The Beagle, a 2008 Toyota LC on a drift across Africa, piloted by Jim (FitzRoy) and Ann Colleen.
The Beagle, a 2008 Toyota LC on a drift across Africa, piloted by Jim (FitzRoy) and Ann Colleen.
There is time to contemplate how far we’ve come, from Cape Town to Kenya, to the beaches of Mozambique. Jim asked me where I thought we’d be without the Garmin and Traks4Africa – I said “Back home and divorced by now.” We are happily long past the point when every other minute brought on another decision. Tension ran high; that’s what comes of the being way outside your comfort zone. What would we change, now that we have time to think about it? Nothing, really. We couldn’t have taken this overland trip any sooner in our lives and the best time to go is when you go. The route has been successful – we calculated we’ve been on beaches of some sort since November, can’t 
complain about that. Neither of us has been sick. We’ve been through four different coffee presses, five decks of cards and one iPhone as well as countless cans of Peaceful Sleep insect repellent. We will not miss 
the mosquitoes.
There are places to return to and some gaps to fill, next time. Driving Namibia for months gave us a full view of that endless country. Botswana needs another look, hopefully before this trip is over. We’ve already been to Zimbabwe twice and will go back again later this month, so much to see there. Zambia is a favorite, where I am positive we waved to every single person in that friendly country. Tanzania nearly broke the 
bank but with its iconic parks it could not be missed. Zanzibar showed us our first taste of the slavers coast plus powered-sugar white sand beaches. The side trip to Ethiopia, that exotic place, was perfect. Camel 
caravans hauling salt into the sunset – what a scene.
Rwanda – a sobering lesson in humanity. One day we came to a nondescript village and it was time to get out of the truck. A large Genocide Memorial stood out, as in every single town and village. Only this one wasn’t quite finished yet. The very young security guard called an older gentleman to show us around this newly built but empty building. And the blank walls spoke as loudly as any placards. The hollow hallways echoed the footsteps of everyone who would never walk t
here. Finally we found ourselves in a basement containing 38 coffins, displayed neatly as if in a show room. Some had framed photos propped upon them, others had snapshots scotched-taped to them. To our undying surprise, the guide opened a coffin and handed us a small human skull. All these coffins have skulls, he said. At this location a church was bulldozed with thousands of people in it. His children are here, in one of the coffins. He shared his photos of them with us. We thanked him, signed the guest book and drove away. Rwanda; a country where everything is new because there was nothing left.
The primates in Uganda revel in the simplicity of life. We camped, all alone, in the Kibale forest and had a troop of 50+ baboons invade the clearing; they played, groomed each other and goofed off all morning, just having a good time being together. On the eastern side of the country we came to one of our better decisions – we really wanted to drive a certain road to enter Kenya. On the map it looked totally doable. But it was raining. Hard. And pondering the options,
we bypassed that road only to later meet a couple who had taken it; a heart-stopping track, they said “like driving on butter.” We spent a few minutes patting ourselves on the back for not going there. Of course that was prior to being desperately stuck in the mud twice in one week.
Kenya, that most organized of countries, gave us so many new friends. Eldoret town, Lake Turkana, the National Museum, JJs in Nairobi, Samburu Park, the fabulous Twiga and Barefoot beaches, Malindi town – I would go back to Kenya tomorrow. It took days for me to get 
over leaving Twiga; I kept asking myself why we left. But leaving there led us to Malawi and to time spent with our friends Jen and Jared. And on we go; more of Mozambique to see, more Zimbabwe, South Africa and camping with Adrian and Rentia, Swaziland, Lethoso, Botswana . . . where will it end?
Following two months in Namibia, on May 10 we pulled up to the Botswana/Namibian border and after about 20 minutes on each side, we were in a new country. We don’t expect every border crossing to be this smooth. Still had to request a signature on the carnet – we were ready for that. Some highlights from Namibia:
Trees. The variety of trees is absolutely astonishing. From Quiver trees to baobabs, to hook and poke acacias and enormous sycamores, Namibia is a mind-boggling forest.
How absolutely black the darkness is there. One night coming back from a camp reception, even with my headlamp on I could hardly see the thoughts in my brain. The darkness sucked the light away. I found our camp just by sheer luck and managed not to break an ankle for the effort. There are many ways to hurt yourself on a trip like this.
The Himba village visit. Wouldn’t trade that for anything. Our Himba guide shared that the only thing Himba parents expected from schooling was for the kids to learn how to ask white people for water. That explained the common cry from little kids (and adults) “give me water”.
Those loathsome crickets. Interesting at first, mildly entertaining for a day or so, then just plain disgusting. They went from brightly colored to a greasy grey as we traveled the length and breadth of Namibia, and they covered nearly all of it. I think we finally shook them off at Eupupa Falls.
The army of rocks in the Palmrag Conservation Area. Red granite rocks nearly all the same size and shape, covering thousands of acres. Seemingly just waiting for time to pass and brains to develop so that they could take over the world. It will be a long wait but they have the numbers.
Rough camping at Spitskoppe Nature Reserve. Best in scenery, with the monolithic red spires and massive boulders just the right texture for scampering on.
Sitting amid a family of elephant in the Mahango Core conservation area. Just us, 20 or so elephant, and no one else. Big ellies, and tiny ones, busy and placid, they were a pleasure to observe in the small park. Etosha is Namibia’s big park, but we were just as happy in the small reserves.
The Namib/Naukluft National Park, which covers huge amounts of territory, most of it flat sand with the occasional Welwhitschia plant. Dramatic in its sameness but after two days of that we were ready for the coast. And the coast, parts of it so painfully long and boring we turned around, but other sections full of life.
There is more, of course, there’s so much more. The tribes, the women (and children) carrying everything on their heads, the many many people walking down the roads. . . and on we go, into Botswana and on to Zimbabwe. Cover photo is just your average Meve’s starling.
Epupa Falls, Cunene River, border of Namibia and Angola, and a wonder to behold. We don’t know a lot about it and the surprise of how big it is, and how many baobab trees line its banks is worth the drive. We’d been wild camping for so long, the laundry has piled up to a half day’s project that I am dreading. 
Epupa Falls camp has plenty of water (none of it potable) and plenty of room to take care of this chore, but who wants to do that when there’s so much else to do? Enter Marianna! 
She came up to us as I was pondering setting up the wash station, asking if we had any work or laundry for her, please? Oh, yeah. She took it all and I was free. Her daughter and I walked into the village and purchased some staples for the family – I had learned from our Himba guide that villagers like maize (a 10 kilo bag that an 8-year old carried on her head, sorry, no photo), sugar, and laundry soap. Give when you can.
The map shows the road from Epupa to Rucana to be 93 kilometers – and to take 10 hours! Good god. That is frightening even by African standards. But because of the military presence on the border the road has been 
“improved” and the time cut in half. Still it’s a mean ride. Halfway to Rucana, we pull into a tropical paradise camp on the Cunene and there we meet up with our river crossing compatriots, Sven and Bridget. 
They had waited out the water level and crossed the next day with no problem. So we learn we could have waited, and not had to spend the night out in the rough brush on a squirrel track to nowhere, in the pouring rain. Oh well. The four of us share a sundowner boat ride and dip our feet in Angolan sand. Darkness is a cacophony of frogs, night birds and who knows what else all night long. Next day, we take the refrigerator out of the Beagle and Jim works on it for hours in the heat. The fan is shorting out – he jury-rigs a fix and on we go.
Etosha National Park – April 30
Namibia’s crown jewel. As big as Yellowstone, if Yellowstone were flattened with a warped rolling pin. The Park border fence is lined with giraffe and zebra, and we make our first mistake. 
Instead of waiting outside the park for a new day to begin, we charge in and get a permit for four days starting now. The very friendly but not-so-helpful park permit man (I hesitate to call him a ranger) says it’s no problem to make it to the first camp by sundown. Camps are fenced and gated and no one wants to be outside the gate at night. Before we can get going we are met by the Namibian police – they, as always, ask us where we are coming from (we usually can’t remember) and where are we going (we usually don’t know). They ask if we have a “drone-y”. Of course we don’t declare the drone, who knows what that would mean. Then they tell us we will have to drive 60k an hour or more to make camp. What?? It’s nearly 4pm, there are animals everywhere and the road is the dreaded Namibian washboard. 10 kilometers later, we give up and return to the West gate, finding camping right outside the park and giving up a night on our permit. We were seduced by the giraffe and zebra – we own that – but ill-advised by the help. Live and learn.
Entering the next morning, we find the Park thick with high brush and grass – and there is water in every low spot. Probably the worst of game spotting conditions, but there’s a family of elephants with babies to watch, and the zebra and wildebeest are frisky in the cool morning. All in all, Etosha gave up scores of birds, zebra and giraffe, and a special sighting of a male and female lion. The male picked up what looked like a side of zebra and carried it off; the female was barely visible in the long grass – a good reason to sleep inside a gated camp. 
That said, camping is marginal in the Park; expensive by Africa standards for a parking lot experience. We stop at a store about halfway through and two days in, and I decide not to buy anything, unwisely figuring that the next store will carry the same stuff. How wrong could I be? Mistake number two. Buy it if you need it at the first place you find it; never assume you will find it again – unless it is Eat-Sum-More cookies which are piled high everywhere. Good thing we like them. Sometimes they are dinner.
We take the long route – beset by flooded roads, flooded rivers and semi-bad decisions, it is a wonder we made it.
Oue first riverbed drive enroute is a sweet experience, baiting us to do more. Nice sandy tracks with overhanging trees adding to the ambiance. We stop for a leisurely breakfast and vow to keep on with this riverbed driving; it’s great. 
Only the track eventually goes from sand to a fine powdery dust. In the rear view mirror there is nothing but a dense dust cloud and you know it is blowing into every crevice. Just as the end is in sight we bury the Beagle in the biggest hole in the road (cleverly hidden) and a tidal wave of dust comes over the bonnet and through the aircon, blasting into the cabin. We can’t breath or see or stop. We ride the wave onto firm ground and come to a halt. Mind you, we are only in second gear, going maybe 15k at the most. It doesn’t matter. We may as well have shoveled the dust/dirt into the cab and all over the truck, and oh, let’s not forget about the engine compartment. It is coated with dust like it was spray painted on.
We limp into Sesfontein, a tiny town with fuel. There’s a guy riding a galloping donkey down the main street – he is bareback on the ass end going hell bent for leather. There’s a post office that is closed for lunch. At the small safari lodge the guys who hook up a hose for us are happy to wash the truck. You might think “what’s a little dirt on a safari rig?” How wrong you would be. We can hardy get near the Beagle, it is so filthy, and to touch the dust is to spread it further. The propane tanks are invisible under the brown stain and the spare tire had an inch of dirt on it. Opening the back would be like sleeping naked on the ground, there would be so much dust on the bed. Nope, getting it washed is money well spent. Sorry, no photos!
Not to be discouraged, we head for another riverbed drive. Halfway there, a localized rain and hail storm creates first a wet road, then a riverbed road, and finally an entire lake of water to drive through in order to reach the town of Puros. The pan lake is kilometers long – the only way to determine where to drive is to look for the deepest water with the most waves in it as the roadbed is slightly lower than the pan itself. We wild camp after the deluge, finding a drowned scorpion right next to the truck.
“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.
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