Three go wild in the Namib Desert

On a mokoro in the Okavango Delta, Botswana













In the Naukluft Mountains, Namibia












13th April 2007

Chas and I are in Botswana, travelling from Maun to Ghanzi. We have travelled on many buses this week, but none quite so uncomfortable or dilapidated as this one. Chas is sandwiched between me and an enormous woman who spends most of the journey in loud dispute with the ticket collector over her fare. His misery is palpable.

I am hoping we will reach Ghanzi in time to get a bus to the Namibian border today, so that we will be able to meet Simon in Windhoek tomorrow. However, our attempts to procure a bus timetable have proved fruitless, so we have no idea if there is a connecting bus today, or whether the border will still be open when we get there. The three hour bus journey is still in progress after four hours. I slouch in the corner, watching the flat scrub go by and silently cursing Lonely Planet.

The bus eventually pulls into Ghanzi station. The only other bus there turns out to be leaving imminently for the border, so we retrieve our rucksacks hurriedly and clamber on. The sign at the front of the bus tells us that it was built in Botswana. I wonder if this is a statement of pride or a health warning. However, the journey is uneventful, until we reach a town called Charles Hill, where everyone apart from us gets off. Chas gives me a wary glance. We carry on for ten minutes or so, and then the bus grinds to a halt. This appears to be it. We climb off, and walk towards the border post. We are in the desert, and there is nobody here apart from us. Chas raises his eyebrows at me, and we both start laughing uncontrollably. Maybe this was not one of my better plans.

And then, suddenly, an enormous truck carrying assorted Volvos appears beside us. The driver leans out and asks us what on earth we are doing. We tell him that we are going to Windhoek, and he offers us a lift. We hesitate for a moment, but then we both decide that despite years of maternal advice about situations just like this, an offer of a free ride in the middle of the Kalahari should not be declined. We hang around outside Namibian immigration while he clears customs, and then we climb into the cab together and set off into the dusk.

The journey is memorable for intermittent sightings of kudu at the roadside and also for our driver’s surprising taste in music. As we reach the suburbs of Windhoek, it is late, and the disco version of “Don’t Cry For Me Argentina” is playing for the third time. But we do get there, probably in spite of my planning efforts rather than because of them. After finding a hostel, we celebrate our arrival with pies and beer from the all-night garage, and promise each other never to do this again.

16th April 2007

The alarm goes off at 4.30am. I wake up in darkness and try to remember where I am. Then I realise that I am in tent on top of a 4WD in a campsite in the Namib desert. I also recall the argument that we had the day before, when Chas wanted to stay in Sossuvlei to watch the sunset over the dunes. (Simon and I didn’t, so we made a rather rash offer to get up for the sunrise instead.) Finally, I remember all the wine that was consumed with Simon’s astonishing one-pot cuisine last night. But anyway, a deal is a deal, so I wriggle out of my sleeping bag and set about packing up to go.

After fifteen minutes of stumbling about in the dark, the tents are folded away and we are ready to drive off. I turn to my slightly dishevelled fellow campers and ask who has the car key. Apparently I do. Chas and Simon ignore my muttered apologies as we unpack all the hastily stowed bedding and rummage below the car seats. After what seems like hours, the keys are located at the bottom of my sleeping bag. We jump back into the car and drive into the national park as fast as we can, hoping that we will beat the sunrise despite the false start.

We make it to the dunes just before the morning comes. We march up to the nearest vantage point, sliding in the sand as we go, only stopping when Simon has an attack of petulance and announces he is going no further. We sit together, and we wait for the dawn. Slowly the valley floods with sunshine, illuminating the dunes with a deep red glow. We watch a hot air balloon drifting across the horizon. Eventually, Simon says "Actually, this was worth getting up for."