17th
I first visited Namibia in the late nineties as a “three-month wonder” (all naive disorganisation and irresponsibility), dropped off at a lovely safari camp by my parents with the instruction to make myself useful for at least 6 months. I have no doubt that I was more of a hindrance and, judging by the care-worn expression of my boss, I wasn’t the first gap-year princess that had added to their management woes. Anywho…I have vivid memories of that time and some if the best were hewn from the red rock mountains of what is now the southern Kunene region, then Damaraland.
Now, I’m actually starting to bore even myself with exhortations about how wonderful this place is, but it is like nowhere else I’ve been on earth. The colours at sunrise, the shapes of the mountains, the fact that anything that lives here survives on 100mm of rain a year and sea mist, the rock that is strewn on the land as though it was put there, the deep silence of the place. Among its many blessings are that it is not suitable for any human activity (except perhaps rock farming), which means that it has remained hitherto largely unscathed by our clumsy attentions. It lends itself to over-the-top, adjective-rich repetitions about just how magnificently splendid it all is. Ok, I’ll shut-up now.
Our safari takes us from Etosha through the Grootberg Pass and down towards the oasis of Palmwag. We spend a couple of nights at Etendeka Mountain Camp; tents dwarfed by the mountains, outdoor bucket showers where you can cool off, the warm breeze drying your skin as you admire the view.
An early morning walk through the canyons reveals extraordinary plants such as the euphorbia – poisonous to everything except rhino, kudu and ground squirrels. Golden-trunked butter trees crouch in the rocks and we discover that one which is barely 6’ tall is almost half a decade old. There are birds like the Damara rock-runner and Herero chat which are found nowhere else the world. I am amazed to find blue chloride, white quartz and amethyst crystals hiding inside the dull rocks, testament to ancient geological processes.
Later, returning to camp on an evening drive, we stumble upon an overgrown litter of lion cubs. Following the linear oases which cleave this arid place, the lion are like many other species in that they are adapted to the desert. They inherit memories of rich hunting grounds, water that does not dry up and sometimes their wonderings take them to the beaches where they prey on seals. As the sun lowers and sets the mountains on fire, we disturb a black mongoose in his feast of harvester termites. Also endemic to this area, he was only recognised as distinct from other mongooses (mongeese? mongi?) about twenty years ago.
Around the camp-fire, after chicken roasted in foil over the coals, I turn my chair to face the darkness, feel the silence creep into my mind, and search for shooting stars amongst a galaxy so bright that it seems to hang just above my head.
Check out our Facebook page for more photos of this area from my trip.
12th
Actually it’s probably fair to say that the Romans never made it to Namibia but the Germans have certainly learned a few lessons about road building from them. As we leave Windhoek, a wide tar road stretches to the horizon, straight as an arrow. Windhoek’s attractive streets are well laid out and sign-posted and the traffic lights all work, all of which is a pleasant surprise when compared to some of Africa’s other rather intimidating cities. As three girls travelling together, it’s good to know that Namibia is one of the safest countries in which to travel independently in Africa.
The country is vast and largely empty, with a population of around 2 million people, 75% of which live in the northern-most reaches. A whole playground of remote, wild and scenically breath-taking areas are connected mostly by excellent tar or graded gravel roads, making it perfect for our self-drive trip.
I’ve learnt that you need to prepare for some pretty long days in the car, but that each journey offers plenty to see and some very dramatic changes in landscape. The hire car, a 4×4 Nissan double-cab, is comfy and well-equipped, the real bonus being the fridge which, at any one time, contains a variety of chilled drinks, the obligatory supply of chocolate and “padkos” (snacks for the road). We’ve met some folk travelling in saloon cars but I’m pleased to have something a bit more sizeable to allow us to explore some of the rougher terrain.
Our safari is taking us through a cross-section of eco-systems; from Etosha’s assorted bush and huge salt pan, through the flat-topped red basalt mountains of Damaraland, the harsh but surprisingly varied desert of the Skeleton Coast and into the red-dunes and mountains of the Namib Naukluft. We’re covering about 4,000km over two weeks but within a few days we feel as though we’ve been travelling for months – there is simply so much to see and do. Since we like to be a bit intrepid, one of the best aspects is the freedom we have to explore at our own pace while still being able to take advantage of the specialist knowledge of the guides in each small camp we visit.
At the end of the safari, we will have seen a huge variety of birds and animals, walked through pre-historic canyons, visited seal colonies aboard boats, experienced some local culture, slid down sand-dunes and marvelled at the intensity of the stars in this vast wild country. Tomorrow is another day and I wonder where the next straight road will lead us?
07th
As I stand on the lonely airstrip at 6 o’clock in the morning, I regard the plains where rocks are strewn as if in a giant Japanese garden, stretching to the foot of the mountains beyond. Towering flat-topped basalt hills encircle me and there is not a living thing to be seen. The silence is eerie and complete. There are no bird calls, no sounds of cars or planes, no conversation, no trees for the wind to rustle. The edge of a pale blue sky is scalloped by the hills; 360 degrees of rock exploding with the deep red of the dawn light. The silence, space and emptiness makes me feel light and exuberant; I feel I am the only person on earth – only it seems more like Mars.
The day before, we land on a white sand beach upon which the Atlantic beats with frothy waves and the wind whips sharply around my ankles. I walk barefoot away from the plane and into the bare reaches of sand, rock, and gravel to feel the emptiness of the desert. The wind is quick and gusty and fills my lungs with fresh salty air. There is not a cloud in the sky. The impression is one of liberation, felt deep in the chest: it touches all the senses.
The following day, from our birdlike vantage point, we witness the patterns of rock and sand created by ancient processes. At the right time of day, the paper-sheaf of angled rock is thrown into relief, the shadows emphasising every sinuous curve. Patterns like veins in the sand made by rare water courses spread beneath us. As we descend, the knobbly bald heads of rocky outcrops race by the windows. I never knew the earth to be such a canvas of patterns and colours. It is beautiful.
As I try desperately to preserve the impressions in my brain of all I have seen, and touched, and felt so that I can revisit it all in later years, I realise that this nothingness is what I came for. And the nothingness provided one of the richest experiences I have ever known.
Amanda travelled with Andre Schoeman (pictured above) on the Skeleton Coast Flying Safari in November 2010. Check out our Facebook page for more stunning images and watch this space for more blogs of Amanda’s trip.
16th
There’s something to be said for really seeing Africa. By this I don’t mean hopping from one idyllic lodge to the other in a private aircraft (although admittedly, there is certainly something to be said for this). No, actually experiencing the life, the buzz and colourful melee which is daily life to the majority of Africans.
Wander through any market and you’ll be treated to a sort of raw sensory overload that I can bet you’ll never match. Large-bottomed ladies in colourful prints argue over the price of tomatoes and sharp lads sit around playing draughts with bottle tops while imbibing the contents of the bottles. Chickens cluck and scoot around between flip-flopping feet, dusty and calloused from hard days treading the rough streets and weekends spent hoeing fields.
An old woman, sucking teeth that are either missing or black, rests her back against a red-brick wall; legs outstretched and creased hands kneading folded notes in her hands. She sells crispy-smooth woven palm mats and baskets, wooden spoons for stirring goopy white maize meal. The sea-smell of drying capenta – small lake fish – fills the air in this corner, while further on, a young woman swiftly chops away at a clenched bunch of greens, bitter and fresh. All around are people calling to each other, advertising their wares, exchanging greetings and family news, gossip.
In southern Africa, roundabouts are known as “circles” and traffic lights as “robots” (making for potentially disastrous results when requesting directions). Robots are a prime opportunity to tempt captive motorists into purchasing all manner of things…miniature markets. Loofahs, brash holographic pictures of waterfalls that move when you walk past them, dustpans made from cut metal sheets printed by Coca Cola. There are wooden bowls and cheap alarm clocks, copies of men’s magazines covertly displayed between the pages of the local newspaper. There are sometimes puppies and rabbits. It’s where you get your daily newspaper and your telephone scratchcards.
The interesting thing is that the vendors don’t try and persuade you that you need the thing. Their sales pitch revolves entirely around how cheap it is. You say “no thanks” and they say: “but, madam, you know the price? So cheap!”. You say: “even if it was free, I still don’t want it”. They say: “only $5…such a good price. End of the day. Closing down sale.” As if this was reason enough for you to go home with an ironing board. Africa….wonderful, frustrating, unique, surprising Africa.
25th
Shaking my shoes out should really be a matter of habit, having been raised in Africa, but we didn’t have much in the way of scatchy-bitey things where I grew up. Consequently I almost ended up with frog purée in my running shoe as the animal, demonstrating remarkably poor judgement, chose it as a cosy pied-a-terre, so to speak. Since there didn’t seem to be a plague of them, I chose to interpret it to be a sign of the imminent arrival of the summer rains rather than the apocalypse.
Almost a year has passed since I moved to Harare and the variety and colour of the seasons here has been astonishing. At the moment, we are treated to avenues of dense purple jacarandas to match the bruised skies that precede dramatic electric storms. Clashing spectacularly with the purple, the bright yellow cassias leave a carpet of sunshine on the roads as the flowers start to fall.
Over Christmas and the early months of the year, the flamboyants and poinsettias paint the northern suburbs with a festive red and a couple of months ago there was a tree that flowered pink, white and purple in such abundance that some roads looked readily decked for a fairy-tale spring wedding. Harare’s botanists planned for the streets always to be clad in flowers and they did a remarkable job. It goes without saying that the accompanying bird life is equally noteworthy, with iridescent starlings and sunbirds, multi-coloured louries and vocal robins.
As we wait for the tropical summer storms to brew and ripen, we sit supine on steamy verandas in temperatures that climb to the mid-thirties. In June and July, I hauled out boots that last trod London streets and lived in thick woollen jumpers. There was even frost on a couple of mornings.
The passing seasons have rung other changes too in Zimbabwe’s capital. Young people are flooding back and there are new cafes and restaurants opening every month, in which it is often difficult to find a table. There are ten times more cars on the road and a buzz of cautious optimism about the country’s future. Shops are full, and though the cost of living is not far off London, people seem happy that they no longer have to queue for the basics. There is talk of elections next year and everyone hopes that these will not throw obstacles in the road of economic recovery that we seem to be steadily travelling.
24th
We curious humans can’t resist a pull towards out of the way places where the possibility of not seeing another person or car for days is just as enticing as the beauty of the landscape or the local wildlife. The journey, while possibly a tad more challenging, is often part of the adventure and makes it all the more special. From repeated experience, I can testify that a major schlep to reach a place almost always reaps massive returns (and you feel all intrepid and a bit like Ranulph Fiennes for a day or two).
In the late ‘90s I took at trip on a ferry from Nkhata Bay on Lake Malawi to Likoma Island. Having travelled hard for a month through Mozambique, we decided that we’d earned a little luxury and splashed out on a first class ticket (all of about $20), envisaging a cosy bunk and a cabin cooled by the lake breeze. Unfortunately it didn’t quite work out like that and first class turned out to be a hard bench on the open deck. Third class was down in the bilges with a lot of people, assorted livestock, bunches of bananas, pungent dried fish and sacks of rice. Luxury was clearly relative.
The on-board entertainment consisted of watching the dugout canoes of traders pulling alongside as we chugged along. These boats were hewn from a single tree and some were vast – I counted a family of ten plus baggage seated comfortably in one. Sales were made to the passengers after noisy haggling and the dugouts paddled off as the sun went down. We disembarked in the dark at 4am. It was rather like the D-Day landings…lifeboats were lowered with a single kerosene lamp suspended from the prow. Passengers in the bottom of the ship fought with each other for space, behaving as if each boat was the last. Finally aboard our own lifeboat, we huddled in the cool of the early morning and listened to the gentle splash of the oars as we headed for the dark island.
We sat on the beach and watched the sun turn the smooth lake to mercury as the sounds of the day reached us from the villages on Likoma. We spent several idyllic days camped in rustic thatched shacks on an almost impossibly picturesque beach, accessorized with promontories of big round boulders. We snorkelled in the warm clear water where colourful tropical fish swim, rivalling any marine reef (and lacking only the coral and saltiness of the ocean).
This little patch has now evolved into the beautiful island lodge of Kaya Mawa and Likoma is the jumping-off point for the equally special hideaway of Nkwichi (pictured above), on the Mozambique side of the lake. These are not the easiest places to get to but then again, that’s half the appeal. That said, you can still enjoy the solitude and splendid isolation without slumming it on the deck of the ferry. Simple berths are available for the adventurous and there are also charter flights to the island.
Find out more about the Lake.
Check out Nkwichi – our featured hideaway.
Find inspiration for other Wild experiences.
11th
This morning I rode an African elephant. Until now this experience featured on the anti-bucket list…something I intended never to do before I die. I have quite strong opinions about the ethics of keeping wild animals in captivity and gaining commercially through rides and teaching them tricks. However I decided that getting on my high-elephant about it in a state of relative ignorance wasn’t very fair. I did some research and decided that Safari Par Excellence seemed like a company with integrity and so opted to go and chat to the folk that work with the animals and experience this popular activity for myself.
After the fact, I am still not sure how I feel. Undoubtedly, it was surreal to be so close to these huge animals in such a peaceful context; the cool, tough, bristly hide beneath my fingertips, the smooth groove worn in one solid piece of ivory, the proffered trunk seeking treats, the immense size, the improbable eyelashes. You get an intimate sense of “moving with the herd” and from this vantage point, can enjoy the scampering of the youngsters as they indulge their curiosity and the interaction between individuals. For an animal close to three tonnes, it is astonishing how silently it (or indeed a whole herd) moves through the bush, sensitive pads moulding over the uneven ground with infinite care.
An interesting observation was that of the relationships between handlers and their animals. Clover, originally a zoo-keeper from the US and now in charge of this project, says she’s noticed the subtle body language of an elephant towards someone he doesn’t like, and the flirting that one female reserves for a particular handler. The handlers are rigorously trained and anyone who doesn’t make the grade or gel with the elephants falls by the wayside. Interestingly, many of them are Zimbabweans who have also left their homes and families for a new life.
Whether the elephants enjoy being ridden or not is unclear but it is hard not to admit that they do seem fairly happy. In between their two rides a day, they go out into the bush to be elephants. One of the females left for eight months only to return pregnant to the habituated herd where she gave birth. Two of the elephant here have bred while on the project which is often taken to be a sign that they are content. Not too long ago, the herd returned from their foraging with a youngster in tow. He had been orphaned and is now growing up with his new family and treats the handlers like his bipedal buddies.
I guess I still think that wild animals should remain wild and being able to be so close perhaps dispels a little of the magic. I hope that the operation of elephant safaris remains in the hands of a very few responsible people of high integrity. There is no doubt in my mind that such projects should only serve to give a home to animals that would not otherwise make it in the wild and under no circumstances should wild elephants be captured for commercial purposes.
At the end of the day this is going to be a very personal decision and while some people might find it a life-changing experience, others may never quite get used to the idea.
05th
We went to visit the Wild Horizons Elephant Wallow just outside Victoria Falls on the Zimbabwean side. Although generally anti- the idea of keeping wild animals captive and riding them or having them do tricks for the entertainment of people, this project is certainly worth a second look. It’s important to note that there are many people that offer such experiences around the Victoria Falls area and further afield and not all of them are run with similar sensitivity and integrity.
Zenzo is a Zimbabwean who is in charge of this particular project and he speaks well and passionately about its history and the ethos behind it. The core animals that form this herd were orphaned during a culling regime in the early 1990s which at the time, thought that doing away with all the adults and leaving all the youngsters was the way to go. Now we know better, but unfortunately this left a legacy of traumatised and poorly socialised youngsters that went on to become dangerous problem animals. Saving four such individuals from most likely being put-down, the White family took them on and began to instil discipline through training that favoured rewards for good behaviour.
More animals joined the herd as word of the successful rehabilitation of these youngsters spread. Some were rescued having been snared and once their horrific injuries healed, joined the rest of the elephants in training. Now, the animals are stabled on a large conservancy on which they roam for most of the day. During an hour in the morning and in the afternoon, visitors can come and ride the elephants as they go out for a walk and a forage.
As Zenzo says, their ideal is for all these animals to be released but experience has shown that this is not always viable. They have lost their fear of people and the bulls particularly are likely to become crop-raiders and end up being shot. Some have been released into the wild successfully and work continues with that ideal in mind. In the meantime, the cost of their upkeep and continued care is paid for by people who are interested and passionate about their welfare.
Zenzo and the Whites hope that, just as they were one of the first to successfully habituate wild African elephants, they will also be amongst the first to successfully return them to the wild. For now, they have a responsibility to ensure the animals are looked after.
Find out more about The Elephant Camp.
Image courtesy of Wild Horizons
04th
Water has always had an instant renewing effect on me. I can glaze over and go gonzo for hours just watching a river go by. I get transfixed by drops cascading through a waterfall and if I’m feeling uptight, all I need to do is to have a shower to feel like I’ve sloughed off my old skin and come out all shiny and new.
The last two days on the Zambezi Queen have done something similar to my rather dusty safari-psyche. Sitting in the early evening light watching herds of elephant and buffalo glide by gently as this rather special riverboat chugs gently down the channels of the Chobe has to be something of a unique experience. This morning I woke to the lapping of the water only a few feet below the most comfortable bed in the world, and walked onto my private balcony to see a small herd of elephant swimming across the river with only the tops of their backs and heads exposed, trunks held aloft.
Admittedly I think I would get cabin fever if I had to stay on a boat for more than a couple of days – the food is too good and the options for exercise all too limited for my comfort. Fortunately there is plenty to do. I opted to forego a game-drive (maintaining the water theme of my stay) and instead tried my hand at Tiger-fishing this morning and failed to coax even a nibble out of the little beggars.
Yesterday evening I ventured out on a simple but immaculately designed little launch to take in the sights and sounds of the Chobe. It proved to be the perfect vantage point from which to sit and watch a herd of fifty elephant peacefully drinking, oblivious to our presence. A youngster, not yet in control of his limbs, experimented with his trunk with limited success. African skimmers wheeled around us and pied kingfishers dove for small-fry just metres from the boat. The crew surprised us by whipping up an impromptu mini-barbecue of chicken and beef kebabs on the prow of the boat. For the ride back to the “mother ship” I took up residence on the top level of the launch and watched the sunset paint the water pink and purple, and stars come out one by one in the warm African night air.
Find out more about the Zambezi Queen.
31st
The safety briefing for our Zambezi white water rafting experience was conducted by Colgate – a river guide full of bluster and attitude, who’s pearly-whites flashed regularly at the motley crew in front of him. Colgate described the variety of false-moves that Tommy Tourist could make which would inevitably result in tears, and how (preferably) these might be avoided. “If you go for a swim, head for the safety kayaker and grab onto the handle. If the kayak is inverted, do not sit on the bottom” (visions of the kayaker frantically cart-wheeling his arms in the murky water while trying to dislodge Tommy from his boat).
Having been divided between the boats, our assorted collection of travellers (American, Aussie, Japanese etc. from 16 to 70 years old) descended the gorge on foot and followed a series of drills in a calm bend of the river. In different ways, each member of our crew displayed their varying degrees of anxiety at the prospect of facing rapids sporting names like “Oblivion”, “The Devil’s Toilet Bowl” and “Commercial Suicide”. Dudley, our 70+ year old was full of fighting talk while Mio was quiet as a mouse, listening intently. Jacqueline from Australia giggled hysterically.
The scenery of the Batoka Gorge below Victoria Falls is spectacular; sheer, cubic black rocks fall from the sky to the river which navigates an extreme series of hairpin bends where rapids are interspersed by eerily calm stretches. Depending on the time of the year, you start rafting at The Boiling Pot right below the Falls or as far along as rapid 4 or 11. Between September and November you can expect general carnage – lots of grade 4 and 5 rapids and the likelihood of airborne people jettisoned from flipping rafts. From December to March, the river is more mellow and the adrenalin-factor more moderate. June to August can be either pretty tame or quite manic depending on the water levels.
The Creamy White Buttocks is named for the countless ill-prepared rafters who have lost their shorts whilst negotiating this rapid. We faced it with whoops and laughs as our boat was tossed around like a rubber duck on the white boiling water. After this, minefields of eddies and whirlpools, standing-waves and cavernous depths tackled our boats while we laughed at the others who took a swim and rescued our recently made friends loyally from the Zambezi. Returning home flushed with sun and exhilaration of our day on the river, the autopsy of our experiences and dissecting of our collective memories will no doubt take a great deal longer.
Find out more about Victora Falls.
Image courtesy of Wild Horizons
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