Fun in the Sun . . . and in the Rain

While Laurel was back in the States to go to Matt Enquist’s wedding and to receive the Burton award, I was lazing on the beaches of Mozambique. From Maputo, I went up the coast, first to Inhambane, a small town about five hours north of Maputo. While Inhambane is one of Mozambique’s oldest towns and was an Arab trading post even before the Portuguese arrived here, these days it is a sleepy little town that serves primarily as a jumping off point for nearby beaches. And arriving on a Sunday afternoon, it was particularly sleepy. Nonetheless, it was a pleasant place to wander around, chat with people, take pictures of kids doing flips on the beach, and admire the colonial architecture.

The next day, Dennis, the owner of Pensao Pachica, took me out to Tofo, a beach town not too far from Inhambane. With long stretches of white sand and crystal clear water, Tofo is the kind of place that’s hard to leave. Even though I don’t dive (the primary activity in the area), it was easy to let the days slip away walking on the beach, reading, snoozing -- three days turns into four and then to five and you wonder where the time has gone. I did manage to get in a horseback ride on the beach and through the local villages, and I went on the “snorkeling safari” offered by the local dive shop to see the whale sharks, the largest fish in the sea, measuring eight to eleven meters on average. Unfortunately, though we never saw the sharks. Despite hearing about successful excursions every day, when I got on the boat, the South African guy next to me told me it was his third time out; he had gone twice before but had not seen any. It was his last day in Mozambique and he was determined to see the whale sharks before he went back to Johannesburg the next day. At that point, I knew we were doomed for failure – the pressure was too great, and he was, to put it mildly, disappointed.

Eventually, I managed to pry myself away from Tofo and head further north to Vilankulos. The trip entailed a chapa (mini-bus) ride from Tofo to Inhambane, then a short (but very crowded) ferry ride from Inhambane to Maxixe, and then another chapa ride to Vilankulos. While Tofo has a bit of a “you could be in Thailand eating banana pancakes backpacker” feeling to it, Vilankulos feels more like a place where people would live even without a tourist industry. Hit fairly hard by the cyclone earlier this year, Vilankulos is recovering quickly and open for business, despite persistent rumors to the contrary.

While I made plans to go on an excursion to Magaruque Island in the Bazaruto Archipelago the next day, the weather was bad and instead spent a lazy Sunday wandering along the water and around town with Noel from Ireland and Mia from Denmark. The highlight of the day was back at the hostel (Zombie Cucumber), sitting under the lapa (open-air, thatch-roofed building), drinking beer and enjoying the thunder and lightening storm before a delicious dinner of stuffed crab.

The next day, the weather cleared and we headed out to the island with Dolphin Dhow. We spent the day lazing on the beach, snorkeling along the reef that runs right along the shore, and eating a very tasty lunch of grilled fish, crab, rice, and a tomato-onion-potato sauce. After lunch, we wandered down to the other end of the island as the tide was coming in. Apparently, we lost track of time a bit, and when we looked up, the other dhows had all taken off; our boat came down to find us and we scrambled back on and headed off.

Unfortunately, my time at the beach had to come to an end and I had to make my way back to Maputo. The only real drawback to Mozambique is that all transport leaves really early in the morning (or really late at night depending on how you look at it), and the longer the trip, the earlier it leaves. The bus back to Maputo was scheduled to leave at 3:30 a.m., so I was up at 2:45; at 3:00, the night watchman walked me into town to catch the bus; and, amazingly, we were on the road by 3:50. After 11 hours and one bathroom break (the driver stopped the bus, yelled “baño,” and the guys took off for the bush on the left and the women for the bush on the right), we were back in Maputo.

Today, my last day in Mozambique, I decided I should have some culture, so I went to the Natural History Museum. Housed in a beautiful old building, it has an aging collection of taxidermy and a strange, but interesting, set of elephant fetuses, ranging from one to nineteen months, in jars of formaldehyde. By afternoon, it started to cloud up, so I treated myself to a long lunch of prawn curry followed by ice cream (although I subscribe to Laura Goldblum’s theory that the after-breakfast nap is the ultimate sign of vacation, Mia – the Danish girl—made a good argument that you’re not really on vacation unless you have two ice creams a day, so I’m trying her theory out for a while). Luckily, I made it back to the guesthouse before the rain started in earnest, and hopefully, it will stop before tomorrow’s 7:00 a.m. flight back to Johannesburg.

Chillin’ with the children (literally)

While Mimi was traveling with Ellen and Sandy and making her way to sunny Mozambique, I traveled with my children: my son, Michael; my daughter, Julia; and my daughter's husband, Michael. (Yes - having two Michaels is confusing.) Not only was it great to see my children, but I loved seeing South Africa through their eyes.

The kids arrived, appropriately enough, on Sunday, May 12: Mother's Day. Although Mimi and I have always used public transportation or had guides or drivers, I decided that, given South Africa's great road system, I would rent a car. Thus, after picking up the kids, we piled into our rental car and, repeating the phrase “stay left, stay left, stay left,” headed out for Pretoria. The kids' immediate reaction was that South Africa didn't look like the Africa that Julia had seen in Uganda or that the boys had seen on TV or in the movie that they had watched on the plane ride: Blood Diamonds. Their image of Africa was changed even more dramatically when we arrived at the B & B that Mimi and I had stayed at when we were working in Pretoria, a colonial-style home on a tree-lined street with large rooms and silver in the dining room.

Early the next morning, we headed out on the M-4, a modern toll road, for Swaziland, an independent country in the eastern part of South Africa that is ruled by a 39-year-old king who dresses in his traditional clothing for all of his official photographs. While Swaziland is relatively prosperous, the kids decided that it looked much more like the Africa that they had imagined. The roads were narrower, there were people and animals everywhere, and, for the most part, their faces were the only white faces.

We spent Monday and Tuesday nights at Milwane Game reserve, which is in the central part of Swaziland. The game park is unusual in that you can drive through it, getting out of your car whenever you choose to do so.

Thus, we were able to get within a few feet of ostriches, zebras, warthogs, and the numerous impala that inhabit the park. Heeding the warning from part rangers, we did, however, keep our distance from the hippos and the crocodiles, who lined the edge of the waterholes.

Some of the highlights of this part of the trip were staying in the traditional beehive huts (and watching the locals construct new ones) and eating impala steaks for dinner. (Because there were only six guests at the park, the food choices were limited – it was impala steak for dinner or nothing at all.) As it turns out, impala steak is delicious, and we were assured that, by eating the steaks, we were doing the environmentally right thing by helping to “cull” the ever-growing herd.

On Wednesday, we headed to St. Lucia, a World Heritage site on the northeast coast of South Africa that features a large lake, an estuary, the only sand dunes in the world that are covered with vegetation, and the warm Indian Ocean. On our first night we saw one of things for which St. Lucia famous: hippos walking down the main street of town. (Actually, when we saw them, they were in grazing next to the main street.) The next day, Thursday, we headed to the beach to watch the sunrise and to give my Michael an opportunity to practice throwing the spear that he had purchased at a market in Swaziland. After a game of tag that ended with Julia, fully clothed, in the ocean, we headed back to the hotel for a late breakfast and a boat trip on the lake and estuary. It was then back to the beach for more spear throwing and football.

The day ended with a surprise. At a bout 8:30, a group of Swazi dancers appeared at the hotel for a performance for the small tour group that was staying at our hotel. Given that the performance was less than 20 feet from our rooms, we were invited to join the tour group, and we enjoyed an hour of boisterous stick fighting, dancing, and singing. At the end, Julia and her husband were given the opportunity to perform and, while they don’t have all of the moves down, they showed great promise.

Friday was “cultural day.” After breakfast, we drove to a trading center that was about 20 miles from our hotel to meet our guide, Mitta, who we were supposed to pick up at 9:00 a.m. for a morning visit to her village. Although we got to the trading center at 9:00, the school group that Mitta was supposed to greet and send off on a separate tour had disappeared, and she spent the next hour and a half looking for them, while a couple of young men took us shopping for bananas and other groceries. The delay gave my kids not only an opportunity to experience “African time,” but also an opportunity to hangout with people their own age: the young men filled my kids in on the local music scene, and my kids taught them how to play American football, which ended, unfortunately, with the ball going into a spiritual area.

We did, however, eventually leave for the village, about a 45-minute drive on dirt roads. We spent about an hour and a half at one of the local schools where we met with the principal and visited each of the three classrooms to let the students practice their English by asking us questions. We then moved to the school’s “auditorium,” a relatively large but dusty room where we were treated to a preview of the songs and dances that the kids were scheduled to perform the following week at a cultural festival.

After visiting the school, we piled back into the car, Mitta took off her wig and put on the traditional scarf that she needs to wear when she is on her father-in-law's homestead, and we headed to visit her father-in-law, with whom she lives with her husband, children, and assorted other relatives. As it turns out, Mitta's father-in-law is quite wealthy, "owning" more than 50 cows and two wives. Although he does not speak any English, Mitta taught us the basic greetings and showed us all of the buildings, which included both traditional buildings and kitchens and Mitta’s English “house” and English kitchen. (The kids sleep with one of Mitta’s two mother-in-laws)

Because Mitta’s father-in-law has cows, he also has flies. As a result, we went to a poorer

neighbor’s homestead for lunch in a traditional beehive hut with dung floors and walls. We sat on the floor and had a great lunch of chicken, spinach, some type of rice, and juice made from water from the local “tap.” At the end, all of the neighborhoodchildren crowded into the hut, where each of them were given a marsh mellow and, for reasons we did not quite understand, sang the South African national anthem for us. We ended our visit with some time with the kids, who seemed to love having their pictures taken, particularly while talking on their banana cellphones.

As the day ended, we headed back to the trading center, where we dropped Mitta off and headed for a quick visit to the Croc Centre, which was on the verge of closing for the evening. (Everything in town closes when it gets dark, which is at about 5:00 p.m.) We were, however, able to see the research center and the crocodiles and, as an inducement to get us to leave, someone who may--or may not-- have been a staff member, let my Michael hold one of the small crocodiles. Later that evening we joined the locals at one of the town’s two bars for a couple of quick games of pool.

Saturday was a driving day. Although originally we had not planned to visit Kruger, Julia wanted to see giraffes, and Kruger was the only place where we knew that we had a good chance of seeing them. Although the lodge that we booked turned out to be deep in the woods outside of town, by this time the kids were ready for some “night life,” so we made the 30 minute drive down dark roads into town in search of “the mall.” In town, we promptly got lost and spent another 30 minutes driving around a town in which many of the street signs did not match the names on our map (South Africa is the process of “Africanizing” many of its place and street names, which has created problems not only for tourists but also for the locals.) We did, eventually find the mall, and the attached casino, but after spending so much time looking for the mall, we were tired and, after eating dinner and witnessing a fight, we headed back to the lodge.

We started Sunday with a drive through some of South Africa’s most spectacular scenery: beautiful forest-covered mountains with waterfalls and viewpoints with names like “God’s Window.”

We then headed further east into Kruger. Although I had been skeptical about Kruger, thinking that it might be too touristy, we had a wonderful time. One of the rangers told us which road to take to find giraffes and, after about an hour of driving, we turned a corner and there were giraffes standing right next to the road. The giraffes seemed to be as interested in us and we were in them, and instead of running from us, they approached us, peaking at us from behind trees. Later, we had the opportunity to spend time with a herd of elephants who had taken over possession of the road and to see what we are quite sure was a leopard.

The next day was another driving day: Julia and I are great fans of the “Number 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency” series of books and, although it meant a bit a driving, we were determined to go into Gaborone, Botswana, where the stories are set. Because we made a number of stops along the way (and were attacked by birds), we did not get to Gaborone until 5:30, which means that we did not get there until after dark. We had made reservations at the President Hotel, one of the hotels featured in the books. Finding the hotel was not, however, easy. As it turns out there are very few directional or street signs in Gaborone, and there isn’t even a sign on the hotel itself, which can only be reached via a one-way alley. After asking at least six people for directions, we finally arrived at what we were quite sure was the hotel – a building that matched the description given in the books and on one of the few streets that had a street sign: President Street. Unfortunately, the street was the back entrance to the President’s home and the gun-toting guards were none too happy about the fact that we had driven up to the gate. When I got out of the car to ask about the hotel, the guns were pointed at us, and I was ordered back into the car. Although we thought that the subsequent hand motions meant that we should leave, when we started to leave, the guards got angry and asked us why we were trying to “run away.” Eventually, we found the hotel. Unfortunately, though, the hotel was in the process of being remodeled, which meant that the dining room was just a cold room and not the veranda described in the books.

We spent the next morning, Tuesday morning, exploring Gaborone before heading out to one final game park, Madikwe Game Reserve, which is on the border between South Africa and Botswana. After entering the reserve, we started on what should have been a forty-five minute drive to Jaci’s Tree House Lodge. However, within just a few minutes, we began seeing animals: impala, kudu, zebra, and warthogs, which required stops and pictures. In addition, about twenty minutes into the drive we saw a car stopped by the side of the road: a sure sign that the occupants of the car had spotted some sort of animal in the bush. As it turns out, the occupants had spotted a lion. Although the other car didn’t stay long, we stayed to watch and, as we did, a safari vehicle from another lodge pulled up beside us. The guide, who had just dropped some guests off at the private airport, asked us if we wanted a closer look. We said yes, and he had us drive short distance down the road, where we parked our car and got into his vehicle. He then took us “off road,” where we saw not only the one lion that we had originally seen, but a group of five lions who were busy devouring a wildebeest that they had killed earlier that morning.

As our forty-five minute drive turned into close to two hours, we continued to the lodge, which was spectacular. We had two large “tree-houses,” which were beautifully furnished and which featured not only huge tubs and outdoor showers but also great decks. Even more important, though, was that the tree houses had heaters of sorts: although the rooms were never warm, they weren’t freezing.

We spent the next two days taking morning and afternoon game drives, sitting by the waterhole watching the elephants come and go, and eating classy food (maybe a bit too classy for the boys) and doing our best to stay warm. On each of the three-hour game drives, we wore most of the clothing that we had brought and huddled under blankets that the lodge supplied. In addition, during the early morning drives, each of us received our own hot water bottle, which we placed on our stomachs. Although on some drives we saw relatively few animals, we learned a lot (one drive featured a dung lesson and another a tracking lesson.) In addition, two of the drives featured show downs with elephants and, after two drives spent looking, we finally found my Michael’s animal of choice, white rhinos, which we tracked and then got very close to.

Thus, by the last day, we had seen all of the big five, including the buffalo, which we have taken out the big five and replaced with the giraffe; my little five, which includes mongoose and bunnies, and even my middle five.

We ended the trip with a bit of shopping, first at curio stores in a small town outside of Pretoria, where we were mobbed by vendors and my Michael got to know the guys at the local bar, and with a final day in Pretoria. It was then off to Wits University to drop off my suitcases the projector, and teaching materials. Unfortunately, our directions were not particularly good and we ended up in downtown Joberg during rush hour and almost missed our plane. We are currently in the final hour of our very long plane ride, which included which included a 17-hour flight from Jo'berg to Washington DC, where Julia’s husband was detained for about 20 minutes for police questioning. With any luck, we will get home in time to shower before we head off to Matt Enquist’s wedding.

Bem Vindo a Maputo

In Pretoria and Durban, we felt like we could have been in U.S.; in Capetown, a European city or Vancouver, B.C.; in the cities in Namibia, pure Germany, and in the Namibian desert, Mongolia, Bolivia, or another world entirely. But here in Mozambique – for better and for worse – I am squarely back in Africa.

Maputo, the capital city, feels like a combination of Dar es Salaam (low-lying African city by the sea); Lima, Peru (colonial Latin capital); and Sebastopol, Ukraine (former Soviet outpost and seaside resort), with a bit of Miami Beach art deco through in for good measure. The Portuguese influences – architectural, culinary, and cultural – make me wish that the Southern Europeans did more colonizing than the British, Dutch, and Germans. While many of the old colonial homes are in varying states of decay and disrepair, plenty remain along the wide boulevards of Maputo’s upscale neighborhoods.

Maputo is a great walking city – flat, on a grid, and breezy (the only downside are the Kampala-style holes in the sidewalks). So during my two days here, I did little more than wander the streets, stopping in cafes, parks, and along the seaside to stare at the turquoise blue Indian Ocean. The street names, by the way, are mostly of Communist and Socialist heroes and dictators, depending on how you look at it: from Ho Chi Min to Lenin to Julius Nyerere to Mao Tse Tung. People are very friendly, greeting you with “bom dia” and lots of them walk down the streets singing. I pretended (not usually with great success) to speak Portuguese, basically by speaking Spanish and throwing in the three Portuguese words that I know.

For lunch on Friday, I went to the Feira Popular, a sort of amusement park area in the Baixa (lower) downtown area, which has a number of small open-air restaurants. The choice of prawns in curry sauce turned out to be an excellent one, made better only when I asked for hot sauce and was brought a spicy but sweet homemade sauce made from piri-piri (hot peppers) and Meyer lemons.

After lunch, feeling slightly lethargic, I stopped at the Café Continental, a colonial relic, for a café com leite (like a latte). Before I could even order, the man at the next table (who looked like he was in his mid-70’s) asked me: “Portuegesa o extrajera?” (Was I Portuguese or a foreigner?) When I told him I was from the U.S., he told me he was from Seattle (actually Kirkland, across the lake) and within five minutes, I knew his entire life story. His name was Hassan; he was originally from Mozambique, of Indian heritage; he left Maputo 37 years ago to move to London so the doctors could treat the beginnings of his wife’s life-long battle with schizophrenia. I also learned about every job he had in his life; how much he made, what his two daughters and their husbands did and how much they made, and I saw pictures of his children and grandchildren. It turns out that he was in Mozambique, visiting his cousin, for the first time since he had moved away.

After a lengthy chat, Hassan invited me to have dinner with him and his cousin, Amin (who turned out to be in his early 60’s or so). Thinking that we would try some quaint local place, I agreed.

Around 9:30, they picked me up, both wearing slacks, sport coats, and ties, and me (as usual) in jeans and a sweater. Before dinner, we took a drive around the city and then out to the Costa do Sol, the beach area just outside the city. For dinner, they chose a swanky, brand-new casino, and by the time we arrived it was close to 11:00. Nonetheless, we ordered and dinner arrived around 11:30. Apparently, Hassan chose the casino because he loves to dance, and after trying all of the night spots in Maputo, this was his favorite. So after dinner, we went upstairs to the disco to join the smartly- (and sometimes barely-) dressed, 20-something Mozambicans and Europeans dancing to a mix of house music, rap, and the occasional Donna Summers song. Needless to say, with Hassan and I dancing and Amin snapping photos, we stuck out just a bit. By 1:00 a.m., Hassan was still raring to go, but I was pooped and eventually convinced them to call it a night.

Today was slightly less eventful. After a visit to the Saturday morning crafts market (“amiga, amiga, I will give you a good price”), I headed over to the main food market, where Alex, 18 years old, showed me around, visiting all of his relatives’ stalls for free samples of honey, freshly-roasted cashews, and various hot sauces. Cutting through the park on my way back to the guesthouse (Residencial Palmeiras), there was a wedding party on a photo shoot. While the bride and groom were posing, the rest of the wedding party were singing and doing what appeared to be a traditional line dance. I stopped to watch for a minute and one of the guys called me over; after I demurred a couple of times, I felt compelled to accept his invitation to join them, and even though it was a relatively simple dance, after about five minutes, I felt like they had had enough fun at my expense that I could gracefully excuse myself.

Lunch was piri-piri chicken, a traditional Mozambican specialty and some of the spiciest chicken I have ever had, at a place that looked and felt like it didn’t know that the revolution had come and colonial rule was over.

After another long walk down the tree-lined seaside promenade of Avenida Fredrich Engels, I headed home to organize my stuff in preparation for tomorrow’s 5:30 a.m. mini-bus up the coast to Inhambane.

A Vacation from Traveling

The next morning, Sandy and Ellen left for the airport, and I was on my own for the first time during this trip. I spent the morning just running errands, checking email, and doing all the little things you can’t do in the desert. I was glad to go back to downtown Windhoek before 1:00 p.m. on a Saturday. When we had first arrived, we came downtown in the afternoon and the city was absolutely dead: shops were closed and the streets were empty. Before 1:00 p.m., however, it was a different place, lively, crowded, and bustling with energy. Still, I wanted to just relax for a few days, and this was not the place to do it, so I headed back to Swakopmund on the coast.

Rolf arranged for me to stay at The Secret Garden, a lovely little guesthouse run by a very friendly retired couple and their three funny little dogs. While the owners kept trying to get me to organize activities, after four and a half months of traveling, I was very happy to do not much of anything for a few days. The highlight of my first day was doing my own laundry (for the first time on this trip) at the Swakopmund Laundrette and Amusement Centre, a bit of a strange place that in addition to having washers, driers, and coin-operated irons, had small amusement park rides, a bar, and slot machines. The bulk of the rest of my time in Swakopmund was spent walking on the beach, reading, getting treatments, and eating very fresh seafood.

I only made one culinary mistake. One day for lunch, I ate at the local brewpub. Under “Light Lunches,” was something called “brawn.” I asked the waitress what it was and she said (actually, I heard) a chili stuffed with vegetables and meat. Sounded good, kind of like a German chili relleno. What arrived was a big glob of cold aspic with chunks of meat and veggie in it. All I can figure is that she was saying that it was "chilled." Luckily it came with good homemade tartar sauce and a large side order of potatoes fried with bacon and onions. To make up for it, later in the day, I went back to the Lighthouse Bar and Restaurant, sat on the deck overlooking the ocean, and had one of our favorite Namibian specialties, the Don Pedro, a thick milkshake blended with your choice of liqueur, particularly tasty when made with Kahlua.

My last day, I rented a bike for a short ride in the morning. As I headed out of the rental shop, I was surprised that so many of the roads were one-way, until I realized I was riding on the wrong side of the street. (I’m glad I decided against renting a car on my own.) But once I realized it, I managed pretty well. The bike had seen better days, with no brakes in the back and barely functional ones in the front. Luckily the area is pretty flat and there are few cars on the roads. I road north out of town and was amazed (and a bit horrified) at how much development is going on: condos, townhouses, and McMansions popping up everywhere.

Yesterday, I returned to Windhoek by bus and along the way, during the four hour journey, I saw warthogs, guinea fowl, glossy starlings and other birds, and even one large male kudu. And this afternoon, I head off for the beaches of Mozambique. While winter is starting here, and the nights are getting chilly, Namibians are extremely warm and hospitable people. Just two examples: First, as the bus rolled out of Swakopmund yesterday, people on the street – and not just kids – waved goodbye and the same thing happened as we arrived in Windhoek. Second, instead of saying “you’re welcome,” Namibians say “pleasure” (as in, “it’s my . . .”), and they say it in a way that makes you believe that it really is.

Amphibious Namibia

If I were running the Namibian Tourist Board (and lucky for them, I’m not), my slogan would be Amphibious Namibia because there’s so much to do both on land and on the sea. (In fact, I think the people here should be called Namphibians, but given that they’ve only been Namibians – as opposed to South-West Africans – for 17 years now, it’s probably not the right time for a name change. I also think people in Botswana should be called “Botswanese,” but that’s another matter.)

After we left Laurel in Swakopmund, we headed back inland for what would turn out to be a very long (and kind of boring) day of driving. But we started with a few tourist attractions. First stop was just outside of town to see The Martin Luther, a strange relic from colonial days. It is a 14,000 kg. steam engine that was brought from Germany in 1896 and was intended to replace the ox wagons that were used to transport freight from the coast to the interior. However, given that it consumed massive amounts of water – a precious commodity in the desert – and moved incredibly slowly in sand (3 months to cover 30 km), it was not a great success, and after a short life simply ground to a halt. Apparently, it was then dubbed The Martin Luther in reference to Luther’s statement: “Here I stand. May God help me, I cannot do otherwise.”

Next stop was Cape Cross, a sanctuary for fur seals. During breeding season, as many as 200,000 seals come here; we saw probably close to 60,000, which was smelly enough, but fun to see playing in the waves and sunning themselves on the sand.

We then started driving in earnest. When the road crossed through an industrial diamond area, we had to stop so that guard could radio ahead to the next guard to let him know we were coming. Apparently, they time you, and you get 15 minutes to get through. (Although I’m not quite sure what happens if you take longer than 15 minutes.)

By late afternoon, we arrived at the Palmwag (pronounced pa-lem-vag, accent on the “pa”) Lodge, where we had to leave our vehicle (a mini-van) and transfer to a LandRover. Although we had only 30 more kilometers to cover, it took another two hours on rough terrain.

The Palmwag Rhino Camp, our home for the next two nights, was run by Wilderness Safaris, the same company that ran our camp in Soussevlei and the next three that we would stay at. Again, we were welcomed with cool towels and fruit juice – a custom that we were coming to expect and enjoy. The camp was more low-key than the first one, but still luxurious for camping. Although we had flush toilets in the tent, hot water was brought on request for bucket showers and thermoses with hot and cold water were left for washing up. Still, we had real beds, with fluffy comforters and turn-down service.

Before dinner, guests gathered around the fire for drinks and for stargazing. So close to the equator and with no lights for miles around, it seems the stars will practically touch the ground.

The next day, we get up early – this is starting to be a pattern, but we go to bed so early that it’s really not too bad. After breakfast at around 6:00, we set off for rhino tracking.

Three trackers who work for the Save the Rhino Trust started out ahead of us, but by the time we caught up to them, they had seen nothing. After a couple more hours in pursuit, the trackers finally got out of their vehicle and started on foot. We followed, up a small hill, and in the distance, not more than 100 yards away from us were a black rhino and her calf. Although we had been briefed on what do if the rhino charged, luckily we never needed to use that information. Instead, we watched them, while they watched us, and eventually, they wandered off behind the next hill.

We also learned some interesting facts about rhinos. First, the names “black” and “white” rhinos are misnomers; all rhinos are grey. The difference between the species is the size of the lips, with the white rhinos having wider ones. Apparently, the word for “wide” in Afrikaans was mistranslated to “white” in English and the name stuck. Second, if you can’t get close enough to the rhinos to inspect their lips, you can tell rhinos apart by the way they walk with their young: a black rhino calf walks behind its mother while a white rhino calf walks in front. This is because, at least according to some people, Africans carry their babies on their backs while white people push them in front in a stroller. On the way back to camp, as an extra treat, we saw our first (of many) desert adapted elephants. While these elephants do not differ biologically from other elephants, they have developed behaviors that allow them to survive in the harsh desert environment.

At dinner that night, it was just us, one other guest, and the camp staff. The other guest, Tanya, has my dream job. She lives in London and works for a high-end travel agency, specializing in Africa. She was visiting Namibia as part of her training, so that she could best advise her clients on where to go. Sure seems to beat grading papers.

Our next stop was the Damaraland Camp, for just one night. The highlight here was an al fresco dinner in the boma (corral). One of the best parts of the dinner hour in these camps is the recitation of the menu, first in English and then in the very animated “click” language of the Nama and Bushmen people.

After Damaraland, we went on to Ongava, a private game reserve directly outside Etosha National Park. After getting settled in, we went for a game drive on the property and within five minutes, we came up two male lions taking their afternoon naps. Seated in the open-sided vehicle, we were so close that we felt like we could almost reach out and pet them, and so close that when Ellen sneezed, they both woke up, glared at us, but then luckily went on snoozing. Our next activity was the ritual sundowner; this time it was set up in a small clearing where we could watch giraffes, zebra, springbok, and oryx as the sun set and the moon came up.

One of guests that night was Lisa, a middle-aged American woman who visited Namibia for the first time just a year ago and loved it so much that she quit her job “selling bananas to Wal-Mart” to work as a bush pilot shuttling guests from one lodge to the next.

After a yummy Italian dinner prepared by one of the guests who just happens to be chef, we were escorted back to our tents by an armed guard. Although we didn’t see any, apparently lions are known to roam the camp after dark, and while we signed all kinds of waivers, the management is taking any chances.

The next day, we spent the morning on a game drive in Etosha National Park. Because it is so dry here, most of the game viewing revolves around the watering holes in the park, which makes it relatively easy to find animals. We saw loads of elephants, including quite a few babies; all kinds of antelopes, my favorite being the springbok, which “prong,” or bounce up in the air – several feet- just because they can; and the usual jackals, ostriches, giraffes, and zebras.

We came back to camp for a hot lunch and then lounged on the verandah in front of the watering hole. While a bit decadent, it was quite nice to be able to relax with a cold drink, feet in the pool, and watch the bushbuck, kudus, and oryx wander up.

That afternoon, we went for a nature walk with Cameron, one of the camp managers. Originally from Zimbabwe, Cameron’s family moved to Namibia during the war, and he has made Namibia his home. He and his wife, Wendy, a former social worker who worked with abused children and prostitutes, decided to give up city life and move to the bush in retirement. While Cameron showed us many of the wonders of nature, it turns out that his specialty was poop, or as they say in the scientific world, “scat.” Not only could Cameron identify each animal by its poop, but he could tell us quite a bit about the animal’s eating habits, digestive track, and territorial behaviors. In addition, he seemed to revel in our reactions as he picked up the poop, broke up apart, held it up to his nose like a fine wine, and then offered us the chance to do the same.

The next morning, we left Andre, our guide, to fly up to the Skeleton Coast. Andre took us to the Ongava airstrip, where we met our pilot, Grant, who looked like he started shaving maybe last week. We piled into the 4-seater Cessna, said our good-byes to Andre, and set off for the 45 minute flight. While driving across Namibia, we had some sense of how vast and sparsely populated the country is (in fact, it is second-to-last only ahead of Mongolia in population density in the world), seeing it from the air drove the point home. Amazingly though, amid miles and miles of nothing, away from any roads or even rivers, we could see small homesteads dotted around the barren landscape.

We arrived at Purros airstrip, a field of sand and nothing more, that made Ongava airstrip, with its gate and two restrooms, look like a modern airport. In fact, as we landed, Grant pointed out two other airplanes to prove to us that this was actually where we were supposed to land.

We were met by Rambo (yes, that is really his name), our guide for the next three days. Wilderness owns two camps, right next to each other, on the Skeleton Coast: the main camp and the research center, where we stayed. While there is no research currently being done, the camp was originally established to house scientists studying lichen in the area. The camp was the most rustic of all – but still luxurious by any standard – and we were the only ones staying there. At first we were a bit nervous about being so isolated, but the staff there were so much fun that we were glad to have them all to ourselves.

Because we had been sitting so much lately, we decided to walk that afternoon. We wandered around with Rambo, looking for the “small five.” While on game drive in Africa, we look for the “big five” (elephants, rhinos, buffaloes, leopard, and lion), in the desert we look for things like the ant lion, the fog beetle, and other tiny creatures that have adapted to the inhospitable conditions. (The fog beetle, locally known as the tok tokkie, is my favorite of these. It is a medium-sized beetle that looks kind of like a big peanut, with a crease running down the middle of its back. It catches moisture from the fog in the crease, and then tilts forward, with its head in the sand so the water rolls towards its mouth and it can drink.) After walking for a short bit, we climbed a small hill to find our sundowner table already prepared and our arrival perfectly timed. We enjoyed our G & T’s in the stillness of the desert before wandering back to camp.

After yet another delicious meal, with not much else to do and with temperatures dropping to close to freezing, we climbed into bed at around 8:30. Here, to our great joy, turndown service included the strategic placement of hot water bottles in each of our beds.

The next day we awoke to heavy fog and, after breakfast, set off for the 30 km drive to the Atlantic coast.

Rather than driving directly, we spent hours driving up and down the dunes and getting out every now and again to take pictures and to hunt for rocks and minerals.

We stopped at a small oasis, where we collected pieces of an oryx skeleton before Rambo convinced us to play in the quicksand. Rambo, Ellen, and I lined up at the edge of the quicksand for a race. On your marks, get set, and after two steps of running we were up to our knees and literally stopped dead in our tracks, propelling us forward and falling on our faces in the sand. We tried to wriggle ourselves out but were laughing so hard that we kept falling back into the sand. Halfway across the quicksand field, Rambo started running on top of the sand and challenged us to “run like Jesus” to the other side. Although Rambo, at well over 200 pounds could do it, the two of us could not manage to take more than two steps without finding ourselves facedown in the sand.

Around noon, we reached the coast. The Skeleton Coast has been the site of many shipwrecks and takes its name from the bones of the many lost and stranded sailors that have been found on the coast and in the nearby desert. As we drove, we saw massive bones from the Southern Right whale; huge pieces of gnarled driftwood; and cormorants (locally known as the Skeleton Coast Air Force because they fly in formation along the coast), sea gulls, terns, and other shore birds. What we didn’t see much of was people. One other car passed while we were eating our picnic lunch, and later in the day we saw a convoy of five vehicles that we traveling around the perimeter of Africa distributing free mosquito nets in an anti-malaria campaign.

The next day, we took a drive inland, first visiting a Himba family. The Himba people are pastoralists, following their cows and goats to grazing land and leading a very traditional lifestyle. We met two grannies who still dress and adorn themselves in the customary way: they rub a paste of ochre powder mixed with milk fat all over their bodies, making their skin supple and tinged with red; they plait their hair in a way that shows that they are married women; and they dress in nothing but a skirt made of sheep skin that is dyed to match their skin color. The kids, however, were all in Western dress, mugging for the camera like every other African kid that we met.

We then drove around looking at the stunning scenery and searching for animals. Here, we saw more desert-adapted animals, some of which were walking side-by-side with the local livestock.

We also saw more oryx, springbok, giraffe, and chakma baboons. The oryx, otherwise known as the gemsbok, is particularly well-suited to desert environs: First, it does not need to drink water; it can extract moisture from air and plants. Second, it is able to regulate its own internal temperature up to 116 degrees during the day and 97 at night. However, the 116 degree blood would fry its brain, so it has a sort of cooling system in the nasal passage that cools the blood before it passes into the brain.

That evening, for dinner, Morne, the camp manager, told us we’d have a chance to watch the Cooking Channel on bush TV. We had a “braai” or traditional Namibian barbeque, which Chris, the cook, prepared it over the open fire in front of us. Namibians love their meat, so the main course was steak, pork chops, and sausage. For side dishes, butternut squash stuffed with pinto beans and topped with melted cheese; stir fry of vegetables; corn on the cob; and doughboy rolls cooked over the fire. And, after all that, chocolate mousse for dessert.

On Friday, sadly we had to return to Windhoek. We took a leisurely drive back to Purros airstrip, where we sat under a tree waiting for our plane.

As soon as he heard the plane, Rambo jumped up, backed the vehicle onto the airstrip, and jumped on the hood, unfurling a roll of toilet paper as a homemade windsock to guide our pilot in. Phillip, as young as Grant, flew us back to Windhoek and back to civilization. Although we were sad to end our safari, Rolf softened the blow, welcoming us back to Terra Africa like we were long lost relatives and preparing us a delicious home-cooked dinner.

Some pix from Soussevlei

Sunrise over the Dunes

Deadvlei

Laurel and Ellen Climbing up Dune 45