Time to head back home. Our leader, Louis, and driver, Tam, had both left early today, Louis to join another tour and Tam to head home for a well-deserved break with his family after being away for a couple of months. We were left in the hands of an airport transfer company to get to Windhoek airport for our 90-minute flight to Jo’burg. As we neared Windhoek airport the sky grew as black as thunder and the heavens opened. Mercifully it abated as we drove into the drop-off zone.

All went well: our flight to Jo’burg boarded and, though there were warnings of possible turbulence en route due to thunderstorms, it was mostly smooth and we landed in good time. We had two hours before boarding our SAA flight to Heathrow. Immigration lines were modest and we had no repeat of the interminable wait that we’d had on the outbound journey.

We found a curious bar/restaurant in the departure area that sold only non-alcoholic drinks. We sat and sipped some alcohol-free mojitos with two fellow travellers.

Boarding commenced and we discovered we’d been allocated a bulkhead seat. They can be a mixed blessing. Though there is more legroom, they are designed for tiny infants. Fortunately, we had no nursing mothers near us.

Doors were shut and we heard the crew announcement to, “arm doors and cross-check”. This engages the automatic evacuation slide mechanism to deploy them if the doors should now be opened. The captain was expecting an early arrival in Heathrow with some favourable weather conditions helping him along.

I knew something was wrong when I heard, “crew disarm doors”. Not good. We’d reverted to an orderly disembarking configuration. Shortly all was revealed; as our final loading had been taking place, “a ground engineer had noticed that the right-hand shock absorber had gone completely flat”. Well, I’m glad he spotted it. Landing, after all, is a pretty crucial part of the whole flying process. The captain told us that someone had been despatched to get equipment to pump in some more hydraulic fluid. We’d be here for an hour or so.

We sat for an hour.

The next announcement confirmed that the extra hydraulic fluid had not fixed anything – surprise, surprise – and the ground crews would now shuffle the aircraft back and forth to see if that would free up the shock absorber which “was under considerable stress”. Poor thing, we were heavy, apparently. Predictably, this did nothing either – surprise, surprise again. Shock absorbers used to dealing with a 230-tonne aircraft on landing do not just go flat for no reason. It was broken.

SAA operations were contacted to see what to do next.

Surprisingly, I thought, what was done next revolved around their having “found another aircraft in a hangar”. What, just lurking about? Surely not. Anyway, this would now be deployed and we’d transfer to this replacement plane – same model, same layout. The plane, however, had to “dressed”, which seems to mean filling it with the blankets and pillows (taken from our original plane), together with transferring all the luggage and, of course, all the food and drink supplies necessary,  also from the original plane. We disembarked and sat near to the departure gates. Well, most sat but the area didn’t have sufficient seating for all. Ground staff tried to placate a needlessly irate customer/passenger who was throwing his toys out of the pram.

Part way through our wait, SAA managed to find some water supplies to distribute. Hitherto, we’d been given nothing.since boarding.

Two further hours later, we trooped aboard our replacement A330 with some relief and pushed back just before 1:30 AM local time. Unbeknownst to us, we later discovered that the Jo’burg runway had actually then been closed and was covered with some contractors machinery. Fortunately, the captain managed to get the runway cleared and re-opened.

I had thought we were in for a night in Jo’burg but we were actually now “just” 3½ hours late. My main concern had been incurring a penalty charge on my pre-booked parking slot at Heathrow due to a late arrival time. As it turned out, we had an hour or so to spare.

We made it.

OK, things break and they did find the problem and fixed it. SAA might have saved an hour or so by not bothering to remedy the original shock but they probably have a prescribed procedure in such circumstances. SAA could have been more alert concerning water supplies but I thought they’d done pretty well, other than that.

[ I don’t usually like that word odonate, an Anglicization of Odonata, but it seems to fit in this context, wanting some alliteration.]

We had a morning remaining at the Klein Windhoek Guest House before our transfer to the airport to begin our long journey home. Francine chose to accompany a few others to another dreaded craft outlet but at least this one was a bona fide in town and lacked any high pressure selling or haggling. mercifully, she returned empty handed rather than empty hand-bagged. 😀

I chose to remain at the veranda bar behind the guest house, which overlooked a patch of rough ground and the Klein Windhoek River, which flows occasionally. After some of Namibia’s wet season, this was one of those occasions – or, at least, it had more water in it. Largely, in between beers, I was making notes for this blog.

We had seen nine species of odonate during our trip but one, flying constantly, had eluded capture on my pixels. We’d seen this energetic character at no less than three of our five locations where dragonflies had thus far been seen, including a fuel station forecourt and the middle of the desert. Francine, though, had skilfully managed to nag a distant picture of one, using manual focus,. whilst at Toshari Lodge. Her picture added weight to my suspicions but its identity still remained unconfirmed.

I was tapping away at the keyboard when Francine returned from the trip to town. She spotted a dragonfly cruising about the river behind the guest house. I went with my camera to investigate. It was our unidentified cruiser yet again: four out of six locations, now. There were actually several of them. Once again, they flew tirelessly, though this time I spotted a pair ovipositing in tandem.

I started trying to grab in-flight photos, since none seemed about to settle and rest. There was a considerable amount of greenery on both river banks which autofocus was tending to pick up, as is its wont; either that or it was simply too slow. In desperation – I tend not to trust my visual judgement – I switched to manual focus. After some time of frustrating close-but-no-cigar attempts, I was pretty confident that I’d finally got a decent shot.

I remained in situ and now switched back to autofocus to see if I could snag anything more reliable. Eventually I did.

I’d fired off 110 shots, most of which would be discarded but I’d got proof of identity on pixels at last. These were, indeed, the iconic Wandering Glider (Pantala flavescens).

This remarkable dragonfly is known from all continents except Antarctica, though only in isolated cases from Europe. (There are three confirmed records from the UK.) Nonetheless, it spans the globe and is sometimes goes by the alternative name of Globe Wanderer. It is known to migrate between the Indian subcontinent and Eastern Africa, crossing the Indian Ocean on the monsoon winds. A broad hind-wing chord helps it glide distances [see 3rd picture below]. It breeds successfully in temporary water sources, such as pools made by seasonal rains, which subsequently dry up. This is possible because larval development takes less than 40 days. Contrast that with larger Hawker-type dragonflies in Scotland where larval development can take 5 years, depending on temperatures. Astonishing. This dragonfly was outstanding in more than one sense.

Here’s a few more shots, just because I can. 😉

I was utterly delighted that we’d seen it and captured it on pixels; probably my Namibian highlight.

Who needs big game, anyway? 🙂

This was the last day of our Namibian Lodge Safari. We’d be heading back down the tarmac main road to Windhoek where our adventure had begun. Before leaving our latest NWR accommodation at the Waterberg Plateau, however, we were heading off on a hike up the Waterberg, if conditions were reasonable.

Quite early in the morning, the resort was being scoured by a group of Striped Mongooses – apparently you can say Mongeese as the plural but Mongooses is preferred – looking for their breakfast. They provided some photographic entertainment, much of which was a tad frustrating given the rapidity of their movements, prior to us setting off in search of our breakfast. Cute little chaps.

Fortunately, the Waterberg wasn’t living up to its name this morning so it was game on for our assault on the plateau. We started up a very gentle incline through a wooded area before hitting the main part of the ascent which decidedly required hands and was more climb than walk. Our route would take us up the notch in the cliff shown right. There was a very game 80-year-old lady with us on our trip who had set off with us. Yikes! Hardly surprisingly, although she had once tried both potholing and climbing in her youth, when faced with the rough, hand-over-hand scramble as the route headed upwards, she decided that her climbing days were now behind her and elected to sit on a rock and wait at the foot of the climb for our return. Very sensible. For the rest of us, the sandstone rock provided quite secure footing but some of the “steps” proved a considerable challenge for those with shorter legs.

We hit the summit and the climb was worth it. Beneath the Waterberg, which stands alone and is said to be “older than Africa itself” (something to do with Gondwanaland splitting up), the land stretched out before us as an unimaginable amount of flat emptiness; empty largely of human habitation, at least, or so it seemed. It’s certainly the most wilderness I’ve clapped eyes on.

On the way down, things livened up for me; we began spotting dragonflies. The day had begun warming up, the undergrowth and clearings were moist, and dragonflies had begun their day. We saw five species on the way down, one of which looked familiar and one of which “”got away unsnapped, so I was hopeful of notching up few personal new ones – “lifers”. Here are some, suitably labelled.

See, there are dragonflies in Namibia. 🙂  I may have seen 9 species in total, which is better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick, but it’s still a pretty meagre haul, given that we’d covered large tracts of a whole new country with considerably varying habitats. I must keep in mind, though, that it was never a dragonfly hunt, per se, and I couldn’t actively seek them out. So, some small consolation.

The remainder of the day was a pretty tedious slog back to Windhoek and the Klein Windhoek Guest House, where we’d begun our travels. At least we were on a tarmac road and the slog was comfortable with the African vibro-massage having ceased. So had most of the need for a steering wheel; I swear this road had a 100-kilometre stretch that was as strait as an arrow. Maybe this was where the Romans had learned their road-building craft. The tour notes make a highlight of one of those dreaded craft markets where we stopped for lunch. We got the flavour of it when sellers approached us as we stepped down out of the Landcruisers. A few of our number crossed the road intent on having a look but soon returned  fed up with fending off stall holders.

There was little more in the way of entertainment other than watching straight Namibian road builders at work: they were transforming this major north-south trunk road into a dual carriageway. In this wet season, the traffic was lighter than you’d see on any road in the UK,even a country lane, but it supposedly gets busy at other times of year, in the main season. Frankly, I doubt they truly understand the word busy, though.

It’s true that we need water for life and when you have a raging thirst, a glass of cool water hits the spot admirably. When you’ve been sipping it warm every 15 minutes for most of a day, you get somewhat tired of it, though, and mirages of cold beer begin forming in the mind.

Get thee behind me, Satan.

As we bad farewell to Etosha, most of which I’d missed due to sickness,and were en route to our next stop, Waterberg, I got a consolation prize. We’d just past a small group of Oryx that had been crossing the road when eagle-eyed Francine spotted a lion lying low in the grass right beside the road. She yelled for the truck to stop. Guide and driver were lower down and had not seen it.. The truck juddered to a halt. All excitement went into silent mode – well mostly anyway – as the truck backed up. We had stumbled across the same pride of lions seen yesterday and our guide said they were now in the initiation phase of a hunt. Their target was likely to have been the Oryx which had crossed the road back down the road.  Oryx, with their long sharp horns, tend not to be on the lions’ menu as one of their favourites to tackle but needs must. The lions appeared pretty unconcerned about our presence and continued lying low. Eventually, however, i appeared that the younger male moved at the wrong moment and blew their cover . They began shifting around a little to recompose themselves.

The road is attractive to the animals after rain in the early morning and before any traffic has past to churn up the dirt, offering puddles from which the animals can drink. Several lions took their opportunity. I cracked up thinking of a current TV sponsorship commercial:

Lions in the road, sir; won’t be long

The lions eventually moved on to begin their hunt afresh, We moved on, too.

We left Etosha before our coach turned into a pumpkin and stopped for a second time at the rather indifferent “bakkery” in Outjo for lunch. Here we learned that there’d soon be a change of transport arrangements. As I had suspected, all was not well with our truck’s cooling system, which was still slowly losing water and had been doing so for a few days. quite rightly, leader Louis was concerned that it could suddenly fail catastrophically so he very sensibly arrange for us to be transferred into two Toyota Landcruisers. You do not want to be stranded in the Namibian wilderness, of which there is a considerable amunt in between outposts of habitation. While the Landcruisers were being driven out from Windhoek to meet us, we continued in our ailing truck.

Our next port of call was the Cheetah Conservation Fund, a non-profit charity attempting to rehabilitate orphaned cheetahs, or to give a home to those that can’t be released – those that have had to be bottle fed and became tame-ish, for example. A guide gave us a brief tour, interrupted by a downpour. The most interesting aspect was the fund’s success distributing Anatolian Shepherd Dogs, which they bred, to Namibian farmers for a nominal fee. Cheetahs are prone to being blamed for sheep kills and shot by farmers. The dogs are large and fearless and stand guard over the flocks, scaring off predators.  About 900 have been distributed so far. Good thinking! We’ve seen a similar approach with dogs guarding sheep flocks on a mountainside in Italy. I’d prefer to have seen Cheetahs out in the wild but could appreciate the work this charity was doing.

Back in the town near the CCF, we changed into our Landcruisers. Each had a sizable trailer in tow for our baggage and for our picnic lunch equipment. Once everything was loaded, we continued to our next night halt, another Namibian Wildlife Resort on the slopes of the Waterberg plateau. There’s a clue in the name; it soon began thrashing with rain. The approach road is about 10kms of sand, all of which is prone to flooding and rearranging into lumps. The previous tour had become bogged down in the truck and had ended up having to push, arranging rocks around the wheels to try and gain purchase. I’m sure this was a contributory reason for our leader wanting to skip into the Landcruisers. He obviously loved driving this challenging road in a suitable vehicle and whooped with glee once we arrived.

What a lovely resort it was, after the rain stopped, consisting of old colonial buildings with quite plush semi-detached chalet accommodations. We stepped out of the Landcruisers outside our chalets and, lo and behold, dragonflies. Yay! Well, one species, at least, but it was new to me so a delight and as yet unknown. I think I got the complete set: male, female and immature male. Better. I have now identified it as being a Small Scarlet (Crocothemis sanguinolenta).

I investigated the grounds a little more while Francine freshened up, and stumbled across the cutest little Damara Dik-Dik grazing in front of one of the chalets. Considering the fact that these characters top out at only ~38cms/15ins tall and need to be very wary to survive, this one was relatively unconcerned and let me approach quite close before deciding discretion was the better part of valour and disappearing into the bush. I imagine it lives around the resort permanently and is used to Homo sapiens.

This place can, apparently, be plagued by Baboons, and we’d been instructed to keep all windows and doors firmly shut. They are prone to trying to pinch cameras. For us, though, the plague was absent and we saw none. Pity, really, it would’ve been another critter, though we’d driven past several troops beside the roads.

I opted for a slice of antelope with pepper sauce again for dinner. The pepper sauce was curiously identical to the pepper sauce that had accompanied my Kudu when we were just beginning our adventure in Windhoek. With that consistency, I have a strong suspicion that this pepper sauce comes in cans.

3:30 AM: my chunder machine was at it for a third time sans digital assistance. There wasn’t much left by now, so hopefully that’s an end to it. It’s quite amazing how ones body knows when it should get rid of something unpleasant. Clearly, I wasn’t going out on our second day’s game drive, either. Bloody marvellous: sod all in the way of Namibian dragonflies in evidence as yet and my wildlife big game highlight of the trip had now been scotched.

It transpires that two more of our number are also suffering intestinal issues, though not, I think, nausea; more to do with Namibia’s version of Montezuma’s Revenge. More interesting is the fact that a handful of poor souls from a similar Danish group are suffering. They had also stayed at Toshari Lodge when we had. This is too much of a coincidence, methinks. My suspicions about Toshari Lodge having been the cause gathered weight with Leader Louis, who very kindly me a chocolate bar “to help me recover”. Yum?! Maybe later. 😉

Francine plied me with a glass of sugar and salt dissolved in water; This is supposed to replicate some sort of rehydration fluid, I think, sort of a homemade isotonic concoction. I tried sipping it cautiously and discovered it wasn’t as bad as it sounded. I drank a little more. Francine reluctantly left me in my prison to recover and went off on a full day’s game drive heading towards the eastern edge of Etosha Pan, the huge central clay pan, to try her luck with more large game. I assured her that she should go; there really wasn’t any point in us both missing out.

Yesterday, before deteriorating, we’d seen a Redbilled Hornbill (Tockus erythrorhynchus) which had seemed to regard the camp as home. As I was dozing in recovery mode, a loud tapping stirred me. At first, I thought a fellow invalid was knocking on the door but discovered it was the Hornbill tapping on the sliding doors beside my bed. I wondered if it might be after insects, or tapping at its own reflection, or trying to prompt for food. I dragged the door open as gently as I could and it stared back at me briefly before hoping/flapping off. Cute.

Mid-morning saw me feeling a bit brighter – maybe the rehydration fluid works – though tired and a bit lethargic. I went looking for the Hornbill around the camp but drew a blank, so I sauntered to the waterhole, which today was blissfully free of noisily picnicking Homo sapiens representing any nation. That wasn’t all that was quiet, the waterhole was, too. A lone pair of Blacksmith Lapwings entertained me for a few minutes. As I returned I rounded a corner and stumbled into my Hornbill friend catching prey just in front of me. Snap!

That effort required a rest. I nibbled a small amount of Louis’ chocolate bar, a Bar One, which turned out to be Nestle and clearly Namibia’s answer to a Mars bar. It gave me the strength to go and see what else I could find. One thing I found was a Forktailed Drongo (Dicrurus adsimilis) which cooperated nicely for the camera. These birds apparently mimic other birds and animals to try and scare others into dropping food. Clever little sucker. The camp is also home to Bush/Tree/Yellow-footed/Mopane Squirrels (Paraxerus sp) – how many names does a squirrel need? – which I also stalked for a while.

Meanwhile, back with Francine and the 10 other healthy travellers in our tour truck, not long after leaving the camp on an all-day game drive, a pride of lions had been spotted not far along the road.Now for Francine. Now they’d got some real carnivores, the top of the food chain. Lions usually cause great excitement and this encounter was no exception. The pride appeared to resting. Oddly, there were two males, one clearly getting on in years; it certainly bore the scars of battle, its nose well disfigured. A younger male, not yet fully maned, was also present. Two sexually mature males in a pride is quite unusual. The lions moved further off into some shade; the tour truck moved on, heading further east along the Etosha Pan. Louis thought the lions would still be there in the shade when they returned later and so they turned out to be.

Mid-morning produced some new herbivore species, first in the shape of a group of Red Hartebeest, then a group of Giraffe and later my favourite antelope-on-a-plate, Kudu (this one is a female). Yum! Or, at least, Yum when I’m feeling healthy. Approaching lunchtime, a group of Burchell’s Zebra used up several more pixels; their striking markings are always fun to click.

Another camp at Namutoni provided a lunch stop for the group and made a very favourable impression on Francine. So, if you’re going to stay in Etosha, this could be the place. 😉

The truck slithered and slid its way around more of Etosha in the afternoon, finding more Giraffe, more Hartebeest and another carnivore, a Blackbacked Jackal. Incidentally, I’m not sure why African names like this aren’t hyphenated, thus: Black-backed Jackal. I’d hyphenate it, probably because all such dragonfly names are hyphenated. This couple of shots should give an indication as to just how much water was freely available in the park during this wet season.

Speaking of dragonflies, Francine did very well, in between slithers, to spot a rather diminutive female dragonfly perching on the ground. She did even better to snag some decent shots of it considering that she was using my lens, unfamiliar to her, which I’d left set on a restricted minimum focus distance of just 3m/10ft. (That makes it faster to focus when shooting from the truck. Never mind, her EOS 5D captures great images that can be cropped very successfully. This is a female Little Percher (Diplacodes deminuta).

My relative isolation ended when teh truck returned at about 4:30 PM. I was feeling brighter. Poor Francine had been so looking forward to seeing her beloved elephants but, alas, the only elephant seen was a wooden effigy at Namutoni. I know only too well what such disappointment feels like.

At breakfast in Toshari Lodge there was an egg chef preparing omelettes, scrambled egg, fried egg, etc, all on a flat griddle. Vegetarians should try to ignore the fact that he was also frying bacon on the same griddle. On the vegetable front, he was armed with an array of other omelette ingredients, too.

Beside Mr. Omelette there were various pots of other stuff to which you could help yourself. One of our number had gone for the baked beans but declared them only slightly warm. One pot that caught m y eye contained what appeared to be meat extracted from some of last night’s leftover Eland sausages. Since I had enjoyed those so much yesterday evening and wasn’t likely to see them again, that’s what I opted for, together with some scrambled egg.

Today, we were leaving our little slice of African luxury and heading into Etosha National Park at last. This was what I’d been waiting for, game drives. Hopes were high, despite our leader often stressing that, because of the wet season, the animals would be dispersed and much harder to find. The driving force is water which was now abundant everywhere so the animals did not now have to rely upon the few main waterholes. This dispersal strategy makes life much safer for the prey species, such as Springbok, the fast food of Etosha. By contrast, in the dry season the animals are forced to converge on the few main waterholes to drink where they become an eat-all-you-can buffet for the predators who simply have to wait for dinner to come to them. “Springbok, Mr. Leo?”

We entered Etosha early-ish and were soon stopping at a human waterhole to take on new supplies of live-giving liquid. The guy in front of me grabbed the last remaining 5 litre container so I was left with two 2 litre bottles. No matter, that’s enough. Outside, a colony of Southern Masked Weaver birds (Ploceus velatus) was busily engaged in nest building. Francine had been watching and clicking away while I was n the shop. It was good to be able to watch them up close.

Our inbound journey continued and we saw a good variety of birds from the truck as we worked our way along the tracks. The most intriguing feathered beauty was the curiously named Shaft-tailed Whydah (Vidua regia). I get the Shaft-tailed bit but Whydah? Guess which one of these that is:

Despite downplaying expectations, our morning game drive was reasonably entertaining. We saw antelopes: Oryx, Springbok and Black-faced Impala, along with a lone Wildebeest (yes, one) and a backlit ostrich. Somehow, in the distance Louis spotted a Hyaena. No, I’ll rephrase that, the Hyaena was already spotted – Louis saw a Spotted Hyaena loping along; our first predator, albeit about 1km away. The drive took us to our accommodation at another NWR rest camp called Halali; here we’d be spending two nights and going out for further game drives. After arriving at the camp, Leader Louis set about making Bolognese “South African” style, which seemed to include sweetcorn. Oh joy! 😀

Halali camp has a waterhole which we went to investigate as lunch was being prepared. Despite the presence of a large sign at the entrance saying “Silence Please” – noise scares away wildlife, don’t ya know – a gang of Germans seemed to be having a rather vociferous picnic, almost constantly querying the wine requirements of each other loudly. Any attempt to attenuate voices? No, of course not. I began rehearsing my polite German version of “shut the fuck up”, i.e. “please shut the fuck up”, but mercifully they finished the wine and departed before I had to put my well rehearsed speech to the test.

Respite was brief, however, as the Germans were almost immediately replaced by an equally rowdy bunch of Americans, who now began discussing their picnic enthusiastically. Americans are prone to think anything below 90 decibels is a whisper. This was going to be easier; no need for mental foreign rehearsals; I would be able launch into my polite Anglo-Saxon with impunity. I did so. They could hardly hear me above their own conversation so I had to repeat my pleading twice, whereupon eventually they did calm down. You want a picnic? Go to the picnic places not to a wildlife observation platform. Sheesh! Miraculously, once calm had descended, a group of black-faced impala turned up around the waterhole to entertain us for a while. They were alert to the very slightest noise, though, and kept staring our way. They could probably hear the cameras clicking.

We wandered back for lunch. I really didn’t feel hungry but I went with the flow and ate some of Leader Louis’ sweetcorn-containing Bolognese anyway. After all, he’d made a considerable effort, including a special pot of sauce for our lone vegetarian. As usual three meals a day is just too much food for us. I felt bloated and regretted my actions almost immediately.

As the afternoon game drive approached, I regretted my actions even more as I began feeling distinctly off-colour. As the situation worsened, I just couldn’t face being bounced around in the truck having a Bolognese martini, shaken not stirred, mixed using my stomach as the cocktail shaker. Reluctantly, I decided to skip the game drive. Francine went with my 100-400 lens and 1.4X extender. At least that would help the reach of her full frame camera. Unlike the Maasai Mara in Kenya, vehicles are not allowed to leave the roads in Etosha so you really can’t have too much lens. I retired to our room to lie down.

Shortly I began feeling a bit nauseous. My condition appeared to deteriorating quite quickly but I chose to speed matters along with the old finger-down-the-throat trick. If something is upsetting your equilibrium, get it out ASAP. I emptied myself of some diluted squash nonsense first. I felt better immediately, though the bad feeling did, of course, return. Throat and finger were re-introduced and this time I got rid of the sweetcorn-containing Bolognese that I hadn’t wanted to eat in the first place. My digestive system is usually pretty bullet proof and, feeling brighter again, my mind began trying to understand the cause of my affliction.I settled for suspecting the Eland sausage meat from breakfast at Toshari Lodge, which I think had been only warmed rather than fully reheated. Who knows, though? Antimalarial tablets are always a good scapegoat but I didn’t fancy them for causing nausea, not three days in, anyway. Had it been the Bolognese, with or without sweetcorn, surely others should have been stricken.

Francine returned with more black-faced impala and some giraffes. The group had seen a small pride of lions shortly after leaving the camp gates. Louis suggested they’d still be there in the shade when they returned. The truck had driven round a couple of waterholes but those, as predicted, produced nothing but a few birds. The drive did yield more Black-faced Impala and a small group of browsing Giraffes, along with some too-distant-to-bother-with Hartebeest.

The truck had apparently needed yet more water in the radiator. I could see a possible mechanical problem.in the offing.

I skipped dinner.

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 ..?