Germans in Swakopmund

I was expecting Eisbein and Apfelstrudel in Swakopmund, a town everyone told us is more German than Germany, but I was not prepared for what I found. There were German magazines in the doctor's waiting room. 

German sweets for sale in the supermarket (yay for Katzenpfötchen and Blockmalz). There was a Poststrasse and a Bismarckstrasse.  

Everything from the optician to the Apotheke was signposted in German, the service improved immeasurably once I started speaking German to people, and then I came across a Tchibo shop, and my German experience was complete.

Bottrop Heimatmuseum in Namibia

Warning: This blog entry contains many German words. This is intentional - I haven't suddenly lost the ability to write the English language. If you want to know what they mean, look them up.

After Etosha we are heading to Botswana, via a small town called Tsumeb. The savannah of Etosha had given way to woodland and some hills, the trees showing an amazing range of colours in their leaves, from bare grey branches to reddish brown and dark green leaves, silvery shades and yellow leaves where the sun has bleached the growth. Tsumeb is a small mining town with a very big mine. The mine had closed 18 years ago and the town was now trying to find a purpose serving the farming community. Mining in Tsumeb was for minerals, metals and crystals, a crazy mix of materials pushed up in a pipe during the making of the world. MAny minerals are only found here, and the crystals and gems have made-up names like Tennantite and Anglesite, or sponsored names like Smithsonite. Down Main Street, past signs for the Copper festival, the Youth Festival and the banner announcing Karnival (at the end of July?!?) we came to the jewel of the town, the Tsumeb Museum: "Ethnological-colonial and mine history under one roof!". Entering it I found myself returned to the old Heimatmuseum in Bottrop, with an African twist. The lady at the desk spoke German, of course, and the rooms were labelled in German, Afrikaans and English, displaying the utterly complete German influence on the town despite the fact that the Germans surrendered to the Brits in 1915 and never regained Namibia as a colony. The museum rooms resemble nothing more than the average German Heimatmuseum, polished wooden display cases filled with dusty, badly labelled artefacts: diaoramas illustrating 'traditional life' (in this case a Herero village) built from found materials by a volunteer, trees fashioned from cotton balls dyed green and held up with brown sticks; fading photographs and educational writing taped to the walls; jewellery displayed on inappropriately coloured mannequin heads; old medals and war uniforms labelled with the donor's name.

The 'mine display room' was copied directly from the Bottrop museum, showing as it did the mine worker's implements, a Gesellenstück made for an exam in the shape of a parrot, but really a cigar cutter; charts and maps of the mine payout, models of the mine workings and photos of Victorian families and their black servants at Christmas. Then there were targets from the Schützenfest, medals from the Reit und Fahrverein, trophies for the Kegelmeister, a banner from the Männerturnverein and costumes from the Karnevalsverein. Also Pfadfinder flags and Mark pieces of the official Otavi mine currency, to keep people's pay in the family, so to speak. It could not have been more German if it tried.

We left Tsumeb eating Apfel und Karottenkuchen from the Etosha Cafe and Biergarten.

Big nests

All over Namibia we have been seeing trees which seem to have been draped in straw. However, on closer examination, you see that there are dozens of small birds flying in and out of this pile of straw. These are the nests of the Sociable Weaver', a species of weaver bird that, instead of building individual nests for each couple, gets together and build a tower block.

The birds themselves are unremarkable, but quite cute. Here is a young one.

Etosha animals

Etosha has been one of the most anticipated places for us to visit. We have heard about the salt pan, the amazing amount of animals that can be seen there, and the beautiful savannah. We planned to spend four nights in the park, the longest we have stopped so far. As usual, it turned out different. The park and camping fees had gone up to twice the price of the two year old guide book listings, so we kept our camping there to a minimum. The salt pan was eerie and empty and vast, but also very smelly and covered with the stickiest substance known to man, a stinky grey mud that stuck to our feet and boots and took us half an hour to wash off in the evening.

We did have some amazing animal sightings, though, thanks to the brilliant waterhole right next to the camp, flood lit at night. The animals seemed to not care about us, although I could swear that the elephants were looking right back at us trying to figure out what we were doing staring like that.

On our second evening elephants and rhinos came out for a testosterone fuelled display. First there were two male elephants who spent more time pushing and shoving than drinking at the water inlet, which seems to be their exclusive domain. Maybe the water is cleaner there than in the main pond. Dangling their huge penises they repeatedly shoved and bumped and groaned in slow motion as if to prove some plodding and mysterious point. Later two black rhino wandered out of the night to drink on the other side of the pool. All was peaceful until another group of three elephant bulls arrived from the far side of the water. In order to get to their brethren by the water pipe they had to walk around the rhino. There was a lot of ear flapping and head shaking as the large bull passed the rhino which seemed to reverse to try to block his path (black rhino have a reputation for being irritable and aggressive - next to an elephant it's probably small guy syndrome). After a short stand-off the rhino wandered off. Of course the second rhino now took offense and tried to take on the same bull. This one lost out like the other rhino, but instead wandered into the water as if to say: I might have to give in, but I can still piss in your drinking water.

The gang of three newcomers went straight for the two incumbents, who gave up their own tussle as they were now chased off by the big new bull. There was a lot of to-ing and fro-ing until some sort of equilibrium was established and the two smaller bulls stood off to one side to let the newcomers get their fill.

The next morning we drove through the park, and watched a lion/warthog encounter. Two young males were resting by a waterhole, spread majestically like statues at Trafalgar Square, when a warthog blithely stepped out from the bushes. He noticed the lions, but must have thought he could safely pass through them, because he ran on towards the water. It was when one of the lions stretched out leisurely that the warthog must have thought better of it. He turned on his heels to find alternative refreshments.

Breaking news - our first theft

One of the pieces of warning we have been getting from the very beginning of talking about this trip has been that we will have to protect our possessions as everywhere there is a chance of stuff being swiped. So we have locked the fuel canisters, padlocked the roof boxes, locked the gas bottle to its holder and had locks fitted to the cupboards, drawers and storage spaces. In the meantime we joked how the first time we will get mugged will be in Italy, and people told us stories about muggings in London, Stockholm and New York. Today we lost our mugging cherry. We had been camping in a lovely spot right by the Okavango river, across the border from Angola, all by ourselves at the slightly disheveled camp site. It had been quiet, the only visits had been from an owl, a bush baby and the dog with six super cute puppies. Oh, and the guy sitting watch by the fire all night. Stuart brought him a mug of tea and some soup, but we lacked a common language, so couldn't work out if he was guarding us or keeping out the riff raff from across the river. He left this morning, having scrubbed the pot and cup we lent him to within an inch of their lives. I wish he had stayed: We had a dawdly morning, eating breakfast, showering, charging laptops. We were round the site most of the time, but there must have been a moment when Stuart went down the path, I was in the toilet and Merryl in her tent, when someone snuck in, climbed the ladder of the tent and grabbed everything in it. Two bags and some clothes, ready at the edge of the tent to be packed away for the day. We can't have been out of sight for more than a minute, and heard nothing. Luckily all that disappeared was our two favourite Crumpler bags, but nothing of value was in them, and the clothes had been wearing the day before. We first thought our phones had gone, but luckily we had just mislaid them. The camp site people were very good and sent out a search party, but all they recovered were some kid's size foot prints and some tablets that must have dropped out of my pocket. I was a bit worried at their enthusiasm, the gardeners who went off in hot pursuit were carrying machetes, I hoped just as that's what they were working with at the time. So now we are a bit shaken, but trying not to let the experience get to us. We will certainly be a bit more careful in future and appreciate the car guards at the shopping centres more than we did in the past.

What's in this package?

Answers in the comments, please. Keep it clean!

Merryl running down a dune...

It was like going home, like being back in Dubai, like a return to the Empty Quarter. The Namib at Sossusvlei is vast, still and impressive. And Merryl liked it, too:

Driving through Southern Namibia

If you look at our map you will see that we have just about returned to the same latitude as Johannesburg, so really we are back where we have started, only 12 days on a little further to the left. It's been a lot of driving so far, and it makes for a very peculiar daily rhythm. Now that we have a little more leeway as to getting to a certain border on a specific day (the next deadline is not till our entry into Tanzania, where we have a visa for September) we are planning our route so that we don't drive for too long every day and that we have off days where we stay in one place for more than one night. In our initial planning we realised that a trip like this can easily take a year or more, as there is so much to see and do, and we are constantly dropping interesting locations or activities so that we can properly enjoy what we do see with enough leisure so that we are not just rushing through.

Anyway, our driving day is structured as follows:

We get up at 6, way to early for me, but as the other two are real morning people and it helps to get the most out of the day, we are ready to go at day break (driving at night is not recommended in Africa, and we have already encountered a huge Kudu bull at dusk and a herd of springbok flowing across the road like frightened ghosts with shining eyes before sunrise one morning, all accidents waiting to happen). That usually means I grump around a lot while Merryl cheerfully makes breakfast and Stuart get a cuppa going. We pack the tents and kitchen - the car is packed the night before, so there is not too much faffing in the dark morning - and set off. After an hour or so we stop for breakfast. At the moment this still means finding a nice sheltered place to stop, as the morning temperatures are pretty un-tropical, another cup of tea and some cereal or if I am awake enough, scrambled eggs.

After that we drive. The landscape rolls out from unter us, the road ahead is usually a long straight one and the country changes as we pass. Today we went from mountainous canyon land to eroded red hills to valleys covered by yellow grass like a blond crew cut; to Barchan dunes marching across a field of gravel; to end at the seaside town of Lüderitz on the Atlantic ocean. A drive of just over five hours.

Sometimes we stop, to top up with diesel - Namibia, being an empty country, is not blessed with regular petrol stations, so we take it when we can get it - or to shop. Like the other day, driving up from the Namibian border: We stopped at a Spar supermarket in the middle of nowhere. Well, not quite nowhere, as there was a vast vineyard nearby, not producing wine, but grapes for export, and its attendant 'informal settlement' of workers living in corrugated iron shacks and straw huts. Everyone has to eat, so the supermarket was surprisingly well stocked. There was more than just the obligatory butternut squash and few onions on the vegetable shelf, and we had a range of lollies (sweeties, for the non-kiwis) to choose from. The place didn't stretch to Parmesan cheese, and was out of milk, but we can handle that from our stocks.

Sometimes we stop for lunch, or coffee, but rarely to go for a walk or just to sit. I guess the getting-on is still too compelling, and I am looking forward to a time when we can be in the place that we find ourselves and just look around without thinking about the next new thing.

We take turns driving, and so far passing the time as a passenger has not been an issue. There is a lot going on outside the window, or there are blog entries to write, photos to download and guide books to read. By the time we get to where we are going, we may be stiff in the joints, but so far we haven't been bored. Of course, the roads have been good in South Africa and here in Namibia, so our entertainment options and comfort level may well change as we get into rougher territory.

We try to get to a camp site by 4 or 5 at the latest. It gets dark early during the African winter, by 6 it's all over as the sun drops so fast and there is little in the way of dusk. It's light, then it's dark. We pitch the tent, put up the roof tent and set up the kitchen. If there is time, we do some clearing out of the car, sorting the accumulated clutter of the day. If there is more time, we have a shower or go for a walk. Dinner is early, it's much easier to cook with some daylight left. After dinner and washing up and putting the car away it feels like midnight, although it's only 8pm. Bedtime is early, so the others can kick me out of bed at a wholly unreasonable time of 6am the next day.

Best day ever - since Tuesday

In the morning we got up extremely early to watch the sunrise at Fish River Canyon. On our way we intercepted a few hares, long ears flying, and an owl, grey as the dawn. We arrived at the canyon just as the sun turned crimson behind us. From the viewpoint we looked out over a vast range of cliff faces, sloping hills of red rubble sliding inexorably down towards the pale winding river at the centre of the valley. All around us eroding peaks touched by the first light of the day. Slowly, the hot sun appeared over the horizon, the sky changing from washed out grey to pink. The canyon walls lit up in stages, layers of different coloured rock revealed in their crumbled glory. Eventually the walls started reflecting in the still waters of the Fish river as it took on the colour of the morning sky.

We walked along the plateau to get another view. The rock under our feet had broken into geometric blocks and flat, shingle-like pieces, red, black and quartz white. To our left the canyon wall fell vertical for a long time, before sloping off in a bed of decayed rocks. At the end of the plateau we discovered the start of the four day hiking trail, a sign warning that no-one is allowed onto the trail without a permit. This is one of the more difficult hikes, and the start was not very inviting, anyway, as it bent steeply down a precarious slope, edged only by a rusty rope. How anyone can carry six days worth of food and equipment and make it to the bottom without a fall I have no idea.

In the afternoon Merryl and I went horse riding, And what a ride it was, topping the day with another great adventure. We were an hour early, due to the fact that despite being in Namibia for four days already we had not worked out that it's in a different time zone from South Africa. We have been travelling by the position of the sun in the sky, leaving at first light and stopping as it got dark, so hadn't noticed the change.

We were looking forward to a good ride, as we had told the rangers we were both experienced riders - the last few rides I had been on we had been in the company of first time riders and I was ready for a good run. The ranger took this to mean we could handle anything, and gave us two horses that had been left in a field for the last five months, and had forgotten what a ride was meant to be like. They were wild and at the first sign of a flat stretch of dry river bed they were off. All they wanted to to was run like the wind, and they were unstoppable. Unfortunately there came a time when horse and I parted company, and I landed hard, scraping my side, bruising my hip and shoulder and ego. Nothing broken or badly injured, even the camera I landed on survived. I guess 'experienced' was an exaggeration. Nothing for it but more practice.

Border formalities

The rush has subsided now that we have hit the deadline of getting ourselves out of South Africa before my visa ran out. We made it to the Namibian border on the last day of my visa. The Namibian border at Noordoewer is a desolate and dusty affair in two parts. Stuart was very nervous as we approached the South African side, as this was our first land border crossing with the carnet, the car's passport that should get it across Africa without incurring customs duties. Incidentally, this was also Merryl's first land border crossing, although she was much calmer about it. The sun blazed down as we were directed to our first stop, South African passport control. There was a long queue in front of us as a large overland safari vehicle has just pulled up and decanted a load of bandanna and shorts youths for the formalities. By the time they were done the guy in the Home Office uniform could not have cared less about our visas and we were gone out of the immigration office in seconds. Next stop customs, which basically consisted in handing over the slip the first guy had given us, and we were off into No Man's Land. We drove across the bridge past the big sign welcoming us to Namibia. Around the corner from the sign we landed up at the Namibian border offices, again tagging behind the overlanders. We had some discussions with the immigration officials regarding our lack of a local address for our stay and welcomed their suggestion that we would be going to Fish River Canyon - which we were, but not just yet, and definitely not the only place we were staying. Stuart then went on to sort out the car formalities, paid the border crossing fee for the car and we were on our way. So apart from the panic where we had temporarily lost Stuart's inoculation pass (which no-one wanted to see anyway) everything went extremely smooth. No bribes, no hassle, no questions, no muss, no fuss. May all border crossings go this well for the rest of the trip!