This is the last day before heading into Etosha National Park and it was time for some culture on the way, visiting the last traditional tribe in Namibia.

Our route today took us to Toshari Lodge, not far outside the entrance to Etosha, via the Himba orphanage village of Otjikandero. The Himba still live a largely traditional lifestyle though the village is firmly on the tourist trail. Much of the money they make from this enterprise goes to schooling the children. Our truck vibro-massaged its way in through the entrance gate and pulled up outside the toilets and school. [You are forbidden to laugh unless you are fluent in the Himba language, which I think is Herero.]

Before entering, we were briefed on a handful of basic phrases in the Himba’s language: “moro” = hello, for example, and “okuhepa” = thank you. There’s a line that strangers are forbidden to cross before being invited in. Fortunately, we had a member of the tribe guiding us so we were automatically invited in. Prepare yourself for some nudity, the women do not wear tops. 😉 We wandered in and were almost immediately bombarded by shouts of “moro, moro”. It’s polite to reply.

Several of the Himbas’ traditional customs seem strange to us. Male children, for example, have their lower two front teeth removed at an early age (age 10 or 12, I can’t quite remember). The women never touch water; in other words, they don’t wash as we understand the term. Instead, they use smoke to clean themselves. Francine watched a demonstration of this technique inside one of their huts. My knees grumbled at the crouching position held for too long so I left to play tourist with the children.

The Himba women all sport a traditional hairstyle, which we were also shown being applied. Here, we began to see the mixing of the traditional with the more modern western: The bound part of the hair here is natural; the tassel-like pompoms at the ends, which begin to resemble a fur collar to my eyes, are extensions bought from the supermarket.

Here’s a woman using a large knife to chop up part of a warthog – yum, apparently it tastes most like chicken – which is stored hanging in a tree beside her hut. No refrigeration, then? However, some way to the left, was another hut, its thatched roof supporting a modest string of small solar panels. That hut can just be seen to the back left in the second picture showing the coral for the cattle. Incidentally, the fire in the foreground is the holy fire which, like the eternal flame, shouldn’t ever go out.

They do like to have their pictures taken, especially the children, and then they like to see themselves on the back of your camera. They are clearly quite familiar with this aspect of modern technology; Francine took a picture of two young girls, showed them, and one of them began trying to expand her image by dragging two fingers apart across the screen, as if it were a phone or a tablet. Canon screens don’t work like that. 😉 As I was crouching (briefly), one little girl squirmed in between me and my camera; I adjusted the settings and zoom, just lining up by guesswork, so she could take a picture herself. [Right] Who said I don’t like children?

After the obligatory browsing and purchasing of their local crafts, it was time to leave. You could make your cynical self imagine the Himbas saying, “right, the grockels have gone, now let’s pack up and go back to our real homes”. No, not really, it is genuine.

We hit Outjo and called in to a bakkery (that’s the way they spelled it) for lunch at Outjo. While we were having lunch our truck disappeared for a while – hmm?-  I assumed, maybe, to fill up again. Never miss an opportunity to top up the tank in Namibia.

The truck returned and we continued to our accommodation, Toshari Lodge, arriving at 2:20 PM. This looked chic. Compared to what we’d been in thus far, it was absolute luxury. Our room was spacious with two huge beds, though the aircon dripped when turned up full. I’d have top do something about that to sleep. There were nets all around the beds that looked as though they were intended to be mosquito protection, yet there was a louvered window above the beds with no screen. Maybe it was just for decoration, then.

With time to spare and well planted grounds around the cottage rooms, we had plenty of time for a critter hunt before dinner. Francine went down to where we’d spotted some of those constantly cruising dragonflies, switched to manual and managed to snag a couple of shots, all be they distant.  They should be enough for an id, though. Well done Francine. My suspicions strengthened but it remains unidentified.

Dinner at Toshari Lodge was a buffet, including delights such as Kudu, Springbok and Eland in the form of sausages. I went for a slice of Springbok with some Eland sausages, the latter being delicious. There were vegetables but I’m darned if I can remember them.

We turned down the aircon, the dripping ceased and we retired.

We left Swakopmund bound for Khorixas.

This area is called the Skeleton Coast because of the very many ships that have been wrecked here as a combined result of the frequent fog and ocean currents. So, we dutifully made our first stop en route to see one of the wrecks. It’s obviously a popular wreck to look at because we also had to avoid the waiting bead-sellers. It was, IMHO, less than exciting. Mind you, the weather and, therefore, the lighting was drab. For the record, here’s the ship, now used as a perch for a mass of Cormorants. OK, wreck – tick; now back to the African vibro-massage.

Our next stop involved a minor detour to see the so-called Cape Cross Seal colony. I should clarify. It’s not really the Cape Cross Seal colony that’s a misnomer, it’s the Cape Fur Seal that gives rise to this colony’s name that’s a problem. Not previously being familiar with these beasts, I found out only when we arrived. “Wait a moment”, I thought, “these seals have external ear flaps and walk on their rear flippers; they are clearly sealions rather than seals. I broached this subject with Leader Louis but despite my protestations, he insisted it was ‘t other way around. Wrong, and here’s my authority. This can be the danger of taking a vernacular name too literally. Just because we name it a seal doesn’t make it one. In like manner, we have the so-called Bearded Tit in the UK which is not a Tit. [Happily, it now tends to be more correctly called the Bearded Reedling.] So, here’s some Cape Fur Sealions Seals.

Sinuses well and truly cleared by the pungent aroma of Cape Fur Sealions Seals, we headed back for the route to Khorixas. One after the other, with varying gaps, about a dozen camper vans passed us going in the opposite direction. I’m not convinced I’d like to look after a camper van on these rough dirt roads. Still, they all seemed to be intact. We were treated to the impressive sight of a uncommonly seen Martial Eagle (Polemaetus bellicosus) sitting on a telegraph pole beside the road.

We were heading inland for Mount Brandberg (Namibia’s highest mountain). As we left the coast behind the weather brightened and the temperature climbed inexorably. We would arrive and first have a now slightly late lunch.

The attraction at Mount Brandberg was a famed white lady painting, supposedly a bushman’s painting dating back at least 2000 years. The temperature was now a blistering 38°C and, on a stomach full of lunch including bread, we now faced a 2-hour walk complete with a final steep ascent lugging an 8kg rucksack so we could record the event and to keep us supplied with now warm water. Some sensibly decided not to try. Willing to give it a go, we set off with the rest in the company of a local, lithe guide. At our first water break, a few of our number decided that discretion was the better part of valour and turned back. We continued but Francine shortly declared that she felt utterly knackered so we, too, turned back, me now carrying both 8kg rucksacks. With one on the front and one on the back, I was actually quite well balanced; not mentally, perhaps, but … Five continued to the painting.

The problem was largely one of timing, I think. Digesting bread is not easy. Blood gets diverted to the stomach for the digestion process leaving muscles rather ill-supplied. I well remember a feeling of lethargy following a lunch sandwich at work. Frankly, doing this sort of activity at 38°C immediately following lunch is barking mad. Once back at base, with a cold, sugary drink, Francine soon recovered.

As well as nattering to our companions about the ordeal, there was a fine male example of our old friend from day #1, a Namibian Rock Agama (Agama planiceps) dressed in his gaudy colours to keep me amused. To be honest, I’m a culture numbskull and don’t do ancient culture; I could care less about a 2000-year-old rock painting, so I really didn’t mind turning back. To be honest, I was probably relieved to do so. This guy, on the other hand, had the required heartbeat and enchanted me.

Two of those completing the trip returned exhausted and feeling faint. They, too, were plied with a sugary drink to aid recovery. The walk was supposed to take 2 hours but had burned up more than 2½ hrs. Adding on some recovery time for the late-returning walking wounded, we were now behind schedule and would arrive late at our overnight accommodation in Khorixas, which was in a so-called Rest Camp run by Namibian Wildlife Resorts (NWR). The highlight of our tardy onward journey was finally getting the chance to snag a small herd of Hartmann’s Mountain Zebras (Equus zebra hartmannae), a subspecies which we had seen earlier but only in the middle distance. Every cloud, etc. 😉

The rest camp might be regarded by some as rather basic but we found it perfectly adequate, even if its restaurant had burned down a couple of years ago forcing us to eat in a tent. The cold beer, on the other hand, was absolute nectar.

Swifts screamed at us periodically throughout the night. I love ‘em.

In daylight this time, we said goodbye to Zebra River Lodge heading for Swakopmund. Zebra River Lodge is a lovely place to stay but its access roads add an hour on to the day’s travel time when arriving and when leaving, so it may not be the most convenient.

Our route took us eventually up a new (to us) dirt road. Initially we began passing countryside with subtly changing strips of colour running up to picturesque escarpments. Francine could’ve played with her tripod here for an hour or more. Unfortunately, with 400kms to cover over dirt roads with a few timetabled stops en route, there wasn’t any time to allow for such entertainment. We stared wistfully out of the trucks windows.

Our first stop was in the desert at a place called Solitaire, famous for car wrecks and for the best “apple crumble cake” in the world, according to our leader, Louis. Home bakers may wish to challenge the dessert claim [oh, how confusing: dessert in the desert] but the wrecked cars couldn’t be challenged. The place was littered with them. They’d been collected and arranged artistically around the settlement where, because the desert is so dry, they don’t rot, rather like the trees in Deadvlei.

There were also non-human heartbeats so I was happy: South African Ground Squirrels (Geosciurus inauris) were scampering about between their burrows and looking dreadfully cute. Enter: a minor frustration; not with the squirrels but with peoples’ reaction to them. It seems that any cute critter that stands up on its haunches simply must be a Meerkat. Do these look like Meerkats? No, they don’t. Despite all our excellent wildlife programmes on TV, the message doesn’t quite get through. I still hear countless people, pointing at the Chimpanzees in Whipsnade Zoo, telling their Satan’s Little Disciple to, “look at the monkeys”. I despair. [I was pleased to learn, however, that Leader Louis, a South African, was a great fan of Sir David Attenborough. Bravo! Mind you, being an Afrikaner, he’s a fan of Donald Trump, too.]

We were already eating too much so we studiously avoided the highly praised “apple crumble cake”. While others munched, I was interested watching a team of roofers re-thatching one of the buildings, African style. I asked them for a picture and they readily agreed. One chap even posed with a bunch of thatching for me. We took our leave and continued deeper into the desert.

The desert is completely stunning, in an utterly empty, vast expanse kind of way. Personally, I love deserts, though I wouldn’t want to get stranded in one. This redefined nothingness.

Crossing the Tropic of Capricorn, we paused for a trite tourist photo by the marker. The marker is actually in the wrong place now – the tropic has drifted slightly over the years – but who cares? Every now and then, a 4×4 would scream along the dirt road raising a plume of dust in its wake. OK, enough tourism, back on the truck.

There is a modest respite to the beautiful desolation of the desert called Kuiseb Canyon. Here was more evidence of Namibia’s very wet wet season, this year. Water was present but the trees didn’t seem to have greened up yet. We paused for another break and Francine went snapping. I, on the other hand, saw a dragonfly cruising tirelessly behind and around the other tourist bus. I waited for an opportunity to snag it in vain but was intrigued by something curious happening. I’d been watching it cruise for a good 10 minutes. When the other tourist bus drove away, the dragonfly disappeared; I never saw it again. It was the same species, I thought, that we’d seen at our first fuel station forecourt..Was there something about vehicles or vehicle fuel that it found attractive? I checked round behind our truck but no, it had gone. Odd.

Eventually, we left the majesty of the desert behind us and headed into Walvis Bay on the coast. We paused to fill up the wagon, not only with fuel but with radiator water. Hmm? It was interesting watching the cab of the truck tipped forward to access the radiator, though. This was to be our lunch stop, during which time we were entertained by a mixed group of Greater and Lesser Flamingos [this is a trio of Greater Flamingos] in Walvis Bay’s coastal lagoon. Every now and then, individuals or small groups of birds would fly in and join them. This was part of a migration route. All in all, a very pleasant place for a picnic.

Finally, it was on to Swakopmund, literally the mouth of the river Swakop. Rather like Spain, the rivers here are basically dry. This one was dry despite it being a wet wet season. We spent the rest of the afternoon chilling out and organizing luggage, with the help of a beer or two, of course.

In the evening, after 3 days of red meat/game, both Francine and I opted for a simple dinner of hake and chips – comfort food. And refreshingly light it was, too.

I knew Sesriem Canyon was entirely forgettable and when I wrote that previous post I entirely forgot it. 😀

As we said goodbye to the high sand dunes and left the Namib-Naukluft National Park, before returning to Zebra River Lodge for that mesmerizing cold beer, we made a brief detour (4km) to gawp at the Sesriem Canyon. Now, before we’d left for Namibia, I had marked this day as, perhaps, one of my better chances to see some Odonata. My thinking was based on this extract from Explore!’s trip notes for the day:

We’ll also explore the cool passageways of the Sesriem Canyon on foot. The canyon is small but very picturesque – many plants grow in the shade and shelter offered by the canyon, and water pools attract several species of birds and animals.

The mention of water pools did it.

Considering that the rest of northern Namibia is currently enjoying a particularly wet wet season, with water flowing where it doesn’t usually flow and standing where it doesn’t usually stand, it was particularly ironic that Sesriem Canyon proved to be as dry as a buzzard’s crotch; not a drop – NADA, NICHTS, RIEN.

Francine went down into the canyon with some of our number for a wander. I stayed above and shot the breeze with a few others that couldn’t be arsed. It’s just a pile of drab rocks and stone, after all. The only heartbeats involved were ours. Well, and those transported by another similar tour truck. If you look top right in the picture, you’ll just sees one of the heartbeats to give an idea of scale. We were there getting on for an hour.

Now, where’s that beer ..?

Today is the main reason we are in Namibia; this was to be Francine’s highlight of the trip. The mountainous, startlingly orange sand dunes of Sossusvlei in the Namib-Naukluft National Park have been on her bucket list for some time. There was a bit of scare yesterday evening with the fear that rain might fall overnight, making escape from Zebra River Lodge along its difficult dirt track impossible until the water subsided. Recently, the place had been flooded with many plants being washed away. Odd, considering we are close-ish to one of the driest environments on the planet. However, all was well and the game commenced at 0-dark-30. [It would have commenced at 0-dark-15 but driver Tam took a wrong turn down the airstrip. 😀 ]

After an hour of the now familiar African vibro-massage in the pitch black, we were back at the main dirt road and the sky began to lighten. After a couple more turns – there aren’t actually many roads in Namibia – we called in to the enterprisingly positioned fuel station just outside the entrance to the Namib-Naukluft NP. We were now about to be spoiled rotten: whilst all the road leading to and from the park is dirt, once inside the park, the single road taking you into the interior is smooth tarmac. Temporary bliss!

Our first stop was at Dune 45, so-called because it is 45kms from the gate. Dune 45 has been established as the dune for the swarms of grockels to climb, thus stopping damage to the other dunes. A modest car park at its base enabled us top pull of the road and play. This is a good time to point out that, with an (average) annual rainfall of only ~10mm, you have never touched such dry sand. Consequently, climbing a relatively steep-sided dune built of the stuff is quite arduous – one step forward, two steps back, kind of thing. It’s also hot at something over 30°C. Here’s Francine facing the first pitch; there’s another ascent further on. I chose to amuse myself around the base.

We left Dune 45 behind and headed to the end of the tarmac road which stops close to one of the most iconic landscape photography locations in the park, Deadvlei. Deadvlei is a dried up clay pan created after a lake dried up since the “mighty” Tsauchab river was diverted by the encroaching dunes. Left behind are the black skeletons of petrified Camel Thorn trees, still rooted in the white pan, backed by the orange sand dunes and topped with a vivid blue sky. The colour contrasts are mesmerising. The trees don’t rot because there isn’t sufficient moisture, hence the petrification. After a modest 20-minute trudge across the dry sand, we had another 20 minutes to play with the trees and repeat our 20-minute sandy trudge back. Bucket list item ticked, Francine declared herself to be content.

Finally, we transferred into a couple of very bouncy 4x4s to go on a little through the sand to Sossusvlei itself. Sossusvlei is the marsh at the end of the route of the Tsauchab river, falling short of the Atlantic Ocean by about 60kms because of the dunes. After Deadvlei, I must say it was less than scintillating but we did see a Spotted Eagle Owl (Bubo africanus) taking shelter from the midday heat in the branches of one of the trees.

It was time to retrace our morning tracks and return to Zebra River Lodge, where, after a time in the midday heat of the dunes, cold beer was calling loudly. Drinking on the veranda of the lodge requires a beer mat on top of your glass rather than underneath it. The place has a strong population of moths which have developed the taste for both beer and cold white wine.Leave your glass or bottle exposed for a few moments and a moth will be in there. Dinner presents a similar problem but without the beer mat solution. Last evening, I had no fewer than 12 moths all helping themselves to the red wine sauce around my Oryx. Two of the moths managed to turn turtle and kill themselves in it. Maybe that’s the moth equivalent of drowning in a vat of Malmsey?

There seem to be three resident species of Odonata here, but two of them, regrettably, are species that I can see in France and Spain  I did, however, rack up my first encounter with the delightfully coloured Massai Sprite (Pseudagrion massaicum). Stalking these and the countless butterflies entertained me in between filching some of my beer from the moths.

Roast Zebra tonight. It was OK but I still preferred the Kudu.

Having arrived in the capital of Namibia, Windhoek, yesterday, and been met by our tour leader, Louis, we were now rested and ready to begin the tour proper. Inevitably being in a new country, today was likely to be a collection of firsts for us.

Francine and I are 2 of 14 people on Explore!’s 12-day Namib Lodge Safari, which will be a series of 1- & 2-night stops. Our first challenge was to relearn the gentle art of living out a touring travel bag. I amateurishly rearranged the contents of my bag, which was loaded onto our tour truck, and my cargo vest, which was loaded onto me, and prepared for my first Namibian breakfast: eggs, bacon, toast. Nothing new there, then, but at least they understand breakfast which is more than can be said of the Greeks.

I’d had a quick squint at good ol’ Google prior to departure and knew that there might be some interesting habitat just behind our accommodation, the Klein Windhoek Guest House. As departure preparations continued, I checked it out on foot. Sure enough, though the river was mostly dry, the area was alive with my first view of Weaver Bird nests – there are many species – and a striking orangey-red creation which I had no clue about. Our leader, Louis, declared himself to be a bird specialist and told me these were Southern Red Bishops (Euplectes orix). Fabulous and we hadn’t gone anywhere yet. 🙂

We clambered aboard our tour bus/truck and headed south out of Windhoek on a tarmac road which put ours to shame. Refuelling stops can be far apart here so we stopped to fill the truck with diesel, just prior to turning right/west and into relative wilderness. As this was happening, we tourists all trooped off for our first supermarket shopping experience, mostly to buy flagons of water: 5 litres each @ N$31 (~£2). Security guards at the supermarket door checked the contents of your carrier bag to the items on your receipt which, fortunately, we’d kept. Lesson learned.

The social refuelling stop enabled me to check out the insect life at the fuel station, whose walls and plants were a haven for a significant moth collection. To my astonishment, however, several dragonflies cruised back and forth over the forecourt tirelessly. They seemed mainly yellow with a dorsal reddish flush. With their ceaseless flight and confused backgrounds, photos proved utterly impossible. I formed suspicions based on not much at all. Instead, here’s a moth, which I initially thought to be a butterfly, called a Cream Striped Owl (Cyligramma latona).

Shortly after our supply stop, we turned right and, in another 50 metres, the tarmac stopped and the dirt roads began. That would essentially be the last of the tarmac for the next nine days. We experienced our first African vibro-massage.

Our vibro-massage paused for lunch. Driver Tam pulled off the stones that constitute the road and parked on the stones that didn’t, right beside a kopje. The truck carried not only ourselves but also a couple of folding picnic tables and  a supply of elderly canvas picnic chairs. Leader Louis, with a few willing volunteer helpers, set up lunch. Kopjes are a great habitat for various forms of wildlife and a few Namib Rock Agama (Agama planiceps) lizards entertained us for quite a while. [This one is a female.]

Our vibro-massage resumed, ensuring that lunch was well distributed. We’ve discovered that we are here in wet season. Not only that but this year Namibia is having a very wet wet season. Well, it would, wouldn’t it? We’re here, after all. Our continuing journey frequently took us over depressions in the road which were actually fords through occasional river gullies. They now all contained at least some water but would normally be dry.

Eventually we turned off the main dirt road onto a rougher, more minor dirt road, 19kms of which took us 30 minutes to cover. We’d crossed the course of “the mighty” Tsauchab river which last flowed about 1000 years ago. That gully was dry. I must say I was impressed by driver Tam’s care and consideration for his passengers when negotiating these challenging roads. Another turn got us onto a 5km dirt track which took 20 minutes to negotiate and led us to the delightful sight of Zebra River Lodge, which was seething with butterflies and moths. It even had two ponds which were home to some dragonflies. Together with a goodly supply of cold beer, I thought all my Christmases had come at once.

We’ll be at Zebra River Lodge for two nights, serving as our base from which to visit the famed vast sand dunes of Sossusvlei, probably Namibia’s most well known scenery. For now, several cold beers followed by a dinner of Oryx was calling. Chalk up another one for the antelope butcher. 🙂

After dinner, Leader Louis gave us a quick mini-tour of the southern hemisphere night sky with the aid of a laser pointer. The Milky Way is quite staggering down here, stronger than in the northern hemisphere for reasons which are too complex to go into now, and with nothing in the way of light pollution (there were no other buildings for many kilometres), the stars were dazzling.

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

We’ve arrived in Windhoek, Namibia. Following our 11-hour South African Airways flight from Heathrow to Johannesburg, basically sleepless, then three hours at Johannesburg and a 90-minute onward flight, also on South African, to Windhoek, we’re feeling somewhat brain-dead.

Our impression of South African Airways was very favourable. The only negative thing about the journey was an horrendous line waiting for a passport check to get through to the transit area at Jo’burg, followed by a slightly more tedious and lengthy queue to get into Namibia. There was hardly any queue when we arrived at Windhoek but then we discovered landing cards to fill in. By the time we’d done that the immigration hall was absolutely heaving. How nice it would have been to hand the cards out while we were flying, but no. However, we are here and it’s rather cloudy. There’s been much more rain than is usual, our leader tells us. One particular river has reached the sea for the first time in seven years. The previous tour got bogged down for five hours and everyone had to get together to push the truck. Well, it IS a safari. What lies in store for us?

Back to London. We had been more organized than I can ever remember prior to departure and had been packing over a period of at least two days. Our hold bags and our carry-on bags, our camera rucksacks, were weighed, were within our rather limited baggage allowance (15kg and 8kg respectively), and ready to go.

I had, however, performed some lens tests to decide finally which two lenses to take. On Sunday morning, prior to departing for Heathrow, I decided to top up my camera battery. Not strictly necessary but it seemed like a good idea; it was actually down to ~50% charge. On our home/spare charger and cable it seemed to be taking a while, so I tried using my packed charger instead. Soon the battery was up to 100%, though it probably would have been, anyway – they’re identical chargers and shouldn’t perform differently. I retrieved the full battery and put it back in my camera.

Taking our time, we loaded our bags and set sail for Heathrow. It was Sunday morning so the jaM25 was passable. We’d pre-booked getting a great rate at the official long term car park and that went well, too. The shuttle bus to the terminals was timely and we were soon dropping off our bags [13.5kg – gold star] and making our way through to the departure lounge.

Francine went checking out the shops, as usual. I sat. I know not why but suddenly a nagging suspicion formed in my head. Premonition, maybe? I unzipped my camera bag. A sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. My nagging suspicion proved to be nightmarishly justified. I had replaced my camera battery but, forgetting that I had swapped to the previously packed battery charger, rather than replacing the charger in my bag I’d stuffed it back in the camera kit cupboard whence the original one I’d been using had come. In my mind’s eye, I could now see myself doing it all too clearly.

ARGHH! NO!

We’re at Heathrow, about to depart on a 12-day safari in Namibia, both using identical camera batteries and therefore both requiring the same now non-existent charger which had been sitting safely in my camera bag for the last two days. We have two such batteries each. One battery will last about a day. What an utter and complete wombat, and all because I had decided unnecessarily to recharge one battery at home. Clearly, I wasn’t just brain dead as a result of the long journey, I’ve been brain dead for a while. Francine will kill me.

I’M DEAD!

Before I was killed, however, I managed a last dinner of Kudu which was utterly superb. Keep your beef, give me Kudu everytime.