must have been hell. That your horse
could step on a venomous snake or get munched by a lion, or that you could get
punctured by a poison tipped arrow at any stage, must have made being posted to
this area hellish.
The
landscape varied from the flat shimmering pan, to low bushes, to what I think
were Mopane woods; they weren’t big enough to be called forests, to areas where
there were just big, loose rocks. The roads were good in general, except the
last 20 or so km from Okaukuejo.
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| Springbok near Okaukuejo |
There the road deteriorated badly, and I was
glad that we had started from the other direction, because I think if I had
started on the bad section, I may just have said to hell with it, turned back
and stayed at the camp.
Okaukuejo Camp, the administrative center of the park,
was also big and well run.
Again, we had
lovely rooms, chalets really. With air-conditioning and small kitchens, which
would be really handy if one stayed for a few days, and didn’t feel like eating
out every night. Again, we explored the
water hole after checking in. A few springbok were at the edge of the forest,
and a scarlet chested shrike made my day. We drove out, and returned before a
big thunder storm hit us.
We grabbed a
bottle of wine, a couple of packets of chips, and joined the rest of the guests
who were hoping to see something exciting come down for a drink at the
waterhole.
At waterholes, you’re supposed to be quiet, at least only whisper. I
had no idea that a potato chip packet could be as noisy as they are. I tried to
keep the rustling of the foil to a minimum, but the social weavers who were
building their multi compartmented colony nest above us, must have had a lot of
experience of noisy chip packets, and we were surrounded by them immediately;
the little birds doing their best we-are-little-starving-birds begging act,
looking up at me with beseeching eyes.
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| Sociable Weaver nest |
Unfortunately for them, we stuck to the don’t
feed the animals rule, but they did pick up the odd crumb. Our second packet of chips got opened by
accidently popping it. It sounded like a gun shot; any whispering by fellow
game watchers stopped, heads swivelled in our direction, eyes glared at us
accusingly. My shock at the noise made me want to giggle hysterically, the
whole thing was totally farcical. The social weavers took cover in their nest,
the springboks stopped grazing, their eyes alert, ears flicking, their tails
wagging at speed, and they moved into bush with some dignity. The duck that had
been sitting on the water squawked and disappeared, the flock of guinea fowl
that had been coming down for a drink, scuttled off in the opposite direction.
Oh, for an invisibility cloak to hide under. I pretended I had one, and sat out the glares
and head shakings in the hopes that an animal would arrive and draw the
attention away from us. Nothing ventured anywhere near the waterhole that
evening. After dinner at the restaurant, we again went to the waterhole. Still
no animals, but I did get some beautiful photos. It was dark, we were incognito, so there were no glares from the
other guests either, thank goodness.
That night I
was woken up at 12.15, by a lion roaring. He was so close, that I thought he
was on my verandah. I actually got up and checked that the doors and windows
were properly closed. I hoped he’d be at the waterhole in the morning, but no,
he was elsewhere.
There is a
tower at Okaukuejo.
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| Okaukedjo Watch Tower at full moon. |
I asked the staff what and why about it, but all I got was
‘from the war, when they were killing our people’. I decided that it was
probably best to google it later, as my guide book didn’t mention it. Sometimes,
Google just doesn’t cut it, the tower is hardly mentioned, only that it
was built in 1963, as a watch tower. It looks older, feels older,
but if it was built in 1963,it must have been built by the South Africans; after all, the Germans surrendered to the South Africans in 1915. Okaukuejo dates back to 1901
when it was a German Military Camp, but, unlike Namutoni, there is no visible
evidence of the Germans having been there.
Etosha, as a
park, dates back to 1907, when the German Governor realised that the slaughter
of the animals had to be curbed before they were exterminated.
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| Black Korhaan |
The borders of the park have changed over the years, and currently it extends over 20 000 square kilometres, of which 5000 square kilometers is the pan. The pan, in years of good rains, is home to thousands of flamingo. Over 340 bird species have been recorded in the park.
As we had a
short drive to Khorixas that day, it made sense to drive around the southern
part of the park and do some animal spotting, and then exit at around two
o’clock in the afternoon. This we did, and found out that rain water does not
seep away rapidly in Etosha. Some pretty hectic puddles were around. So hectic that at one, we came up behind one 4 x 4 vehicle, which had come to a standstill at the edge
of the puddle. Ok, small pool may be a better description. The driver
eventually decided to take the plunge, and drove through the centre of it at
speed, creating quite a wave. Should I? Shouldn’t I? Ours was no 4 x 4, it was
a sweet little VW Polo. I waited for the wave to subside and did. Why? Because,
I reasoned, if we did get into trouble, another 4 x 4 would be bound to come
along soon, and would help. I hugged the edge of the pool, and took it slowly,
but steadily. The grey water washed right over the bonnet and windscreen,
causing a white out.
As I was concentrating on getting through and not stuck, I
only used the windscreen wipers on the other side, while extolling the virtues
of our little best 4 x 4 by far. It was only once we were out of the park, and
buying curios. that I realised our car had had a colour change. No longer a
sporty red, she was now in the Etosha camouflage colour of a lighter shade of
grey.
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| Springbok |
It was hot, animals other that zebra and
springbok were few and far between. I started a long distance conversation with
the not-to-be-seen-elephants, telling them that I appreciated them waiting near
the gate for us, and would they please be patient, we were getting there, albeit slowly, via most of the loops.
They obviously heard my one sided conversation; and there he was, a few kilometres from the gate. I nearly missed him. A huge lone bull elephant.
Solitary, leaning against a tree, swaying
slightly – it looked as if he was asleep. We watched him for a long time, and
he didn’t acknowledge our presence at all. On reflection, our car colour was the
same colour as the road, maybe he couldn't see us?
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| Etosha Eleph |
Thank-you Mr Elephant, I would have
been very disappointed if I had not seen you. A few kilometres later, in the
distance, we saw a small herd that had just been to a waterhole, and the babies
were delightfully wet and muddy.
Although
Namibia’s elephants are of the same species as all other Savannah or Bush African
elephants, Loxondonta africana ( only the
leeeetle Forest elephants of Gabon, Loxodonta cyclotis are a separate sub
species), Etosha’s elephants are taller than the average elephant. Also, their
tusks tend to be short. The reason for this is that they use their tusks for
digging for water and roots, and they break off. The short tusks thankfully
make them undesirable to poachers. The desert elephants of Namibia are also
regular elephants, which have adapted to the harsh conditions, and have in
their adaptations to survive in the hot dry conditions, developed longer legs
and bigger feet.
We exited
the park, and stopped just on the other side of the gate, because I wanted one
of those cute, if badly carved and painted bird mobiles that I had see at the
Namutoni side. Which one? Many bird species were represented – I chose one
which had a Crimson breasted shrike on it. My Crimson breasted shrike sighting
had been one of those quick-intake-of-breath moments. It truly is a magnificent
bird.
At the gate,
there is also a group of Himba women, who sell their crafts. Lovely items, made
and sold by lovely, proud people. Seldom in Africa nowadays, does one see bare
breasted woman going about their daily lives.
Going bare breasted nowadays is
most often kept for ceremonies or protests. The Himba Women were dressed
completely in traditional garb, which only covered their lower bodies. As I
realised later, somewhere in a non-touristy area, the Himba don’t dress
traditionally for the tourists, they do what they do, because they are Himba.
Our next
stop was Khorixas. First petrol, then a car wash.
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| Our car in camouflage colours. |
Yes, we got ripped off, but
we did get our red car back. Everyone who saw our pre-wash car were most
impressed that she has taken a deep ditch in her stride.
Khorixas was
also our overnight stop, at the Khorixas Rest Camp. First impressions weren’t
favourable, the rooms, from the outside, looked like the single quarters of a
road construction camp. Inside, they were pleasant enough, simple, and
utilitarian with just enough space for a single bed and a chair. Good beds, newly done up bathrooms, a kettle with lots of tea and
coffee, and air conditioning make for a very comfortable stay.
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| Khorixas Rest Camp. A face lift is needed. |
Recently taken over by NWR (Namibia Wildlife
Reservations), the exterior will probably get prettied up soon; a coat of non drab khaki paint and some potted plants will make it pretty, fast. A large
pool, great staff, and plentiful bird life make this a worthwhile stop.
The next
morning we headed for the coast. We swapped, I became the passenger. I asked, as
we passed a ‘beware of desert elephants’ sign, and hit the gravel road: how
much experience have you had on dirt roads?
 |
| I know this photo is sideways. I can't turn it. |
‘Not very much, actually; nothing’,
was the reply. I took a deep breath, and swallowed my reservations, instead launching
into a lecture on how to drive on gravel and sand, which was pretty loose most
of the way. It wasn’t taken that well. I cited that accidents on Namibian
gravel roads are generally caused through speeding by
non-gravel-dirt-road-drivers. Oh come on, says the one from Europe, a mutual
friend said the roads in Namibia are so good, you can travel them at 140km per
hour. Say what? I said. Actually, I didn’t, what I said contained several
expletives. Yes, the roads are great, but only an idiot travels on loose dirt
at 140 kilometres per hour. We drove on. An area of where the sands were
different colours approached. We didn’t slow down, I had a near cadenza;
different colour sands mean: ‘be aware, something could be wrong’; and as we
didn’t reduce speed, we went into a skid. Only a skid, thank-goodness. More
how-to-drive-on-dirt-roads lectures followed. Going through the dry river beds
was an education in how driving teachers must feel – scared! Europeans are spoilt;
real, out in the bush dirt roads are few, so those driving skills are not
learned. Dry river beds don’t exist in Europe, so how would you learn how to go
through a huge dip? They should be treated the reverse way of how one goes over
big speed bumps:, brake, slow, speed up as you hit the top, or the bottom, in
this case.
Driving
through this mineral rich area, could take me forever. Along the way are stalls
where pretty, and semi precious, stones and crystals are sold, often by Herero
women in their multi coloured and layered long European / Quakerish dresses.
They are absolutely beautiful, and incongruous, out here in the desert. Often,
they have a dead tree planted next to their stall, with stones and crystals tied
to the branches.
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| Another non turner. Boompie geographicus |
In a Face Book post, I called them ‘Boompie geograficus’ (a bad mix of Afrikaans and bad Latin), and,
that the crystals were the fruit of these rare trees. Friends and I had fun
expanding on this silly theme at the expense of other friends. You do realise,
we said, that green fluorite is unripe
fruit, and that in a few million year’s time, it’ll ripen into purple amethyst
or red carnelian?
The
landscape was flat, and it was tempting to drive at a trouble making 140km per
hour. We drove through the town of Uis, passing the beautiful Brandberg and
some wonderful natural stone sculptures, and arrived at the coast just north of
Henties Bay. Now, that has to be one of strangest towns one can visit. It has
holiday homes with the weirdest architecture and decorations, which are so
ugly, that one thinks one has surely seen the worst of bad taste, when one
finds another that eclipses the last one.
The closer
we got to Swakopmund, the more picture book desert like the landscape became.
And it got cold. We checked into our very pleasant guest house, Amarachi Guest
House, located in a suburb, and then went into the still very German town.
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| The Mole, Swakopmund |
We
decided to have lunch down at the waterfront. As the restaurants were all very
cafe-ish and casual looking, we chose what looked like the best of a lousy
choice, and sat outside and froze with blankets wrapped around us. Only afterwards, when we went exploring, did we realise that the water front area is full of regular inside, out the cold restaurants.
Shopping was fun, there were so many German products on the shelves. Mozart Kuglen, and Fenchal tea for a friend’s baby, were part of the purchases. Fenchal - waz zat you ask? The best anti colic stuff ever – no new mother should be without it. The craft
market was a bewildering array of local crafts and what looked like rare masks
from Central Africa, bur possibly they had been made for the tourist trade. We
purchased a hippo carved from beautiful malachite.
Swakopmund
is famous for its German architecture, and many of the buildings are beautiful.
Even the prison is beautiful, and is often mistaken for a hotel. The tall red
and white light house stands guard over the ‘Mole’, as the water front area is
called.
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| Swakopmund Prison |
 |
| Swakopmund |
I went for a
run in the morning, around the streets with gem stone names; Amythyst, Emerald,
Ruby, Tanzanite (you’d think that Namibia, with its amazing variety of
gemstones wouldn’t have to name a street after a stone only found in Tanzania) and
more. I found my way to the beach, with very cold looking waves breaking close
to the buildings. Up and around the gem stone streets again, and then I was in
for another surprise; I was at the edge of the desert! Remarkable!
After a
yummy breakfast, we drove to Windhoek; drove around the harbour area, up and
down a few streets, and then left – it was quite boring compared to Swakopmund.
It had always been British controlled, and they couldn’t have had any reason to
pretty up this far away post of the British Empire.
We drove inland, through
the desert with real dunes. Miles and miles of sand.
Through the Namib Desert
Park. Through the Namib – Naukluft Park, through the Kuiseb Canyon, which must
be one of the harshest places on earth. Have you read ‘The Sheltering Desert’?
It’s about two German geologists, who, during the Second World War, to avoid
conscription into the army, hid in this amazing geological area. Harsh, as harsh as harsh can possibly be, they survived, even managing
 |
| Kuiseb Canyon |
to grow some
vegetables. I don’t think one can appreciate their lifestyle and survival, without
having seen this amazing part of the world.
 |
| A small green bush survives in the desert. |
Signs to ‘keep our
desert clean’ pop up in strange places. The desert is clean, and taken care of.
When one clears the Kuiseb canyon, the landscape becomes almost soft. Muted
colours, mountains and hills in many shades of russet rise around one. We had
stopped to look at Oryx; a convoy of camper vans overtook us, they weren't interested in Oryx. There’s
definitely no shortage of tourists in Namibia, some travel in large groups,
others alone. I marveled at how healthy the antelope were, what do they eat?
How do they survive on the little bits grass that exist? How can they be so fat
and healthy looking, on what little food there appears to be in the area?
We opted not
to stop at Solitaire, we wanted to push on, get to our next stop over, and see Sossusvlei
that afternoon. Solitaire: – I have fond memories of having ‘kaffe und
apfelstrudel’ there, I wonder if they still serve it? When I was last there, I
was told of desert lion roaming the area, and that camping in the area was not
a good idea. I mentioned the lions later to our hostess at the guest farm – she
got that ‘oh no, not another tall story’ look in her eyes – no, she had lived
in the area all her life, they did not
have any lions in the area. Leopard, yes, but no lion.
We dumped
our suitcases, told our hostess that we were off to Sussusvlei ‘quickly’. She
thought we were mad, the light would be too harsh in the late afternoon, we
wouldn’t enjoy it. Against her advice, we drove the 90 odd kilometres to this
amazing place.
Now 13 years later, there was a gate with controls, and office,
loos, shop and everything to make your trip to Sussusvlei perfect.
We paid the
entrance fee, and drove off, calculating that we’d have enough time to get
there, have a quick look see and get back to the gate before 6pm, and then
enough time to get back to the farm before nightfall at about 7pm.
The road is
now a tarred strip. A strong wind came up, and we worried about the car
possibly being sand blasted, one thing that insurance didn’t cover. If that was
to be, there wasn’t much we could do about it, there was no shelter anywhere,
and I wasn’t about to drive back to the camp area. The wind caused the sand to
swirl over the tar strip, it looked liquid, ethereal and mystical. Then the
magical, red dunes appeared. They are truly beautiful. Tourists were walking up
Dune 45, looking like little stick people silhouetted against the azure sky.
The tar
strip ends, and there is a small office with parking space under a few
lord-knows-how-they-survive-trees. A shuttle at a fee, takes you to the actual
‘vlei’. Thank goodness - I had forgotten that it was a good walk.
The ranger on
duty took our money, and the shuttle arrived about 30 minutes later, driven by
a delightful man (sorry, I can’t remember your name), who, if the Mad Max film
series is continued, should get hired as stunt driver.
I said something about
badly wanting to see Oryx up close and personal, and he broke into a grin, and
drove on. There, a few hundred meters later, were a small herd of Oryx, well and
truly upfront and personal, I could almost have stretched out my hand and
petted them. They were nonchalant, uninterested in another bunch of oohing and
aahing tourists. One promptly lay down and posed for photos. I could have spent
hours with them, but it was getting late, and Sossusvlei was what we had come
to see, so we drove on.
Sossusvlei
is amazingly beautiful. The photographs that one sees of it, all effortlessly
capture the amazing colours.
I had wanted to go to Dead Vlei, which is in the
same area, but we just didn’t have time for that. Dead Vlei, in my opinion, is
more beautiful than Sossusvlei. On the way back to the car, now with a bunch of
French tourists on board, the Oryx again posed for us. They got oohed and aahed
at in French this time, the Oryx posing on top of a dune, with the marvellous
blue sky behind them.
Two other lots of tourists came past us, sorry, I’ll try
that again, tried to come past us as we drove back to the parking lot.
Typically, with no idea how to drive in sand, they bogged down to their axles.
Our Mr Wonder Driver, took control of both bogging downs, and had the cars out
in no time.
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| Stick people on Dune 45. |
Did they make it back to camp on their own I wonder? If they had
gotten stuck again, they’d have had to sleep there until the first shuttle went
past in the morning.
During the
drive back to the guest farm, we had our first wake up call – a 4 x 4 hire
vehicle had gone off the road at a corner, and rolled. It had been attended to,
no-one was there now, but it was reminder not to drive badly, madly, or
inattentively on loose gravel, especially not around corners.
Weltevrede
Guest Farm was a true oasis in the desert. Lovely rooms, great hosts, and
lovely food. Oryx steak was on the menu. Shot on the farm. Our hostess started
the ‘sustainable, hunting is an important part of conservation’ story; she must
be so used to people doing the ‘ag shame, poor bokkie’ thing, that she
automatically launches in to it. She was pretty relieved when I said something
that made her realize that I fully agreed with her. Weltevrede’s Oryx steak was much better than
the one I had at an upmarket restaurant in Windhoek.
In the
morning, over breakfast, after seeing the wild love birds, routes back to
Windhoek were discussed with other guests, and the Remshoogte Pass road was recommended.
All I
can say is, there must be another road; don’t take it if you’re not driving a 4
x 4 (or VW Polo), it is totally devoid of people and traffic; we passed one
farm, and no other sign of human habitation. Had we gotten stuck, we would have
had a problem.
We had our second wake up on the main Solitaire road, before the
turn off to Remshoogte Pass; another 4 x 4 had rolled. This time on a straight
stretch of road. Again, the accident had been attended to, and no-one was
around.
Eventually
we got onto a better road, and followed it, towards what I hoped was in the
direction of Rehoboth. A new road seemed to have been built since our map had
been published, and we got to a very confusing fork in the road. I chose the
better looking one without much discussion, but lots of consternation. “What
happens if we get lost?” I was asked several times.
My standard reply: “I don’t
do lost, sometimes I just do some unexpected sightseeing, and if it gets really
bad, then I turn around.” Simple really, what’s complicated about that?!? The
added bonus, if one does get lost, is seeing countryside that you hadn’t
planned on seeing.
We went over
the Klein Aub River bridge. There was some hardly moving water in the river,
but judging by how deep and wide river bed is, occasionally, huge amounts of
water must come thundering down with flash floods. There was antelope spoor in
the mud, and also tracks of some largish cat, but no game showed itself.
Eventually,
we got to Rehoboth, which is about 90km from Windhoek. Rehoboth is where the
Baster People eventually settled after their trek from the Cape in the 1860’s,
and is now the administrative centre of the Baster People. In brief, the Afrikaans
speaking Baster were the offspring of the Dutch settler men and the local Nama
women, who got fed up with being regarded as nothings, and decided to move off from
the Cape, and find their own land. They settled around Rehoboth, and were even
briefly given ‘independence’ by South Africa in the 1970’s. They are a fiercely
independent and proud people, and up until fairly recently, were only allowed
to marry other Basters, an outsider really had to have something of value to be
allowed into the community. As a result, nearly all Basters are related.
My guide
book was very disparaging about Rehoboth, describing it as a ‘scruffy bottle
store town’, and had I not been there before, we would have driven through, but
I had to see the museum again. The dusty little town isn’t too good with signboards,
so we saw a fair amount of it (remember- I don’t do ‘lost’), but we did
eventually find the museum. It was still run by the same knowledgeable curator
who had given me a guided tour 13 years ago. We were given the history of the
Baster people, and were shown all sorts of fascinating historical items. I wanted
to photograph the oxen shoes that I thought I had seen there, but no, I must
have seen them somewhere else. I had confused
the Baster trek with another Afrikaner trek, the Dorsland Trek (Thirstland
Journey), from what is now Gauteng in South Africa to what is now Angola; the
oxen pulling the wagons were shod to protect their hooves from the hard ground
and desert like conditions. Disappointed, I do wonder where I had seen them
before.
Onwards to Windhoek.
We rechecked in to Rivendell late in the afternoon, our last night in Namibia.
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| Rivendell after a bit of rain. |
The
swimming pool was heavenly after 40C heat.Over dinner at the nice, naaah, that’s not a
suitable description: the delectable restaurant, Nice, in Mozart Strasse, we
discussed how best to spend the next morning in Windhoek, before flying out in
the afternoon. My choice as always, was museums. The Alte Feste where the
hapless Reiterdenkmal (Equestrian Memorial) had been mysteriously dumped one
night, was top of the list.
We started off
at the centrally situated Christus Kirche, parking our car there, leaving it
under the watchful eye of the car guard. The building of Christus Kirche was
started in 1907 and finished in 1910.
It is what I call sugar top architecture,
the sort of architecture that comes to mind when I think of Hansel and Gretel,
but what architects call a mix of Art Nouveau, Romanesque and Gothic. Very
pretty, very German, with a beautiful stained glass window, it was originally
named the Church of Peace. It stands tall and proud on its own little island,
the middle of Windhoek, with museums, and the Parliament buildings flanking it.
Across the
road is the Independence Memorial Museum, a very modern building; its design is
mockingly and truthfully described as being akin to a coffee machine.
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| The New Independence Memorial and the old Alte Feste |
It is
well planned and has different floors dedicated to Namibia’s history and wars.
At the top of the building is a restaurant, which wasn’t very friendly, so we
decided not to have breakfast there, just coffee We went out on their
verandah for a look at the sprawling city of Windhoek below us. Probably
because we hadn’t sat down yet, we were promptly told that ‘we weren’t allowed’
to take photographs from there without buying anything. With that attitude, we left, and they lost out on the
coffee sale they were about to make. That badly trained waitress was the only
unpleasant person we met on our entire trip.
Next to the
Independence Memorial is Alte Feste, originally a German fort and later the State
Museum.
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| Reiterdenkmal, Alte Feste and modern and Independence Memorial |
It’s very sad in its present state; exhibits have been moved to other
museums, and only a few very interesting items have been left on the verandah.
A sign says it’s being refurbished; I hope they hurry up. What is there, in the
messy courtyard, is the beautiful Reiterdenkmal, which has been put out of
everyday sight, because it commemorates a part of Namibia’s dark oppressed
history. As so much other ‘oppressor’ history is everywhere in the country,
hopefully, it will be displayed in a prominent place again sometime in the
future.
Across the road, are the Museum administrative offices; they are not a
museum at all, but have many exhibits lying around everywhere, and we were made
welcome and were allowed to wander around and enjoy them.
Now
starving, we walked the few blocks down past Zoo Park, into Independence
Avenue, which is full of shops, history and good cafes. I love people watching,
and the mix of people was fascinating.
Business people, classily power dressed;
the women in designer outfits, the men in beautifully cut suits and ties,
walking up and down the pavement, being jostled by tourists, army personnel,
traditionally dressed women and the odd Rastafarian. It is a true cosmopolitan
mix.
Our last
visit was to be the Geological Museum, as it was on our way out to the airport.
Mrs Google Maps was instructed to take us to the address, and it wasn’t there,
at least there was no sign of it. We asked a number of people where it was, and
they had never heard of it. I checked the address in my guide book; we were at
the right address. It also said that few tourists know about this museum – we
realized the locals didn’t know about it either. Someone had to know, so we
enquired at the reception of the government offices there. Yes, it was right
there, in the same government building. Entry was free, security was tight.
What an
amazing place we had found, possibly one of the best small museums I have been
to.
Other than the expected geological exhibits, gem stones and history and tools
of mining, there was a children’s play centre (digging in the sand for
dinosaurs), fossils,with a dinosaur skeleton, fossilized
animals and other ancient things. Also there were fascinating displays of everyday things – like a bathroom and a car, with descriptions of what metals and minerals went into what products. Have you ever wondered what is in your toothpaste? Or how many different metals are used in your car? No? Visit this museum and learn!
And so time
went, it was time to head for the airport, and head home. It had been a
wonderful trip, a trip whose planning that had driven me to distraction at one
stage, as when I originally made booking inquiries, I got the answer fully
booked/ not available, or just no reply. I don’t even remember filling out an
enquiry form for Namibia Reservations, I think I was just writing to all and
sundry in the hope of getting a reply. I was so pleased to get their reply,
and I had a great rapport with their consultant, Millburches, who went the
extra mile to make and change bookings, until I thought our itinerary was
perfect.
As I'm about to click the 'Publish' button, President Trump as done it again, calling African countries 'sh*tholes'. Namibia,instead of causing political furores and recalling diplomatic staff as many countries have done, has produced a wonderful video of why Namibia is a "sh*thole", in the same style as the Number One video, with beautiful visuals of the country and how it is the very opposite, ensuring once again that it is seen by a maximum number of people, who will all want to visit Namibia.
I played the
happy tourist, taking in the buildings; the Rathaus is actually new,rebuilt in the late 1800’s. The original (Alte) Rathaus, next to it, now
houses a toy museum in its Gothic Tower. A climb up the circular stairs is just what is needed to get the blood flowing after a long flight. The toys, some dating back to the 1700's, are fascinating. Barbies and Kens from the 1970's are also on display.
