11 JUNE 2010 - Fish River Canyon
To us, Namibia rhymes with dust. Dust in your shoes, dust in the car, dust in the tent, dust everywhere. But it’s a pretty small price to pay.
There was no sudden change in scenery or climate when we crossed the border, but it didn’t take long for the roads to turn from South African tar to Namibian gravel, which Toy ate up. And day 2 in Namibia coughed up our first wildlife - Oryx and Springbok and Common Duiker (or something that looked very like it) grazing near the road.
Our first major stop was Fish River Canyon, the second largest canyon in the world. It’s bigger than Sam Marshall and Rob Jamieson put together. That night we camped with our Canadian friends Sean and Liz at a Route 66 themed guesthouse/restaurant/bar with hollowed-out car husks put to good use in the garden and bar and the reception houses in a rickety old truck within the roadhouse itself.
This is not the kind of diary where you will read about what we ate for breakfast. But I’ve got to tell you that we had bush meat for dinner. Springbok and Oryx. There was plenty of careless driving the next day. Because this is meat that makes you want to hit something.
Driving on gravel has its challenges. We’ve taken a few detours off the major thoroughfares, into territory where the corrugations on the rougher roads go beyond African massage and get plain annoying. The key is to float over them. To do that you need to do about 100km/hr. To do 100km/hr in a fully-loaded 3.5 tonne vehicle with a bus engine requires a bit of a run-up, a sizable fuel budget and a firm right foot. And then - bliss - we’re skimming the tops of the ruts and not hitting each micro-bump (micro-bump corrugations are the opposite of a micro-sleep).
This is all good, up to a point. That point arrives pretty quickly at 28 metres per second, because that point is generally a deep and rough dip in the road, inevitably followed by a launching point. And hard braking on gravel is a great way to take your back wheels on a full tour of the width of the road. So for a few stunned seconds - between spotting this wee obstacle, wiping off as much speed as possible, impact and air time - we are united in puckered silence. But generally speaking, our heavy-duty suspension eats this stuff up.
There will be plenty of proper off-roading to come... SC
To us, Namibia rhymes with dust. Dust in your shoes, dust in the car, dust in the tent, dust everywhere. But it’s a pretty small price to pay.
There was no sudden change in scenery or climate when we crossed the border, but it didn’t take long for the roads to turn from South African tar to Namibian gravel, which Toy ate up. And day 2 in Namibia coughed up our first wildlife - Oryx and Springbok and Common Duiker (or something that looked very like it) grazing near the road.
Our first major stop was Fish River Canyon, the second largest canyon in the world. It’s bigger than Sam Marshall and Rob Jamieson put together. That night we camped with our Canadian friends Sean and Liz at a Route 66 themed guesthouse/restaurant/bar with hollowed-out car husks put to good use in the garden and bar and the reception houses in a rickety old truck within the roadhouse itself.
This is not the kind of diary where you will read about what we ate for breakfast. But I’ve got to tell you that we had bush meat for dinner. Springbok and Oryx. There was plenty of careless driving the next day. Because this is meat that makes you want to hit something.
Driving on gravel has its challenges. We’ve taken a few detours off the major thoroughfares, into territory where the corrugations on the rougher roads go beyond African massage and get plain annoying. The key is to float over them. To do that you need to do about 100km/hr. To do 100km/hr in a fully-loaded 3.5 tonne vehicle with a bus engine requires a bit of a run-up, a sizable fuel budget and a firm right foot. And then - bliss - we’re skimming the tops of the ruts and not hitting each micro-bump (micro-bump corrugations are the opposite of a micro-sleep).
This is all good, up to a point. That point arrives pretty quickly at 28 metres per second, because that point is generally a deep and rough dip in the road, inevitably followed by a launching point. And hard braking on gravel is a great way to take your back wheels on a full tour of the width of the road. So for a few stunned seconds - between spotting this wee obstacle, wiping off as much speed as possible, impact and air time - we are united in puckered silence. But generally speaking, our heavy-duty suspension eats this stuff up.
There will be plenty of proper off-roading to come... SC
NAMIBIA DIARIES
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15 JUNE 2010 - Eisbein, Schnitzel and a Thrashing
The geographic location alone caused confusion: in the Namib Desert, on the Atlantic Ocean. But the Namibian town of Luderitz took confusion a step further. A little piece of Germany trapped in Africa. Schnitzels were a plenty, as were the apple strudels. Mercedes and Volkswagen dominated the auto market. German was the language of choice. Steve and my respective alter egos of Sven and Günta had found their stage to shine.
But then came the Eisbein. If you’re not up to date with culinary torture methods, Eisbein is a leg of pork complete with crackling that can put a hungry man’s consumption abilities to shame. If the calories weren’t quite in excess of the annual recommended intake, the Eisbein came complete with a side of sweetened condensed milk for dipping. Half way through, we were done. But like true champions, we powered through - urged on by the super-human feats of Lance Armstrong’s return yellow jersey win, Jessica Watson’s circumnavigation of the world (well except for the short cut), and Andrew Lau’s 100 McNugget marathon in high school. Finished, we leant against anything that would take our weight, and stumbled home for a night of heavy sleep, metabolism and an overall feeling of disgust.
Luderitz was otherwise largely unremarkable and we pushed north to Sesriem. With Australia playing Germany, we headed to the bar to catch the game and watch Australia relive the glory days of the 2006 World Cup. These aspirations lasted less than a pint before the bar comprising 30 Germans and 2 Australians turned in to a mockery. Once again sickened (this time by the Socceroos’ performance rather than the Eisbein), we took sleep before our rude pre-dawn wake up to catch the sunrise over Namibia’s most popular tourist attraction, Sossusvlei - a collection of towering red sand dunes (up to 200m high) surrounding dried lakes complete with picturesque white mud and shapely trees to give a silhouette against the backdrop.
Auf Wiedersein. MR
The geographic location alone caused confusion: in the Namib Desert, on the Atlantic Ocean. But the Namibian town of Luderitz took confusion a step further. A little piece of Germany trapped in Africa. Schnitzels were a plenty, as were the apple strudels. Mercedes and Volkswagen dominated the auto market. German was the language of choice. Steve and my respective alter egos of Sven and Günta had found their stage to shine.
But then came the Eisbein. If you’re not up to date with culinary torture methods, Eisbein is a leg of pork complete with crackling that can put a hungry man’s consumption abilities to shame. If the calories weren’t quite in excess of the annual recommended intake, the Eisbein came complete with a side of sweetened condensed milk for dipping. Half way through, we were done. But like true champions, we powered through - urged on by the super-human feats of Lance Armstrong’s return yellow jersey win, Jessica Watson’s circumnavigation of the world (well except for the short cut), and Andrew Lau’s 100 McNugget marathon in high school. Finished, we leant against anything that would take our weight, and stumbled home for a night of heavy sleep, metabolism and an overall feeling of disgust.
Luderitz was otherwise largely unremarkable and we pushed north to Sesriem. With Australia playing Germany, we headed to the bar to catch the game and watch Australia relive the glory days of the 2006 World Cup. These aspirations lasted less than a pint before the bar comprising 30 Germans and 2 Australians turned in to a mockery. Once again sickened (this time by the Socceroos’ performance rather than the Eisbein), we took sleep before our rude pre-dawn wake up to catch the sunrise over Namibia’s most popular tourist attraction, Sossusvlei - a collection of towering red sand dunes (up to 200m high) surrounding dried lakes complete with picturesque white mud and shapely trees to give a silhouette against the backdrop.
Auf Wiedersein. MR
24 JUNE 2010 - Windhoek and the Wild West
Windhoek may only be home to 250,000 folk, but the presence of Joe’s Beer House means the Namibian capital is certainly not short of grilled game. In one sitting, we each managed to devour no less than 6 types of animal: kudu, ostrich, oryx (gemsbok), crocodile, zebra, and chicken. The clear winner in the game consumption to date has been the tasty oryx; since tasting, Steve has been swerving to hit them on the roads (to date, unsuccessfully).
Turning west we found ourselves at the coastal town of Swakopmund. Remembering Steve’s birthday for the first time in 18 years of friendship, I took him quad biking in the dunes between Swakop, and Namibia’s unlikely second largest city of Walvis Bay. Our guide, an adrenaline sports junky cliché, had broken all rules within 10 minutes. After another miserable Socceroos performance against Ghana, we consoled ourselves with a bucket of KFC. Adding chicken salt to the wound, the queue for the fried goodness took no less than an hour. Lesser connoisseurs would have walked away, but not we.
After a stench-filled encounter with Cape Cross’s 100,000 fur seals, we headed up the 2 million hectare Skeleton Coast (a graveyard to many a wayward shipping vessel) before turning east into the more accessible areas of Kaokoland. The village of Opuwo was the first stop with its main street filled with ochre painted, bare chested women straight out of a Nat Geo documentary walking alongside darker skinned Angolans mixed with western style of clothing. Filling both fuel tanks and loading the jerries, Steve, myself and our 180L of diesel made it to the Namibian/Angolan border to see the Epupa Falls - an awe inspiring series of waterfalls interrupting the flow of the Kunene River. A slice of Congo dropped into the Namibian desert.
MR
Windhoek may only be home to 250,000 folk, but the presence of Joe’s Beer House means the Namibian capital is certainly not short of grilled game. In one sitting, we each managed to devour no less than 6 types of animal: kudu, ostrich, oryx (gemsbok), crocodile, zebra, and chicken. The clear winner in the game consumption to date has been the tasty oryx; since tasting, Steve has been swerving to hit them on the roads (to date, unsuccessfully).
Turning west we found ourselves at the coastal town of Swakopmund. Remembering Steve’s birthday for the first time in 18 years of friendship, I took him quad biking in the dunes between Swakop, and Namibia’s unlikely second largest city of Walvis Bay. Our guide, an adrenaline sports junky cliché, had broken all rules within 10 minutes. After another miserable Socceroos performance against Ghana, we consoled ourselves with a bucket of KFC. Adding chicken salt to the wound, the queue for the fried goodness took no less than an hour. Lesser connoisseurs would have walked away, but not we.
After a stench-filled encounter with Cape Cross’s 100,000 fur seals, we headed up the 2 million hectare Skeleton Coast (a graveyard to many a wayward shipping vessel) before turning east into the more accessible areas of Kaokoland. The village of Opuwo was the first stop with its main street filled with ochre painted, bare chested women straight out of a Nat Geo documentary walking alongside darker skinned Angolans mixed with western style of clothing. Filling both fuel tanks and loading the jerries, Steve, myself and our 180L of diesel made it to the Namibian/Angolan border to see the Epupa Falls - an awe inspiring series of waterfalls interrupting the flow of the Kunene River. A slice of Congo dropped into the Namibian desert.
MR
30 JUNE 2010 - Elephants and Broken Exhaust
If Epupa Falls was the best waterfall I have seen, the Marienfluss Valley was the most beautiful valley I have seen. It’s made all the sweeter by being hard work to reach.
The Marienfluss Valley is only a couple of hundred kilometres west of Epupa Falls, and it too touches the Angolan border. But a rough swathe of a Kaokoland lies in between, dominated by tire-puncturing thorns, tire-breaking rock, the odd Himba village (at least they leave your tires alone) and many hours behind the wheel. And that only gets you to one of the better-known challenges of local 4WDing - Van Zyl’s pass.
It’s a lot of fun though.
After a full day’s driving (covering about 200 km of rough road from Epupa Falls) we made our first wild camp near the top of the pass. We felt very intrepid as we drove up a sandy riverbed and, well out of sight of the road, found higher ground to make camp. That feeling lasted until 3 South African vehicles did exactly the same about 45 minutes later. To be honest, we were happy for the company.
That night I am just drifting off when there is a scratching on the car. Silence. Then it comes again. A scuffing in the dirt, and a clanking of claw on metal. Both wide awake now, we laugh somewhat nervously. The car shakes - hard - and the laughter fades. Peering over the lip of the tent, we see nothing, and hear nothing but grunts. Then a low, guttural growl. Imagination kicks in. There is something under the car. It is big enough to shake it. It is scratching. It has claws. And that growl would put a German Shepherd to shame. There are leopard, hyena, and even lion in the area.
Then I see a foot. It’s big. 5 toes. Smooth and very pale by the half-moon. It is a very human foot. It is, in fact, the foot of Peter the South African safari guide from the group across the river, laughing himself silly at scaring the crap out of the Aussies. We file that one away for next time we camp near Americans.
The next day, we tackle Van Zyl’s Pass. It has its difficult sections, but it doesn’t quite live up to its reputation. There are a few moments of 'less than optimal traction', sliding down loose, steep shale into some rocky sections while peering over a cliff, but although we might not be in complete control, planning our line means that we are never near the limit.
It takes us 4 and a half hours to cover 24km. And then - bliss. The Marienfluss Valley, relatively little visited due to its remoteness and the sheer challenges of getting here, stretches away like a vast Eden sandwiched between the sand of the Skeleton Coast and rock of the nothingness further inland. It’s a wide stretch of savannah dotted with the odd tree but otherwise characterised by golden grass. The dirt is blood red. Springbok are everywhere, we count 13 ostrich in one group, and we itch to hit those tasty, tasty Gemsbok. We both agree it is one of the most stunning places we have been, anywhere. We notch up our second wild camp.
The only way to travel the Marienfluss is by bonnet riding. That’s what we call sitting up front with your feet wedged in the bull bar while the other guns it. Right up til we spot the bakkie (ute) that was clearly destroyed by a landmine.
A couple of days later - still in far northern Kaokoland - the rattling starts. That rattling is part of our exhaust system, which has taken a hard knock at some stage over the previous days and has shaken itself loose from the muffler on the endless, mind-numbing corrugations we have subjected the car to. We cobble together a bush-fix using epoxy, some wooden blocks, our steering-wheel lock and, unfortunately, my toothbrush. We ease into a community campsite a few hours later. Loudly despairing about the prospects of finding a welder in this area of the world, we discover that the guy in the next campsite - 10 metres away - heads up a lodge construction site 'just over that hill'. By 9 am the next day, that piece of exhaust is unbreakable. It would survive a meteor strike. It will take us 4 days to reach a shop that sells toothbrushes though.
100 km further south, we have notched up zebra, giraffe and are searching for desert elephants. This time, on our terms. The night before, just before dawn, we spent a very anxious 20 minutes listening to an elephant browsing the camelthorn acacia tree under which we were camped. The morning light showed her tracks passing 6-7 metres from the car.
Now, driving the riverbed at dusk, we find a herd of 8 elephants, including a baby, moving down the bank towards our camp. Spectacular. The prospect of 8 desert elephants moving through your campsite while you’re sitting around the fire certainly makes things interesting though. In the weeks to come we will, no doubt, laugh about such petty things.
We are not laughing when we are up at dawn the next day - startled awake and half falling down the ladder to shoo away the red hornbill which is perched on the bonnet and attempting to pull the windscreen wipers to pieces. Good morning Kaokoland.
Next stop - the relative civilization of Etosha National Park.
SC
If Epupa Falls was the best waterfall I have seen, the Marienfluss Valley was the most beautiful valley I have seen. It’s made all the sweeter by being hard work to reach.
The Marienfluss Valley is only a couple of hundred kilometres west of Epupa Falls, and it too touches the Angolan border. But a rough swathe of a Kaokoland lies in between, dominated by tire-puncturing thorns, tire-breaking rock, the odd Himba village (at least they leave your tires alone) and many hours behind the wheel. And that only gets you to one of the better-known challenges of local 4WDing - Van Zyl’s pass.
It’s a lot of fun though.
After a full day’s driving (covering about 200 km of rough road from Epupa Falls) we made our first wild camp near the top of the pass. We felt very intrepid as we drove up a sandy riverbed and, well out of sight of the road, found higher ground to make camp. That feeling lasted until 3 South African vehicles did exactly the same about 45 minutes later. To be honest, we were happy for the company.
That night I am just drifting off when there is a scratching on the car. Silence. Then it comes again. A scuffing in the dirt, and a clanking of claw on metal. Both wide awake now, we laugh somewhat nervously. The car shakes - hard - and the laughter fades. Peering over the lip of the tent, we see nothing, and hear nothing but grunts. Then a low, guttural growl. Imagination kicks in. There is something under the car. It is big enough to shake it. It is scratching. It has claws. And that growl would put a German Shepherd to shame. There are leopard, hyena, and even lion in the area.
Then I see a foot. It’s big. 5 toes. Smooth and very pale by the half-moon. It is a very human foot. It is, in fact, the foot of Peter the South African safari guide from the group across the river, laughing himself silly at scaring the crap out of the Aussies. We file that one away for next time we camp near Americans.
The next day, we tackle Van Zyl’s Pass. It has its difficult sections, but it doesn’t quite live up to its reputation. There are a few moments of 'less than optimal traction', sliding down loose, steep shale into some rocky sections while peering over a cliff, but although we might not be in complete control, planning our line means that we are never near the limit.
It takes us 4 and a half hours to cover 24km. And then - bliss. The Marienfluss Valley, relatively little visited due to its remoteness and the sheer challenges of getting here, stretches away like a vast Eden sandwiched between the sand of the Skeleton Coast and rock of the nothingness further inland. It’s a wide stretch of savannah dotted with the odd tree but otherwise characterised by golden grass. The dirt is blood red. Springbok are everywhere, we count 13 ostrich in one group, and we itch to hit those tasty, tasty Gemsbok. We both agree it is one of the most stunning places we have been, anywhere. We notch up our second wild camp.
The only way to travel the Marienfluss is by bonnet riding. That’s what we call sitting up front with your feet wedged in the bull bar while the other guns it. Right up til we spot the bakkie (ute) that was clearly destroyed by a landmine.
A couple of days later - still in far northern Kaokoland - the rattling starts. That rattling is part of our exhaust system, which has taken a hard knock at some stage over the previous days and has shaken itself loose from the muffler on the endless, mind-numbing corrugations we have subjected the car to. We cobble together a bush-fix using epoxy, some wooden blocks, our steering-wheel lock and, unfortunately, my toothbrush. We ease into a community campsite a few hours later. Loudly despairing about the prospects of finding a welder in this area of the world, we discover that the guy in the next campsite - 10 metres away - heads up a lodge construction site 'just over that hill'. By 9 am the next day, that piece of exhaust is unbreakable. It would survive a meteor strike. It will take us 4 days to reach a shop that sells toothbrushes though.
100 km further south, we have notched up zebra, giraffe and are searching for desert elephants. This time, on our terms. The night before, just before dawn, we spent a very anxious 20 minutes listening to an elephant browsing the camelthorn acacia tree under which we were camped. The morning light showed her tracks passing 6-7 metres from the car.
Now, driving the riverbed at dusk, we find a herd of 8 elephants, including a baby, moving down the bank towards our camp. Spectacular. The prospect of 8 desert elephants moving through your campsite while you’re sitting around the fire certainly makes things interesting though. In the weeks to come we will, no doubt, laugh about such petty things.
We are not laughing when we are up at dawn the next day - startled awake and half falling down the ladder to shoo away the red hornbill which is perched on the bonnet and attempting to pull the windscreen wipers to pieces. Good morning Kaokoland.
Next stop - the relative civilization of Etosha National Park.
SC
3 JULY 2010 - Etosha National Park
On day 1, we saw 63 giraffes, 31 elephants, hundreds of blue wildebeest, oryx, springbok, impala, red hartebeest, kudu, warthogs and thousands of zebras. We were in Etosha for 3 days, and Etosha really delivered. Lion, leopard and cheetah eluded us however, most probably because we're not too sharp when it comes to early starts.
Our campsite even got a visit from a honey badger one night; a tough-as-nails little customer with jaws like a clamp, sharp claws and a fearsome reputation such that most lions leave them well alone. This little fella was going through the rubbish of Kim and Brian - our Irish/American neighbours - but left in disgust when all he could find was potatoes potatoes potatoes.
We are headed for Botswana: Tsodilo Hills and the Okavango Panhandle.
SC
What's a honey badger? Find out in arguably the greatest wildlife video ever made:
On day 1, we saw 63 giraffes, 31 elephants, hundreds of blue wildebeest, oryx, springbok, impala, red hartebeest, kudu, warthogs and thousands of zebras. We were in Etosha for 3 days, and Etosha really delivered. Lion, leopard and cheetah eluded us however, most probably because we're not too sharp when it comes to early starts.
Our campsite even got a visit from a honey badger one night; a tough-as-nails little customer with jaws like a clamp, sharp claws and a fearsome reputation such that most lions leave them well alone. This little fella was going through the rubbish of Kim and Brian - our Irish/American neighbours - but left in disgust when all he could find was potatoes potatoes potatoes.
We are headed for Botswana: Tsodilo Hills and the Okavango Panhandle.
SC
What's a honey badger? Find out in arguably the greatest wildlife video ever made:
OUR NAMIBIA HIGHLIGHTS VIDEO
Bush fixes, 4WDing, Himba, Epupa Falls, Marienfluss Valley, animalia! Check it out!
Bush fixes, 4WDing, Himba, Epupa Falls, Marienfluss Valley, animalia! Check it out!