We were exhausted before Namibia even began. Our Land Cruiser got delivered close to midnight the night before we left, after 3 days of expectation management and waiting. Hell-bent on getting out of Springbok as fast as we could, we slept for a few hours and left before 6:00am. (We have a steadfast no-driving-at-night rule. We ignored the fact that driving in the predawn darkness was as much a violation of this rule as driving at night. But we knew the sun would be coming up within the hour and we couldn’t wait any longer).
There were three things I was looking forward to in Namibia: (1) the poor road quality, (2) the stars, and (3) campfire cooking. The bad roads excited me - I felt like they were a rite of passage. I was sure we’d get a flat tire (which sounded more appealing when I thought it would be the first car problem of the trip. It was less enticing now). I was excited for us to get under the car to jack it up, get our hands dirty and feel accomplished once we had fixed it. Everyone talks about the bad roads in Namibia and I was looking forward to the conversational cache a flat tire would provide me at campsites and rest stops.
I was also looking forward to the stars. I remember being in Namibia in 2006 and seeing the greatest stars of my life. At the time, I remember thinking it looked like the sky was inside out: the stars were so plentiful it looked like they were the backdrop, with small black dots poking through. I had been talking to Tom about the stars long before this trip began.
Finally, there was campfire cooking. The smell of burning wood is one of my favorite smells. Cooking, one of my favorite pastimes. I’ve gone camping for the sole purpose of wanting to cook outdoors, I’ve barbequed in the rain and wind because it still gives me joy - even when everyone else is inside, and I’ve ruminated about writing a pretentious camping cookbook (for coffee tables use only). I was ready to use this trip as a platform to perfect my ability to grill a piece of meat and know it’s temperature by touch, to bury potatoes in the coals and forget about them for hours, and to know exactly how much char is the right amount.
Our time in Namibia was cut sorely short. We had planned to spend two nights camping on the Orange River, a night near Fish River Canyon and then slowly, so as to “avoid flat tires”, work our way up to Sossusvlei. Our actual itinerary cut out Orange River completely, turned Fish River Canyon into a two hour stopover, and led us on our longest drive of the trip - a 12 hour journey driving north, as far away from Springbok as we could get.
There were three things I was looking forward to in Namibia: (1) the poor road quality, (2) the stars, and (3) campfire cooking. The bad roads excited me - I felt like they were a rite of passage. I was sure we’d get a flat tire (which sounded more appealing when I thought it would be the first car problem of the trip. It was less enticing now). I was excited for us to get under the car to jack it up, get our hands dirty and feel accomplished once we had fixed it. Everyone talks about the bad roads in Namibia and I was looking forward to the conversational cache a flat tire would provide me at campsites and rest stops.
I was also looking forward to the stars. I remember being in Namibia in 2006 and seeing the greatest stars of my life. At the time, I remember thinking it looked like the sky was inside out: the stars were so plentiful it looked like they were the backdrop, with small black dots poking through. I had been talking to Tom about the stars long before this trip began.
Finally, there was campfire cooking. The smell of burning wood is one of my favorite smells. Cooking, one of my favorite pastimes. I’ve gone camping for the sole purpose of wanting to cook outdoors, I’ve barbequed in the rain and wind because it still gives me joy - even when everyone else is inside, and I’ve ruminated about writing a pretentious camping cookbook (for coffee tables use only). I was ready to use this trip as a platform to perfect my ability to grill a piece of meat and know it’s temperature by touch, to bury potatoes in the coals and forget about them for hours, and to know exactly how much char is the right amount.
Our time in Namibia was cut sorely short. We had planned to spend two nights camping on the Orange River, a night near Fish River Canyon and then slowly, so as to “avoid flat tires”, work our way up to Sossusvlei. Our actual itinerary cut out Orange River completely, turned Fish River Canyon into a two hour stopover, and led us on our longest drive of the trip - a 12 hour journey driving north, as far away from Springbok as we could get.
Namibia is a country filled with vast swathes of nothingness. Flat nothing for as far as the eye can see. The landscape itself is otherworldly, filled with visuals that transport you to the moon and mars at the same time: black hardened lava rock and red sand dunes, side by side.
We ended our drive at 5:30pm because our one rule of the trip is that we don’t drive at night. Namibia is a country destine for road trippers. With a population of only 3 people per square kilometer, Namibia is one of the most sparsely populated countries in the world, which makes it surprising to consistently find signs for guest houses and campsites as you drive along otherwise completely desolate dirt roads. We found one of these signs around 5:30pm and followed it down a bumpy road. We found some goats, found some cows and finally found a man. He told us we could camp on his property. Which we did.
We ended our drive at 5:30pm because our one rule of the trip is that we don’t drive at night. Namibia is a country destine for road trippers. With a population of only 3 people per square kilometer, Namibia is one of the most sparsely populated countries in the world, which makes it surprising to consistently find signs for guest houses and campsites as you drive along otherwise completely desolate dirt roads. We found one of these signs around 5:30pm and followed it down a bumpy road. We found some goats, found some cows and finally found a man. He told us we could camp on his property. Which we did.
It was our first night in Namibia and we were close to the trifecta. While we hadn’t gotten a flat tire, driving for 12 hours on Namibian roads felt like a good start to earning the credentials I was after. Now, as we pulled our car around to a large and empty landscape, we were about to accomplish campfire cooking, and soon enough, stars.
I had stocked up on all the culinary goodies one could need for a road trip (including my prized possession: a book on cooking with canned fish). We had had meat waiting for us at Orange River, but since we rerouted, we were proteinless. Not a problem. I had a host of recipes up my sleeve for any camping occasion. Tonight’s dinner would be pasta puttanesca: linguine with a sardine spiked tomato sauce, olives, sundried tomatoes, and sauteed onions deglazed in red wine. We set up our tent, started a fire, reorganized our car, and set up our camping kitchen. By the time we finished, I was exhausted, we had lost all lingering light, and a strong chill had set in. My excitement quickly started to fade and I just wanted to get dinner cooked as quickly as possible. I put the sardines and olives away. Opened the wine, but only for drinking, not for a reduction. I willed myself to chop one onion, I boiled the pasta, and poured a can of crushed tomatoes on top. Dinner was done in 15 minutes. And dinner was very mediocre. I told myself I’ll cook a feast tomorrow. I rinsed our bowls and was ready to see some stars.
Then I looked up. There were no stars. Not because it wasn’t late enough. But because mean and nasty clouds had decided to infiltrate the night sky, waging war on my first night of stargazing.
We climbed into our rooftop tent, wrapped ourselves in layers of blankets to protect against the unexpected cold and went to sleep. Tomorrow is a new day for flat tires, food and stars.
I had stocked up on all the culinary goodies one could need for a road trip (including my prized possession: a book on cooking with canned fish). We had had meat waiting for us at Orange River, but since we rerouted, we were proteinless. Not a problem. I had a host of recipes up my sleeve for any camping occasion. Tonight’s dinner would be pasta puttanesca: linguine with a sardine spiked tomato sauce, olives, sundried tomatoes, and sauteed onions deglazed in red wine. We set up our tent, started a fire, reorganized our car, and set up our camping kitchen. By the time we finished, I was exhausted, we had lost all lingering light, and a strong chill had set in. My excitement quickly started to fade and I just wanted to get dinner cooked as quickly as possible. I put the sardines and olives away. Opened the wine, but only for drinking, not for a reduction. I willed myself to chop one onion, I boiled the pasta, and poured a can of crushed tomatoes on top. Dinner was done in 15 minutes. And dinner was very mediocre. I told myself I’ll cook a feast tomorrow. I rinsed our bowls and was ready to see some stars.
Then I looked up. There were no stars. Not because it wasn’t late enough. But because mean and nasty clouds had decided to infiltrate the night sky, waging war on my first night of stargazing.
We climbed into our rooftop tent, wrapped ourselves in layers of blankets to protect against the unexpected cold and went to sleep. Tomorrow is a new day for flat tires, food and stars.
Tomorrow came. We had an easy and quick drive into the campsite at the Sesriem national park. About an hour outside of Sesriem we could begin to see the sand dunes, and depending on where the light hit and the clouds hovered, the dunes took on different colors of red, orange or a very eerie dark purple.
We set out for our first walk in the later afternoon and headed straight to the area that contained Sossusvlei, Deadvlei and Big Daddy. The weather wasn’t great and a strong wind was starting to kick in.
First we stopped at Sossusvlei. We ran around the salt flats and climbed up the side of the sand dune. Then we moved over to Big Daddy - our plan was to climb to the top of the dune and descend on the back side into Deadvlei. We made it about 1/10 (1/20?) of the way up before the wind began chucking sand everywhere, blinding us and forcing us to bury our heads in our shirts to wait it out. Tom clawed the side of the ridge, terrified of falling. The wind won and we slid down the face of the dune, uninterested and unable to climb higher.
We set out for our first walk in the later afternoon and headed straight to the area that contained Sossusvlei, Deadvlei and Big Daddy. The weather wasn’t great and a strong wind was starting to kick in.
First we stopped at Sossusvlei. We ran around the salt flats and climbed up the side of the sand dune. Then we moved over to Big Daddy - our plan was to climb to the top of the dune and descend on the back side into Deadvlei. We made it about 1/10 (1/20?) of the way up before the wind began chucking sand everywhere, blinding us and forcing us to bury our heads in our shirts to wait it out. Tom clawed the side of the ridge, terrified of falling. The wind won and we slid down the face of the dune, uninterested and unable to climb higher.
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Instead, we walked around the base until we found a smaller ridge that we successfully climbed during a brief wind intermission. We could see Deadvlei below us: blackened dead trees smacked into the otherwise baren earth. It looked like an angry place. We slid down into Deadvlei and it was quiet and still and there wasn’t another soul in sight. I half expected to see ghosts instead of people down there anyway. It felt like a place where the corporeal and spiritual worlds collide.
To avoid the Deadvlei demons, we left as it began to get dark and headed back to camp. Sand covered our bodies, we looked like chickens coated in a paprika dry rub.
We showered and put up our tent and now it was time for campfire cooking and stars. Then I remembered, we were supposed to get meat in Sesriem but stayed in the dunes longer than expected. I had limited options to work with. We had couscous, some canned veggies, a bunch of spices and a can of spam. With a little ingenuity and the will to make it work, I could still cook a feast. Curried campfire spam.
It wasn’t very good.
And there were no stars that night.
There's always tomorrow.
We showered and put up our tent and now it was time for campfire cooking and stars. Then I remembered, we were supposed to get meat in Sesriem but stayed in the dunes longer than expected. I had limited options to work with. We had couscous, some canned veggies, a bunch of spices and a can of spam. With a little ingenuity and the will to make it work, I could still cook a feast. Curried campfire spam.
It wasn’t very good.
And there were no stars that night.
There's always tomorrow.
The next day we woke up before sunrise - a privilege allotted only to the lucky few who reserved the campsite inside the park months in advance (or who, like us, turned up and feigned confusion and stupidity about the dates of our reservation until they gave us the empty spot we could see listed on the board behind reception). We saw all the other campers’ cars headed for Dune 45 for sunrise - so we decided to blaze our own path. We turned off at a small sign that said “Elim dune” and felt like we had beat the system: there were no other cars, no lights. It was just us, the wilderness, and a sand dune waiting to be illuminated by the rising sun.
Once there a bit of light we soon figured out why we were alone. Elim was a pathetic little dune - covered in splotches of green shrubbery like acne on a preteens face. The sunrise didn’t reflect off the dune’s ridge because the dune sat on an east-west axis unlike Dune 45 which is positioned at a nice North-South angle, perfect for casting picturesque shadows in the morning glow.
So we sat there, keeping poor Elim company as the day broke. Tom play the guitar poorly and I made us a pot of coffee. There was no view to write home about and I don’t think we took a single picture. But it was peaceful and we were deeply satisfied.
We left Sesriem that day and drove east. We had no plan for the day, except to get as many kilometers under our belt as possible, as we needed to cross into Botswana the next day. We got horribly lost. We kept a tally of the number of cars we saw - I don’t think the count made it onto a second hand.
We ended our drive in a small town that we knew nothing about called Gobabis. The town either didn’t have any lodges or campsites or certainly wasn’t in the business of promoting them. We found our way to a place called Xian Qian Rest House. We were skeptical of everything and our expectations were exceedingly low. The gate was positioned 2 feet behind a train track so in order to ring the bell you had to physically park your car across the tracks that we could only hope were defunct. There were intimidating signs leading into the campsite, one read in all caps: ENTERING THESE PREMISES WILL BE AT OWN RISK. Another sign read: BEWARE OF SNAKES AND SCORPIONS. When the gate opened, I was uncertain about entering, but then again, it was better than being parked on the train tracks, so we drove in.
Xian Qian Rest House may be the best kept secret of Namibia. Where we expected snakes and scorpions, we found golden labradors and peacocks. Where we expected dirty and subpar accommodations, we found the serenity of a buddha statue overlooking a clear blue pool, our own plot of perfectly manicured grass on which to camp, and private ablutions. We drank African margaritas (our gourmet invention of tequila and fruit punch) and lapped in the luxury. By the time the sun set, we were tipsy enough from our drinks and the excitement of a clean shower that neither of us can even remember what we ate or if there were any stars in the sky.
So we sat there, keeping poor Elim company as the day broke. Tom play the guitar poorly and I made us a pot of coffee. There was no view to write home about and I don’t think we took a single picture. But it was peaceful and we were deeply satisfied.
We left Sesriem that day and drove east. We had no plan for the day, except to get as many kilometers under our belt as possible, as we needed to cross into Botswana the next day. We got horribly lost. We kept a tally of the number of cars we saw - I don’t think the count made it onto a second hand.
We ended our drive in a small town that we knew nothing about called Gobabis. The town either didn’t have any lodges or campsites or certainly wasn’t in the business of promoting them. We found our way to a place called Xian Qian Rest House. We were skeptical of everything and our expectations were exceedingly low. The gate was positioned 2 feet behind a train track so in order to ring the bell you had to physically park your car across the tracks that we could only hope were defunct. There were intimidating signs leading into the campsite, one read in all caps: ENTERING THESE PREMISES WILL BE AT OWN RISK. Another sign read: BEWARE OF SNAKES AND SCORPIONS. When the gate opened, I was uncertain about entering, but then again, it was better than being parked on the train tracks, so we drove in.
Xian Qian Rest House may be the best kept secret of Namibia. Where we expected snakes and scorpions, we found golden labradors and peacocks. Where we expected dirty and subpar accommodations, we found the serenity of a buddha statue overlooking a clear blue pool, our own plot of perfectly manicured grass on which to camp, and private ablutions. We drank African margaritas (our gourmet invention of tequila and fruit punch) and lapped in the luxury. By the time the sun set, we were tipsy enough from our drinks and the excitement of a clean shower that neither of us can even remember what we ate or if there were any stars in the sky.
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The next morning we packed up the campsite and headed towards Botswana. As we drove through Gobabis, a few guys waved at us but we couldn’t understand what they were saying. Then, stopped at a traffic light, a car pulled up next to us and the men inside again were waving for our attention. The driver was pointing to our car, more specifically, our tire. I smiled as I finally realized what he was trying to say: he was telling us we had a flat tire.
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