“How do white women not have babies??” The Himba girl insists on an answer. She is practically stamping her foot with impatience. How could I not have children?? I’m frank and tell her through the interpreter that there’s condoms, rhythm, drugs – two of those three choices being unavailable to her. Jesus. She is young and already a mother. We stand in their corn garden and discuss it. There is not much more to say.
But there is much to say about the Himba women. Look at how they present themselves – how can we as westerners expect everyone to be like us? Their tribe’s recent history is fraught with genocide from German colonialists and the threat of the Namib government to build a dam that will bury their homelands in water. They don’t want to change – but schooling would do good.
We visited a true Himba village, not a reenactment, and through an interpreter we are shown a life lived on the ground. It was a moving experience. 
On the way to Palmwag Nature Reserve (pronounced Pla-ma-ruge) on Easter Sunday we visit the Damaraland Living Museum. Damaraland is a sparsely vegetated mountainous region once occupied by the Damara tribe, a Bantu-speaking people. Bantu is considered to be the first language and all other languages, all of them, are derived from Bantu. Latin, Greek, English, living or dead, all language came from Bantu here in Africa.
Here at the Living Museum, young people revive their culture in a village set amoung the huge granite outcrops. The men and women are talented and enthusiastic – their skills are unique and their reenactments are heart-felt.
We have a super time, trying the games, and attempting to speak in the clicks – the Damara make it look so easy- and getting a make-over with red ocher. There are older people who do not speak English (or German, or French as the younger people do) and they love it when we try their language – it gives them something to laugh at. If you go to one of these Living Museums, you’ll see that it is not a chore for the people, it is a job and they are proud of their work. They live a modern life now, they tell us, but appear quite comfortable wearing the skins their ancestors wore.
The Palmrag Lodge will give us a permit for two nights camping in the Nature Reserve, one of the largest in the world. Seventy percent of the free-roaming population of Black Rhinos live here. We get a cup of coffee and wait on the veranda of the lodge, not expecting to see much although they have a wetlands right in front of us. Another table holds a family and there is a couple on a couch also drinking coffee. Presently an enormous monitor lizard comes out of the wetlands and goes under the deck – and then it reappears on the back of the couch where the people are sitting. They kindly give up the couch – the lizard cannot get a grip on the fabric and slides down to the cushion, tongue flicking out to taste the forgotten coffee. No one blinks. I have no camera.
Leaving Windhoek is an ordeal. One last errand turned into three frustrating hours – but it is interesting in the end; we find some take-away food in the industrial area and chat with the shop owner, an expat from Angola. 
He loves Namibia, and Angola as well, but living is much easier in Windhoek. Like many people he asks us about Trump and what we expect. Some people open the conversation with “whom did you vote for?” Cheeky question. I tell them the choices were limited.
We are on the road toward Mt. Etjo Safari Lodge Campsite quite late in the day. Coincidentally, the route takes us through Okahandja where we’d recently spend a rainy night in a minuscule hotel room, just for the use of internet. 
Okahandja on this bright sunny day is charming, I think. We fuel up and find the butcher shop. It is the Friday before Easter and the butchery is hopping – Jim says it’s no wonder everyone eats meat, it is dirt cheap, and we stock up.
By this time it is really late, there’s road construction, complete with baboons watching from fence posts, and we find ourselves driving through a brilliant sunset and on into the night. We arrive in the pitch black, build a fire and sit down – no dinner, just the fire and a glass of wine. It’s been a long day. 
Joining us is this amazing stick insect – never seen that before.
Mt. Etjo Safari Lodge is the real deal. Created by a white Namibian and now run by his family, it is where the Namibian government signed the independence treaty with South Africa in 1990. 
Photos of the founder with various celebrities adorn the walls; my favorite is of him with John Wayne – turns out the lodge owner was the animal trainer for the movie Hattari. The whole place reeks of pith helmets and wardrobe trunks and white-tie dinners. While we didn’t make it here for the Golden Age of safaris, at least we made it here now. Just to top it off, there are 219 million year old dinosaur tracks nearby – their Golden Age having long since passed. And so on we go.
We are back! A big hi to all y’all and thanks for following the AdriftOverland blog. Keep the comments coming – even if we are slow to approve them (sometimes we are long away from wifi when your comments come in.) Posting will be/has been sporadic – moving north toward Entosha involves mostly wild camping.
There’s a glitch on the blogsite – when clicking on a small photo, you are taken off the blog. Sorry about that. Don’t know quite what to do, I’ve tried reloading photos but that did not work. Perhaps on this next post that problem will go away. Word Press has a way of doing that. Maybe it is fixed already, haha.
Three+ months on the road. Luck is still with us. Jesus is with us as well, as we say Jesus, look at that!! several times a day. Here in Windhoek – which is a lovely city – UrbanCamp is our home, a great campsite in the heart of town. Never mind the armed guards and the rolls of razor wire on the top and on the bottom of the fence. 
The camp is staffed with friendly people and there’s good service. Fellow American travelers from Portland, Oregon, Jared and Jen, meet us at the bar one night and bring friends Paul and Julie. Our paths may cross again, it is hoped.
With some free time in Windhoek while the truck is serviced, we head for the National Botanical Garden. 
Namibia trees and plants are fantastical, and this is the place to learn more about them. The Garden has been established since the ’70s and has excellent interpretative signage which helps since it seems each tree’s name ends in “thorn”. The Namib desert climate has sustained the Welwitschias which are odd enough, but the many species of bottle trees are even more eye-catching. Their leaves are thick and waxy and the way their bark peels off the greenish trunks is so cool – and they are huge, as you can see Jim inside of this one.
The Baobabs look a tree turned upside down and Namibia has many species of these – gigantic landscape features. 
The Windhoek Aloe plants at the Garden are all dead, flattened like fallen chess pieces. Turns out four years ago there was a glut of rain and the aloes couldn’t handle it. They must have been spectacular. No sign of them coming back, the staff told us.
Rain is coming down as we leave and it pours for hours. If you ask five people about the rain, you’ll get five different answers: Yes, it is the rainy season. No, this is highly unusual. Yes, it always rains on Easter (this from a fellow camper). No, we have never seen rain like this. . . like Mark Twain said, everyone talks about the weather but no one does anything about it.
Duty calls. We break free of the rocks and stars and make our way to Walvis Bay through the Namib-Nakluft National Park. Endless sand and rock cover every kilometer and while it is all amazing to behold we are happy to arrive at the coast. The camping is limited and not very comfortable. Too many campers and not enough ablution blocks – I will spare the details. The white pelicans and pink flamingos made up for most of it. We only stay the night in Walvis Bay.
Swakopmund is just up the coast and it has an air of vacation home to it, and all the kinds of businesses that vacationers bring to a town. There is excellent camping and just down the road from the campsite is where the fishing 
boats clean the catch of the day. We see this and stop to ask if there are any fresh fish to buy – a boat captain gives us two just-caught “black fin” fish and we braai them up for dinner.
We then spend our first night out of the Beagle in three weeks. We were due a room – maybe even overdue – and we try to make the most of it. The trouble with getting a room is that you can’t check in until after 2pm and you must vacate by 10am – that doesn’t leave a lot of time for anything but internet and sleep. Hardly worth the money except for the crisp clean sheets and giant showers, right? No complaints about that.
A permit is required to visit the Tinkas Flats area, our next destination. We stop at the permit office after a visit to the Swakopmund Snake House, and find that the permit office is covered in posters of Namibia’s various snakes. I’m sensing a pattern here. But why worry about snakes when every single bush, twig and tree holds more thorns than a Cholla cactus. Not to mention the poisonous Henbane plants and the Castor Bean growing wild (think ricin, and Breaking Bad) plus the stinging needles. Priorities!
So what’s a Tinkas, anyways? Jim and I ask ourselves this as we camp amid rocks, sand and Welwitschia plants. We still don’t know. But the Welwitschia 
plants are something H.P. Lovecraft would have liked; a creepy plant growing only two leaves which feather out as it ages to look like it is having a really bad hair day. Completely suited to this hot dry environment, the plant thrives along, so who am I to say it’s creepy? Still, it’s quite odd.
We plan three nights at the very well-operated community camp of Spittskoppe. Community camps are run by the local village – in this case huts and a boarding school strung out on the nine kilometer road into the camp. Villagers have stalls set up along the way selling curios, rocks, wind chimes made from curios and rocks, very creative. We have to drive by and wave; we have no room for trinkets and there is still a very long way to go. Better to stay at the camp and hire a guide for a tour than buy a rock. There is San bushman art to see and the campsite is awesome. 
The birds and plants vary from one side of the valley to the other and we see Rosy-Cheeked Lovebirds, Pale-winged Starlings, various doves, wagtails and of course weavers. Water comes from a tiny seep in the rocks above us, while throughout the Spittskoppe one can find large and deep water pools in the rocks. This area once supported big game when climate was more humid. Spectacular scenery here.
We are discovering that Namibia is a busy place. The campers we speak with have said they are headed for the coast. We decide to go the opposite direction and head inland.
Within a day’s drive from the Sand Sea is Lake Oanob and if you are guessing that a large body of fresh cool water sounds refreshing after the dunes, you’d be right. Fresh food in the nearby town of Rehoboth is available and we stock up – it’s been raisins and crackers and no beer for a couple of days.
At the lake, being Sunday afternoon, there is lots of activity on the water. By Monday, there is no one. 
We hike the Zebra trail (and see zebra) then rent a canoe and paddle all around the lake. A cormorant nesting colony sits on a rocky island. There are a couple of white pelicans and lots of herons. No wind, puffy white clouds – it’s a lovely afternoon.
But we can’t stay at the lake indefinitely. It is time to stop procrastinating; April 15 is looming and that means income taxes, and that means a room in town. Not to hurry, though; we drift down the road to Rooisands camp – we will get to a city soon enough. Rooisands has the reputation of excellent stargazing, there is even an observatory on sight. It is not the best time of year for gazing (although the stars are glorious) and there is no one at the camp but us. Until some surprise guests show up for dinner!
Big black shapes appear out of the dark – whoa, those weren’t there a minute ago, I’m sure of that. The shapes move about – it is four big Ostrich! Their long necks gape over the bushes like they are asking what’s for dinner. Though technically Ostrich aren’t birds, they are fine drinking out of the bird waterer. The dominant male puts on a show, fluffing his feathers and reaching out to try and taste us. Their beaks are like hedge clippers, a bite from them would really hurt.
The next morning all four of them appear again out of nowhere and it is plain that campers feed them. They hang around and preen and while preening, they drop numerous feathers, which I cannot wait to snatch up. But the ostrich don’t leave, and I’m sure I don’t want to get too close. Finally they wander off and Jim stands guard for me as I fetch up a handful of fresh feathers. Feathers are better than rocks on the dashboard.
We wander down the road all of 20 kilometers to Rooiklips camp where they are surprised to see anyone at the crack of 11:30am. It is early to set up camp so we order a cola and hang around the reception. The open-air room is made of the most common medium, rock, plus rough concrete with tree limb beams. Rock steps are scattered about with no regard for safety. The bar where business is transacted is a huge slap of stone with four stools that sit like barrels of oil, no foot rest nor any support if one should topple over. At what appears to be the local’s table, a very weathered man sits, wearing only jean shorts. It’s difficult to judge his age; his tanned skin sits on him like a shrunken suit and he is smoking like it’s the cure. Grasping his ankle for dear life is a 10-day old baby baboon wearing a diaper. At not even noon, beers are flowing. We sit down to take it all in.
The Sand Sea dunes phenomenon is caused by the endless erosion of the dominant hills here, and winds that blows constantly.
The size, color and sheer number of these spectacular piles of sand is otherworldly. This is what Mars looks like.We know because Rover took pictures and sent them back to NASA. Now, there are those who don’t believe Rover was on Mars at all and that those photos are a hoax. Maybe these non-believers have been to Sossusvlie; this would be a good place to come to that conclusion (if you are a nut). Sossusvlie is actually the dominant pan (low spot) in the area but has become to go-to name for the dunes.
And Sossusvlie is as close as Jim and I will ever come to Mars. It will do nicely as it is much easier to get to. We arrive in camp in the afternoon and rather than hang around, we head off on the paved road to the dunes. Namibia has few paved roads, but they took the time to pave this one. Gravel and dust would be disastrous with this much traffic. 60 kilometers later we hit the sand and four-wheel around to a couple of the popular walks, scoping out what to do the following morning. We linger until dark and while the Sand Sea may at first glance seem lifeless, we see jackal, wart hog, oryx and springbok on our way back to camp.
As camp guests, we are allowed to leave for the dunes at 6am, an hour ahead of anyone else, for the advantage of the morning light and coolness. Vehicles of all types line up at the gate. Think of that country song, where the cars are lined up to the moon and back, and “. . .wouldn’t you know, some fool’d pull out to pass” (Jerry Reed sang it, in 1973). And it’s true, someone is in a hurry and passes, but no one cares.
Big Mama is our goal. It’s a worthy climb and the morning light is luscious. Sand gets into every pore and orifice and then some. At the top the wind blows sand where it hadn’t gotten to yet. The view is picturesque but I am wishing I’d left my camera in the Beagle. If I’m this covered in sand, so is the camera.
It starts to become very hot; we slide down and hang around under one of the many old acacia trees for a drink and a snack. A flock of Cape Weavers comes by; they look thirsty (who doesn’t in this freaky dry place?) so I get out the water dish and more birds come. Pretty soon there’s a huge flock and a cacophony of twitters and tweets erupts. 
An adorable little brown mouse joins the party. People come by to photograph the birds. Lizards watch – they are plain colored. No need to call attention to one’s self here. It’s a festival of life with a backdrop of red sand.
It would take a lifetime to understand this unique place. Namibia Parks doesn’t waste a lot of money on interpretative signage – they must spend it all on road maintenance. We only have a couple of days but we are suitably impressed especially on our final morning in camp when the wind stops blowing and the light is nice and we are the only people around – everyone else is off to the dunes.
We need fresh food and an internet connection which is clearly not something to be found in most of the tiny towns along our route. Neither the food nor the wifi. On a Saturday – definitely not a school day – we enter a reasonably size town and head down the main street. Two blocks later we are out of town and we find a some shade to assess the situation. There are two “camping” places, both in someone’s back yard that will work for us. One has wifi. We are in.
A crew of kids are begging at the fuel stop/store. Our visit is a novelty and we are fair game and obviously rich. This is not a new experience for us. Unsettling sometimes, but not new. We follow our own protocol – we tip the various service people, purchase something in a store or café, and don’t give anything to people begging. Ok, I step out of bounds here and I buy some peanuts to give the kids. Seconds later they are asking for money. It’s an unwinnable situation. But again, it is Saturday, there’s nothing else to do and it is unfair to judge an entire town based on a quick stop. The campground owner is sweet, the whole town quiets down by dark (except for the many barking dogs) and we leave in the morning, business taken care of and happy to be back on the road.
Campsites in Namibia can be funky (behind the fuel station) or, like farm camps, homey. We find the Lovedale farm camp at just the right time of day. Pulling in, a very big wasp immediately stings Jim. That had to hurt; the wasp was huge. I go up to find a camping site while he gets ice on the sting. I am greeted by a border collie, a three-legged black and white cat, and two Scottie dogs – I dig this place already (probably more than Jim does). We spend the night, pet the dogs, and roll on.
At the Tsauchab River camp an artist with a welding machine and access to tons of old metal parts has been extremely busy – the entire community area is filled with hilarious and ingenious sculptures. One or two of these creations might look silly, but when there are hundreds of them, it is delightful.
The Drongo campsite at Tsauchab has its ablution built directly into an enormous wild fig tree. Praying mantis the size of drones dive bomb the kitchen light. Red and black crickets walk up our legs as if we are tree trunks– and there are hundreds of them. 
The barrage of insects lasts about an hour, until 8:30pm or so, then they all seem to fade away. Except the crickets, which follow us out into the open while we try some night sky shots. They go up the tripod legs and climb on the camera. It is as if we are the entertainment in their short lives. Some of their lives were shorter than others!
Nakuflt Mountain Zebra Park is a gem, tucked away in the mountains above the Tsauchab River. A clear stream runs through the red rock walls and recent rains have turned the place sparkling green. We hike on a decent trail to swimming holes in the rocks and they are well worth the hike. Namibia here feels like an undiscovered country; this little park could be just a note in an explorer’s field journal “. . . good water here” or something.
Solitaire is our next stop before we can enter Sossusvlie. Along a major gravel road, it boasts a bakery and is a favorite stop for tour buses. Patience is a virtue here. Camping has been eliminated; we are told to go up the road to the guest farm which is outstanding in every way. Landscaping around the reception provides excellent birding and lizarding – a new word I just made up – and the lizards are as colorful as the birds. We stay two nights, why not? Sossusvlie sand dunes aren’t’ going anywhere noticeable any time soon.
Following the train tracks we head for Luderitz and the coast. Three quarters of the way there, the track becomes buried by sand. Lots and lots of sand. There are stop signs and big warnings at the numerous railway/road crossings but no train is coming through that sand. Is this track old and unneeded? Why all the signage then? A desert mystery that is solved the following day.
Luderitz is a port and fishing town. The coast is jagged whitish rock and the Shark Island camping area is right on the edge of the water, with enough campsites for 50-60 groups of people. We are the only ones there. The Park manager says “Do you have a booking?” and it is all we can do not to laugh. Shark Island camp is not really an island, but it looks directly at the real Shark Island where the luckless Nama people (updated) were interned in concentration camp conditions after their futile effort to fight the colonizers.
The town we find charming, with colorful homes – green, orange, blue, yellow. turquoise – stacked up the short hillsides and standing out nicely against the whitish rock. Huge fishing trawlers are in harbor along with a couple of sea-going yachts. Buildings dating from the early 1900s show a German (my thought) or Dutch (Jim’s thought) influence, not especially in keeping with the southwest African coastal fishing village. Walking around we find the small museum – and what a find it is.
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Fish River Canyon has a “grand” reputation in Namibia as an equal to the Grand Canyon in the US. There are similarities. Like the Colorado River in the Grand Canyon, the Fish River meanders through ancient layered rock carved by erosion and wind, and the viewpoints provide excellent photo opportunities. We stop at the first point and chat with a couple from Germany who, when they realize we are from the USA, ask us straight off if the Fish River canyon is better than the Grand. 
What makes one canyon better than another, I wonder? Jim is very diplomatic and says they are both wonderful. He has to say that again to the next people who ask the same question.
As expected, the pounding washboard road going into the canyon has not been improved overnight. The ugly road makes an afternoon visit uninviting so we have sunrise breakfast at the canyon’s edge and stay a long time, play a card game, enjoy the view, eat some more and finally tackle the road back to camp to get our shit rolled in a ball and moved on – like a dung beetle, Jim says. Not sure where. Maybe the park at the southern border of Namibia and South Africa. . . but we hesitate to go south, only to go north again. Straight North wins out.
The town of Aus becomes our next destination and it takes all day to get there. Jim likes the sound of Aus, it has only three letters unlike so many other towns we have been in. Towns, streets and signage mostly comprise an incomprehensible combination of many consonants and just as many vowels. Still, nearly everyone we deal with speaks the local language (usually Afrikans), English, some German, and their own dialect. It is humbling to hear the waitress switch languages from one table to the next.
Aus is as simple as its spelling; a nice old hotel, a fuel stop, and a camping area in the back of the fuel stop. We pull in at 5pm, happy to stop driving. The railway line still runs through Aus and in its heyday the town served the giant diamond industry in Kolmanskop outside Luteritz. The lovely Banoff hotel has a train, a diamond and a quiver tree on its logo, covering all the bases.
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