18th
Amongst other things, social media has sanctioned the voyeuristic tendencies within many of us. Consequently it’s now okay to keep a much beadier eye on the doings of others than previously acceptable, without being considered even a little weird. Therefore, I am unashamed to admit that I get regular feeds on a few individuals through whom I vicariously enjoy adventures when reluctantly tethered to my desk, and therefore incapable of having any of my own.
Within a few weeks, a couple of these souls have embarked/are about to embark on pretty incredible personal journeys and every few days I read with a mixture of awe and envy of their latest exploits, bug-bears and conquests. One of my Facebook friends, Julian Monroe Fisher, will shortly begin walking across the belly of Africa, from the coast of Mozambique to the Atlantic in Angola. The second person is someone I regard with the same curious incomprehension as a fax machine: I have no idea what makes it tick but think it is quite marvellous in any case. Well-known ocean rower, Roz Savage, is a few days into her mammoth 4000 mile solo row across the Indian Ocean.
The blogs relate a repertoire of interesting happenings thrown across their paths (Roz seems to be frequently pelted by flying squid), and describes the very human afflictions which make life on the explorer’s pedestal sometimes less than comfy. From painful blisters to sunburn, annoying insects to homesickness… hurrah, they are mere mortals after all. I find myself searching for what motivates these people to take up the mantle of extraordinary endeavour. Much like my great grandfather, who set off from Scotland in the early 19 hundreds to carve a new life for himself in East Africa, I imagine that much of the reward comes from stepping off the well-trodden path and relishing the unexpected.
Whatever it is that galvanises such people, the interesting thing is that the inspiration they provide can come in many forms and you can take what you will from it. Whether it means choosing a different country to visit next year or throwing in a tedious job to do something on your own, pushing your physical and mental limits in running that marathon, or reading a controversial author…the message for me is that boundaries are there to be pushed and only in doing so do we make room to grow (or, less philosophically, experience the novelty of being hit in the face by air-borne seafood).
11th
Nature is frequently required to remind us diminutive little bipedals who’s boss. For all our technological prowess, at the end of the day we’re still squishy, pink and about as impressive as limp lettuce in the face of our world’s capacity to awe. While sometimes these reminders come in devastating quakes and giant waves, at other times they are beautiful and gently surprising. This year, the rains in Namibia have topped the charts, breaking 100 year old records in terms of quantity and wreaking havoc on roads and previously high-and-dry safari camps. Some places received a year’s worth of rain in a month. This is all relative of course. We’re talking about a country which enjoys over 300 days of sunshine annually (I know, sickening). So when we say it’s been a record rainy season, bear in mind that the creatures of the Namib mainly subsist on sea fog and may only see 100mm of rain in the whole year. But, if you happen to be a tok-tokkie beetle and have to stand on your head every morning to catch drops of fog running down your back for your morning cuppa, you might agree that in the desert, a little rain goes a long way. Ordinarily, the colours of the Namib and wider Skeleton Coast are vivid and captivating. In fact, you run the risk of sounding like a stuck record and exhausting your personal store of enthusiastic adjectives as you exclaim repeatedly how simply astonishing it all is. Add a little water to the equation and you have tumble-weed grass turning from gun-metal grey to psychedelic green and deep-red sand wearing a carpet of yellow flowers. Shallow mirage-like lakes of water appear for the first time in a decade beneath the giant dunes of Sossusvlei . Late afternoon electric storms paint the sky with bruised purple clouds and sheet-lightning. There goes that blue planet, got a new trick and showing off again… If you haven’t planned what to do with all those public holidays at the end of April/beginning of May, think about heading out to Namibia to witness nature’s little party in the desert. 
Have a look at these great pics from the Kulala conservancy near Sossusvlei on our Facebook page. Give us a call on +44 1747 898104 if you’d like to know more about safaris in Namibia. *The above image was taken on Wolwedans in the Namib Rand Reserve. Courtesy of Wolwedans.
02nd
I have a friend to whom the idea of sleeping in a tent is as close to purgatory as one could get without actually shuffling off any mortal coils. Conspicuously sporting an intense dislike of adventure, dust and insects, her preferred accommodation will come complete with wall-to-wall carpeting, air-conditioning and 24-hour satellite TV, preferably including Oprah. If no alternative exists, then camping is undertaken, grudgingly, with a convoy of vehicles loaded with chemical toilets, feather duvets, the latest in portable kitchen-sinks and only barely stopping short of a liveried butler.
Said person once made the point that there was really no need for her to visit the Masai Mara when she could view the migration perfectly well on satellite TV, edited for the action without having to hang around waiting for the wildebeest to eventually summon up the courage to take a dip with the crocodiles. Perhaps she has a point.
Recently I’ve been reading interesting stuff about the role that technology will play in the future of travel and it got me thinking. The gadgets and gizmos that are now part of everyday life have done much to bring us into closer proximity to the world’s wondrous environments, wild animals and diverse people. For someone who still hasn’t figured out how the now-obsolete fax machine works, I find it remarkable that, from the couch, I can watch a leopard hunting baboons in the Okavango Delta, or learn about the colourful tribes of Papua New Guinea. I can spectate as the intrepid presenters of Top Gear try hard to kill a Land Cruiser (and themselves) in the Arctic or watch the often excruciating experiences of the likes of Bruce Parry as he surrenders to the manhood initiations of people in South America (incidentally, how many initiations does one need before one feels secure in one’s manhood?).
So I got to thinking, while sitting warm, comfortable and within easy reach of the salted peanuts and a cold beer, why bother leaving the couch at all?
When getting ready to meet our maker, no one ever says “I wish I’d watched more TV”. TVs, Laptops, Smartphones, iPads etc., are amazing for finding out what’s out there, sharing it with your mates and planning your adventures…there’s an app for that, but this is not the same thing as actually “living it”. And therein lies the rub: casting yourself into the 3-D reality of the migration, actually being there and experiencing it, is incomparable in every way to the unmemorable event of observing it on a flat-screen. Out There is where you hear, taste, feel, smell AND see it happening, leaving sensations and emotions deeply and indelibly branded on your psyche.
While life becomes faster, more complicated, more stressful, increasingly artificial, I yearn more and more for simple pleasures such as the delicious sensation of rinsing the days’ adventures off myskin in the balmy evening air under a bucket suspended from the branch of a tree…and there ain’t no app. for that.
23rd
If only I could blow on the soles of my feet! Pain, pain, ouch, ah, ah…hot, hot! Sporting my preferred attire of shorts and bare feet, I took off at a pace that could leave Usain Bolt in the dust, determined not to return to my tent like any sensible person and don appropriate footwear. Sadly, my fleet-footedness wasn’t in the least bit athletic or dignified; in fact I fear that I looked much like a frog doing Riverdance. Not cool.
Unjustly cursing the deep red sand of the Namib that had left my feet somewhat tender, I went to soak them in the pool. I swam up and down with torpor appropriate to a mid-thirties afternoon in the Namib (the desert was mid-thirties, not me…let’s be clear). It occurred to me that I was swimming lengths on top of a sand-dune. There can’t be many places in the world where you can say that.
Having cooled my heels, I joined my fellow travellers for the obligatory sundowner. The open landrover wound its way along the “road” (two tracks in the red sand), between dry-blue grass that looked rather like clumps of tumble-weed, ready to scatter in the wind at any moment. Suddenly, the ridge of dunes gave on to a 180° view of such depth and emptiness that I could do nothing but just stare and stare. It was vast yet the silence and emptiness made it almost two-dimensional – like a film set all prepped and ready for something dramatic to happen.
Huge gnarled mountains provided a back-drop which changed from grey to red to purple in the setting sun. Fairy circles (more about these later) dotted the wide straw-coloured valley floor as though some divine interior designer had opted frivolously for polka-dots for a bit of a laugh. Sitting with cold green glass bottle in hand and feet wiggling deeper into the sand, warm wind stroking my bare arms….I wished for time to stand still. Later that evening, I seriously considered sleeping on the lounger on my verandah because it seemed such a waste to cover up the gzillions of stars with canvas.
It’s hard to do this place justice with mere words so may I suggest you saunter over to our Facebook page and lose yourself in some stunning imagery from Wolwedans.
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.
08th
“Luxury” is one of those words that is bandied around shamelessly to the point where you become almost numb to what it actually means. Rather like an exclusive club that you’ve skulked into without the necessary qualifications, it seems somehow nefarious and indulgent. Most definitions angle towards material exces: big cars, expensive hotels, small delicacies on big white plates with equally large price-tags. Which is all very well and dandy if this is what blows your hair back. Back to that old cliché: wealth doesn’t bring happiness. Actually, it probably does, but more to the point is what you do with your available spondoolies. The interesting thing is that the richest experiences don’t necessarily cost the earth.
A few years ago, while camping in Namibia, I had one of the most surreal nights of my life. The tent was tiny – just a taut mosquito net between me and the stars. During the deepest part of the night when even the crickets seem to stop humming, an odd feeling woke me. I remember being aware of the quality of the darkness – it was not quite right. Lying still, I took stock of my surroundings and then the side of the tent shifted slightly, almost as though the wind had suddenly gusted.
Looking up, I became aware of shades of night above me and suddenly came properly awake with the realisation that what I was looking at was the underside of an elephant. With two fore-feet against the side of the tent (only a couple of inches from my prone form), the animal was stretching gently over the tent to reach some ripe fruit on a bush. Weirdly, I didn’t start thinking of the inconvenience of being crushed to death at that moment, but lay there marvelling at the size and quietness of this animal. I could smell its grassy scent and hear its knees rubbing against the canvas from time to time.
The point of the story is that this is something that will remain with me forever, long after I will have forgotten the finer points about the interior decor. In Africa, the real richness comes from just being in the place and the closer you can get to the essence of it, the more memorable it is likely to be.
Want to know more about luxury in the bush? Click here.
Have a look at luxury safari ideas.
30th
The Makgadikgadi is inextricably linked to Jack Bousfield, in whose memory the famous Jack’s Camp is named. Admittedly one of the more barking characters that you could hope to meet, Jack arrived in this part of the world during the more wild and woolly part of the nineteen hundreds when it was actually a necessity to be one sandwich short of a picnic to make it in Africa. His resumé includes a mention in the Guinness Book of Records for killing 53,000 crocodiles, surviving seven plane crashes and being gored by at least one elephant. An extreme kind of person well suited to an extreme place.
The Makgadikgadi Pan is about as far removed from your stereotypical safari experience as you can get. Viewed from the lofty vantage point provided by Google Earth, the pan appears as a white smudge to the southeast of the rich greens and blues of the Okavango Delta. On the ground, the glaring flatness stretches to the horizon and it is possible to see the curvature of the earth. Around the edges of this once great lake, the vegetation struggles to regain its tenancy – coarse grass, stands of palm and rugged bush.
As you can imagine, there is a certain knack to survival in the middle of this hostile environment but this doesn’t mean that there is nothing to see. In fact, the tougher the environment…the more interesting the beasties and this gives the Makgadikgadi a special story-book quality; rather like stepping through the looking-glass. Of a morning you might be foraging with a family of meerkats or tracking the strange brown hyena on foot alongside the intuitive San bushmen, sinuous and clad in little more than a small leather kilt and ostrich egg beads. Areas of the pan host colonies of vivid pink flamingos. Scattered fossil sites and ancient human habitation allude to the indelible history of this place.
You should come to the Makgadikgadi with an open mind and be prepared to be surprised on a daily basis. There’s very little in this world that could compete with unrolling a bedroll amid towering baobabs on the lunar rock kopjes that mushroom from the pan, or the sense of freedom imparted by riding a quad-bike hell-for-leather across the vast emptiness. It’s just one of those things that you are unlikely to forget in a hurry.
The camps here are also far from ordinary. Jack’s is famous for its museum-like collection of weird and wonderful objects. San Camp’s stylish simplicity lends itself to its lovely location without detracting one iota from the natural beauty. For a more laid-back experience, Meno a Kwena lies between the Delta and Makgadikgadi.
For safari ideas from Natural High that include Makgadikgadi, click here.
Search for camps and lodges in the Makgadikgadi and Kalahari.
Find out more about the Kalahari, when to visit and other useful articles.
Image courtesy of San Camp
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