Baby Rhino at Gocheganas

Two words: baby rhinoceros. A couple of friends shared the news of a two week old white rhino running around the Goche Ganas Nature Reserve, so naturally I had to see him for myself. (I wonder sometimes if game drives will ever get old living in Namibia, but right now that'd be a big fat nope.) We arrived to the reserve with enough time to drink a beer before piling into the truck. I packed nothing but my camera and a container of blueberries, much to the guide's horror. He was unimpressed when he realized we didn't pack warmer clothes for the kids, as we'd be making our return to HQ after dark. For children who are accustomed to running around barefoot here, I found his comment peculiar, but reassured him my kids could manage.

We drove hardly 2 minutes before seeing animals all over the place. They were awesome enough that Mark had to admonish Deets, Margo, and myself to keep quiet. Steenbok, kudu, wildebeest, hartebeest, and giraffes all stared us down, before bolting as we passed by with our cameras plastered to our faces.  They were impossible to miss. Seeing the first batch of rhinos was a bit trickier because they were situated across the hill. I figured we'd take the long route around, but Mateus shifted into low gear and proceeded directly across the valley, driving over shrubs and jolting over rocks. We crossed the dried, steep river bed and BOOM! Four adult white rhinos eating grass, barely casting glances our way. My only distraction was Deets who kept trying to sneak off the vehicle to get a closer shot with my camera phone. An incredulous eyebrow raise from me promptly fixed that faux pas. 

Our drive continued, full of wild jackal, oryx, and the tiniest deer species I'd seen yet: steenbok. Had I not already known about the baby rhino, I could have died happy. The air was thick with pending rain, greenery, and a brilliant sun pasted across the sky.  We passed warthogs, rabbits, ostriches, and the weirdest squirrels with long, skinny bristle brush tails. Eventually, we made our way to the second batch of rhinos: a pregnant mom with her 2-year old baby giving themselves healthy scratches against telephone pole support wires. 

Sun was setting faster and faster so I had internal moments of anxiety that I wouldn't get to see the baby.  But as all grand finales go, Mateus saved the best and cutest for last. The little guy was loaded up with thick, saggy skin that promised how big he would get (5,000 pounds). His feet were too big for his body, tripping him up as he shyly ran after his mom. They are never far from each other, and will stay a an adorable duo until he's three. So. Cute.

Finally our game drive ended with a "sundowners" (what southern Africans call happy hour) during a wickedly magical sunset. And ants. Side note: professional journalistic investigation revealed that wearing flip flops are not the best choice of footwear on game drives, even with minimal walking involved. Never mind the thousands of thorns that went through my cheap sandals. I'm talking about the tiny angry ants that defended their homes to the ninth degree when I had an emergency bush break and ended up peeing on them. I drank my gin and tonic, dancing with ants literally in my pants. I'd like to say I learned my lesson, but who can really predict the future when it comes to this kind of common sense? 

Lady Kudu! 

Oryx

Baby Jeorge!

Jeorge and Jolly

Springbok
Credit: Mark

Inspecting thorns and ant carcasses against the dusky light.
Amazing photo credit: Mark

Untouched, unfiltered. 

You Never Forget Your First

Grabbing onto the "oh shit" bar, up we went on the 4x4 trail, its last use being something like 8 months ago according to hotel management. Ever since we bought our SUV, Mark had been determined to get his money's worth, eager to venture into the bushveld like the professionals do it. So when we spent an overnight at Midgard, a resort/gaming lodge with an intense 1963-Poconos feeling, he was stoked to try out their self-driving 4x4 trail. The manager only agreed to this when Mark promised to follow the game-drive guide in their vehicle to the entrance.

Once we passed through the gate, energy was high with four adults and 2 kids chattering away. Thirty feet in we were stopped by a huge camel-thorn branch that covered the road. Trees in Namibia are serious business, thick with thorns and tough bark that can sustain drought. They can puncture a tire in no time, so it wasn't a simple as shoving the tree out of the way. Extreme times called for extreme measures.

Mark busted out our cargo straps, a friend whipped out his Leatherman and the other circled them up to discuss the plan of dissection. Being the documenter that I am, busted out my camera. The guys were joined by the guide and another tourist wearing sweatpants and Havaianas.  His girlfriend, impressively dolled up for an evening in the bush, stayed in the truck. She didn't take her eyes off her iPhone the entire time. Anyway, one of them set to cutting through the main branch while the others noosed up another.  The "ax man" stopped a 1/3 of the way through, and the men used traction to split the branch safely. Solemn manly nods were exchanged, and we hopped back in our respective vehicles. From there, the game drive veered left and we went right.

Rather, we went up. Up and through overgrown brush and low hanging tree branches, which scraped off the car's paint job like fingernails on a chalkboard. Luckily, it was only secondary noise to the roar of the engine, the blaring music, and me yelling out "Mark! Mark! Mark! Mark! Mark!" while I pressed my imaginary brake pedal, clinging onto the window bar. But really, he drove well despite the uncertainty of the road, which at certains points was totally washed out from previous downpours. We jostled up the trail and ended up at a clearing to drink beers and watch the sun fade.

It might seem like the story stops there, all romantic and cozy. But of course, we needed to head back as the echoes of our friends who stayed back at the lodge couldn't be ignored any longer. That, and rumbling stomachs. Mark skillfully navigated down the trail onto a dried out river bed were we witnessed about 20-30 zebra dashing across our path. Everyone thought it was super cool except for the kids who saw nothing because they were stuffed into the 3rd row. No matter, because once we returned to flat ground, instead of heading back to the lodge Mark suddenly turned into the game reserve and were immediately rewarded with giraffes.

We finally broke our giraffe cherry, and it was every bit as good as we imagined. Those creatures are so weird looking, yet unbelievably beautiful. Magical, even. Margo and Deets crawled into the middle seat and onto the laps of our friends, enjoying the improved view. Our friends smiled knowingly as I squealed like a stuck pig, hanging out of the window with my camera. "You never forget your first," they said, having seen more than their share of hypoxic colored tongued animals. Indeed. I won't. I wonder if I'm too old and nostalgic for the power of these moments, but damn- I teared up! Someone hand me a cigarette.

Mark toured the river bed for a few more minutes, and we watched the other animals doing their evening machinations: hartebeest sprinting and bucking, oryx stoically giving us the stink eye, warthogs and foxes dodging between bushes. During all this activity, we managed to drive past a bleached out oryx skeleton with its 2.5 foot long horns in perfect condition. Like porcupine quills and exotic bird feathers, oryx horns are a great collector's item. They are sold at craft markets, usually made into super awkward, quirky bottle openers. 

The excursion came to an end with the rapidly fading sunlight so we headed back to the lodge- a mere 60 seconds away. We huddled up for dinner, dumped the kids in bed (FYI, bunk beds!) and proceeded to indulge with a bottle of wine underneath the stars. I could get used to this. 

Teamwork. 

Celebrating teamwork.

Roof-time juice box sundowner. 

Shy AF.

Father-son.

Skittish red hartebeest.

Caution.

Unfiltered, untouched photo. Seriously.
I thought it was a fake flower at first.

Stargazing in Namibia

Over the next two days we needed to drive 16 hours and 1600 km to get home. For blogging sake, I almost wish we got ourselves into some hijinx, but for sanity's sake it was terribly boring and uneventful. Out of curiosity, Mark and I consulted iTunes to figure out the top five albums we listened to on this road trip, and I will share below. I don't know if that's enough to make you want to join us, or run for the hills. But it kept our attention between those achingly long stretches.

1. Hamilton the Musical Mix Tape - it makes us tear up. Every. Time.
2. Paul Simon - Concert in the Park (Deets' request)
3. CHVRCHES - Every Open Eye (my request)
4. Rolling Stones - Let It Bleed (Margo's request)
5. a mixed playlist of music to which I am learning dance routines for an fitness certification that requires me to submit videos of myself teaching. I would embarrass my family pantomiming the routines and confuse them by belting out commands to move, shake, turn left, ect. 

Our last overnight was spent at the Gondwana Roadhouse, a fun vehicular themed hotel. We were blessed with clear skies which meant Mark could do some stargazing photography. At 3:00am he took full advantage while the rest of us sawed logs to the blissfully quiet air conditioning unit... 

Needless to say, he gets all the credit here. The only credit I deserve is the slow clap of congratulations when I sprained my ankle (for the upteenth time these past three weeks) as I stepped out of our hotel room. I swear, it wasn't to get out of driving. 

Stellenbosch, Spier Winery, and A Terrible Massage

After a lively stay in Cape Town, we did an overnight in Stellenbosch, a colonial-ish university town surrounded by thick vineyards. We thought this would be our opportunity to finally slow down, drink wine, and relax for once. More than a few friends recommended going to Spier, famous for a few reasons: wine (duh), their farm-to-table food sources (omg), and an all day kids club (hooray!) 

In short, it was delicious, nice, and pretty. But, not particularly relaxing- because the minute we laid eyes on the black and yellow cruiser bikes, we all gained a second wind. We couldn't just not ride, so we brought the kids to their club and took off as if we were starring in a summer romance film in the country side. I loved every second of it, plus Mark took the kids on a bike ride while I could escape for an hour to get a relaxing massage. However, I am pretty sure I just don't know how to relax...

A five foot tall, 20-year old man-teen with a sparse goatee and meat-packer hands called me into the room. I made my usual idle chit-chat and during my massage I managed to learn the following: he's 1/2 Afrikaaner, 1/2 German, and 1/2 Portuguese (verbatim). The latter is why he likes spicy food so much. Though he's never left South Africa,  his dream is to travel to the United States and visit... Kansas... for no known reasons other than "it speaks to me" and that he likes the color yellow.  He loves gaming, hates his parents, and considers himself the black sheep of the family. Lastly, he hasn't quite graduated from massage school yet, but he knows deep in his heart that aromatherapy is a holistic-health game changer. He just couldn't stop talking! But I guess it's not his fault, I couldn't stop responding. 

As we came to the near end, I figured he'd finish the massage with arms and hands, my absolute favorite part. Apparently, that is an extra 250 Rand (17 USD), and proceeded to the scalp massage instead. He announced he'd be doing something different and not asking to see if I'd care.  Like an oily baptism, he ladled directly onto my face and proceeded to rub his hitch hiker thumbs into my 3rd eye. It felt like a mother sternly rubbing dirt off her kid's face, but grosser and totally unrelaxing. Then he palmed both sides of my head and squeezed it like a cantaloupe. With that, he left me to gather my leaked brains and get dressed. 

Now, I had a feeling he used a bit of oil, but I didn't know how much until I stood up. I wiped out taking bottles of lotions and the bedding with me. No one can make a graceful exit after that, but I held my lubricated head high as best I could, and strolled out the door like I did that sort of thing every day. I found Mark who had just dropped the kids off at their club. We drank some wine, ate dinner and laughed at my non-relaxful, sopping existence before preparing ourselves for a full day driving back to southern Namibia. 

The only photo I took that day, and I was of a tireD cow in Stellenbosch.
I guess I was too busy drinking wine and getting slopped on.

Cape of Good Hope

Mark and I promised ourselves there would be no hiking today. Who were we kidding? We ended up doing a 90 minute hike to sit on the edge of the world, at the Cape of Good Hope.  At least the hike was easy, consisting of 95% wonky boardwalk and 5% rocky trail, but at the end I was still sweating like a pig. I guess coastal humidity and wearing jeans didn't help. But oh, the views of churning waves, resident birds, and the rock faces made it all worthwhile. (If you could ignore the pregnant wife and shirtless husband trying to kill themselves taking selfies on the cliff edge.)

Upon our return, we had the option to hike up to the official top where the famous lighthouse sits and funicular stops but unanimous votes went to eating at the Two Oceans Restaurant. Mark and I were pretty convinced this restaurant, though with a spectacular view, would have food only "meh" at best. Boy were we wrong. Between ribs, roasted chicken, and sushi, we went to town. The food was absolutely amazing. My only advice, (and this goes overall for visiting Table Mountain National Park where Cape of Good Hope is situated) is to get there early. By the time we left the restaurant at 1:30pm, the line grew to over an hours' wait and at the park entrance, the line of cars to get in was 1/2 mile long.

Prior to this touristy adventure, we took the kids to Boulders Beach to see penguins. Here we could stroll the boardwalk and admire those adorable creatures do their bird thing from a distance and we could swim among them at a tiny public beach on the other side where there's a second entrance. Margo was convinced she'd be the first Schlink in the ocean. She packed her swim suit and towel and couldn't stop talking about it until she put her feet in and realized how cold the water really was. The icy water didn't stop a lot of people though, and by the time we got there around 9:30am, the beach was nearly packed. The park with the beach section closes their gates when it's filled to capacity, so: get there early if you plan to stay.

Overall, the penguins were cute and I am always glad to pay fees to support public parks. But. Our first experience of seeing penguins in the wild was last year in Ushuaia where we had to drive 2 hours, boat for 20 minutes, then hike to the rookery. The effort of arrival was real which made the whole journey feel magical. Here in South Africa, we walked past the entrance sign that said: Welcome To Boulders Beach, The Easiest Way To See Penguins In The Wild! Well I can't deny that statement. 

Cape of Good Hope.
Down below: Dias Beach. No swimming is allowed due to riptides
but you can descend a long staircase to get away
from camera toting tourists like myself.

View of the original lighthouse.
A second more useful lighthouse was built
farther down the cliff after a Portuguese liner named
Lusitania was wrecked in 1911.

Waiting for us at the end of the world.

Father daughter. The family that's
dirty together, stays together.

Mother son. He was telling me a story about  mutated
 seagull-shark with bomb hands.

You've been warned.

Hanging out.

Going for a swim.

Hiking in Kirstenbosch/Table Mountain

Mark and I thought we learned our lesson about the truthfulness of hike estimates in southern Africa. Sort of. On this particular day of sunshine and adventure, we didn't even look at the trail route ahead of time. Our initial plan was to arrive to Kirstenbosch Botanic Gardens and hang out, maybe hike for an hour or two on Table Mountain, then do lunch. But curiosity got the best of us when we found a trail named Skeleton Gorge. The path was shaded and the kids were in good moods (though their relative mood factor rarely changes what we do)- more importantly, I got out of my ugly sleep disturbed funk.  

We went up the trail what we now know is considered "a long and strenuous 6.2km hike." Indeed it was, but it was also fun: we crossed bubbling streams, climbed ladders, and scrambled up rocks. By the time we realized we'd have to ration the water for sake of getting down, we made it to where the path turned into sandy beach which meant of course we had to keep going. We might as well hang ourselves for sheep than lambs. 

Hard work did pay off, leading us to the beachy De Villiers Reservoir that sits in a saddle of Table Mountain. Clothes (some of them) went off immediately and the kids set to their much deserved break, playing in the ridiculously cold water. Mark did a total submersion. I wimped out and parked my butt on the shore. As all good things must come to an end, we mentally prepared ourselves to head down by looking at a map for the first time. It didn't really help. There was no where to go but down, and our options were to go down from whence we came, or down the Nursery Ravine. Fellow hikers advised we return down the latter, saying it was an easier descent. As I write this, I still have no idea if I agree with that statement. Not only did we lose the trail twice, we had no ladders on this route, and all four of us had to scramble down on our butts in the extremely technical sections.  

Taking a break under the scant shade in the ravine, we craned our necks up to see our progress and I saw a man-goat lithely skip down the rock faces. He must have been 85 years old, and scoffed when we made idle chat about the Nursery side being easier than Skeleton. Looking up again, I shrugged. Damage was done. And down we went. Eventually we made it back to Kirstenbosch and attacked the first water fountain we found. In total it was 6.5 hours of intense hiking, yet kids still had enough energy to run through the gardens, effectively blowing my mind. 

Back in town, we ate delicious pizza and drank too much wine, ending our terribly planned but ultimately great day. Mark reiterated to the kids (after both of us apologizing for our lack of preparation) that they were tough monsters: despite being tired, hungry, and thirsty, they were capable of physically pushing through tough times. I will full out brag here: without whining. I've never been so proud.

Yeah, we mistakingly went up there.
Credit: Mark

Going up Skeleton Gorge.

Cooling off at De Villiers Reservoir.

Cityscape on the descent.

The Slog to Cape Town

Only 9 hours of driving today. I could do this. Thanks to cooler weather and fresh rain, the whole family was in good spirits as we woke up early to get a head start for Cape Town. The first 30 minutes turned into 60 with washed out roads. We enjoyed this novelty of mom driving through the mini road ponds, patting ourselves on the back for having 4-wheel drive. As we turned onto the highway, I figured we could easily make up lost time. I know I've written ad nauseam about the amazing Namibian landscape so I will spare you the details other than it was neat and a little weird, and a progressively green as we made it to the border to South Africa. We needed get through customs and immigration, so we stood in line, diligently filling out the required paperwork behind a group of barefoot hipster men who seemed definitely too old to be running around without shoes.

Still, we were on schedule and in decent shape to continue so I sped on. Three hours in, I managed to give Mark heart burn, when I realized we might run out of gas. I didn't calculate our range incorrectly, I just overestimated the range indicator so I ended up driving the last 20 kilometers going no faster than 30mph (48kph), a painful experience for everyone on the road (even the semi trucks) as the posted speed limit was 75mph (120kph). After gassing up and a wait in line behind a one eyed nun at the town's only ATM, we all took deep breaths. 

3.5 more hours to go. We only had my various dried sundries in the car and Mark didn't want to stop, opting to hold out for Indian food in the city- so we trudged on despite our hunger. Now, Mark and I are fairly good with a map and he had already been to Cape Town, so we felt pretty confident we could find our rental near the Company's Garden. Then we saw a road block. And another, and another. Our early evening timing coincided with massive road closures due to Carnaval celebrations. "No" the police said, "we have no idea how long this will last, and no, you cannot pass through."

We had a car full of electronics, none of which would work in South Africa without wifi. We had four people who hadn't really eaten since 6:30am, and the anxiety of being in unfamiliar territory. Plus, we had luggage/spare tire strapped to the roof, so we didn't feel we could leave the car. And it was getting dark. My point: edges were frazzled and the city was becoming progressively festive (loud) which made for extremely unpleasant conditions. I'm surprised no one murdered me. 

Finally, with a partially charged work phone, we made back and forth calls to our host who somehow navigated us down secret streets and to their building.Thirty-five left hand turns up the parking ramp gave us our final stop. Seriously, I counted. It was the tallest, yet smallest parking structure I had ever driven. But we made it. Time to eat our weight in dal, drink some strong gin & tonics, and sleep.

The next morning we woke to our rowdy air conditioner and high winds beating down the windows. One glance at Table Mountain with the clouds pouring off the top and funicular visibly swaying told us our plans of hiking wouldn't be realized. Coming up with the next best solution that involved zero driving on our part meant taking the jump-on double decker tour bus. It was a means to an end, and we did get to spend our first day as zombies. We got off at a few stops such as the World of Birds Wildlife Sanctuary and Monkey Park (where we stepped in a lot of poop- birds) and the Aquarium (where we smelled a lot of poop- diapers), but by the afternoon both kids requested naps. We returned to the wind blasted apartment and fell asleep just long enough to wake up for a stroll through The Company's Garden, dinner, and bed.

Though the day was sunny and the gorgeous ocean reflected amazing hues of blue, it didn't help that the wind in the Cape was chilly and relentless. From the bus we watched people getting sand blasted on the beaches, trees bending and shedding, and tiny tornadoes rush through the streets as fast as the clouds moved overhead. Overall, our first day was leisurely and we had fun even if we enjoyed it through a windy, sleep deprived haze.  

Credit to Mark. Cozy Sheep in the morning light.
This might also be a reason why we took 12 hours instead of 9 to get to Cape Town.

 Credit to Mark. Wearing our warmest clothes.
Just outside Kirstenbosch Botanic Gardens.

No filter. 

Lunch with Bandit Girl at the Waterfront Market.

Fish River Canyon

Fish River Canyon
Photo Credit: Mark

Namibia contains high degrees of sultry, exotic landscapes which no doubt inspire those lucky enough to visit in person. From burnt orange sand to pink sunsets, to the tiger's eye marbling of browns and yellows, the landscape is at the very least, mind blowing. I even include the flat stretches of nothingness. One place of our particular favorites so far is the Fish River Canyon. Even though it takes second in size to the Grand Canyon and second in popularity to Etosha National Park, the canyon is a mouth gaping, intimidating sight to behold. Not only is the place full of color and texture but as the second largest canyon in the world, it draws tourists from all corners of the earth. Lucky for us, we came from our lodge around the corner, not more than 15 minutes away. Well, it would have been only fifteen minutes had it not been for taking a wrong turn. One hour later, we paid our entrance fee and despite the downpour and ground shaking thunder, we headed to the official view point. 

Predictably, Mark busted out his giant tripod and immediately set to his photo taking. I stared helplessly out at the massive spread and the kids gave the canyon a cursory glance before walking along the fence shouting declaratives of conquering the world. I couldn't process the whole experience right away and I figured out why: we were all alone! I flash backed to my visit to the Grand Canyon 15 years ago. The rim was stuffed with people who were milling around, taking photos and trading off like we did in the pre-selfie stick days. I remembered one family climbing over the fence with their small children to get a better picture, and my heart stopping mid beat. One misstep and... 

But now, I let myself breathe, enjoying my insignificance and loneliness. Then thunder began its warning call again, steadily creeping closer. As this was one of Mark's lifelong dreams to photograph, we used every available second at hand, and hopped into the car to Hiker's View not three minutes away. Obviously, it was worth it to see the big green signs pointing straight down to the trailhead where the majority of people do their 80km, 5-6 day hike in a 500 million year old canyon. But rain won out and we made it back to the car drenched and elated. Our drive back to the main entrance was only slightly more than eventful, when lightening touched down about 50 feet in front of our car. Momentarily stunned by the light, we saw smoke quickly dissipate from the rocky ground as fast as it came. It was a good sign to head back to the lodge where we would spend the entire night blanketed in lightening shows and welcome cool breezes.

View of the trailhead: Hiker's View.

Hiker's View

Margo giving orders at the Round Table.

Break in the sky before the downpour commenced.

Lightening and pouring down rain glittering the sky.
Photo credit: Mark

This went on all night.
Photo credit: Mark

Hiking outside Gondwana Canyon Village

Turns out that when Namibians tell you the hike will last approximately three hours, they mean: three hours. From our experience, hikes in the U.S. are frequently overestimated, so we lured the kids on a New Year's Day hike thinking we'd be back in time for breakfast. We left at 6:00am, fresh after sun rise. Everyone was up anyway, and we wanted to avoid the unavoidable hot temperatures, as we'd be in nearly 100% direct sunlight. The goal was to reach a naturally occurring arch formation so with sunscreen, hats, and water, off we went. It only took the kids about an hour to start complaining about hunger, so with my secret weapon I offered up apples. Apparently no one was hungry enough to eat those, and on we went. Up past the quiver trees, we followed the path of the springbok which led us close enough to see a herd of zebras. One of the hotel staff would later try to convince us we only saw deer, or possibly oryx even after we described these mysterious black and white striped, horse-like phenomenons. He was a peculiar guy.

With zebra sighting excitement wearing thin, we crossed over a high pass thinking sights of this arch would soon happen. Instead we saw more valleys, rock piles, and a few lizards. It was incredibly disheartening because by now we had reached hours 2.5.  Everything was hot, dusty, brown, and far away. I turned into Mean Mommy, Margo and Deets turned into, well, realistic 4 and 6 year olds and Mark tried to hold us together with his deleterious joke telling. We pushed on, hiking through valley and back up another butte towards a sliver of shade, coaching/threatening the kids to get a move on when I saw it: the arch, hidden snugly in the middle of the rock that seemed impenetrable from our point of view. I heard an angel choir, smelled the fresh cool air (that likely created this arch thousands of years ago) rip past us, and touched the rocks sweetly chilled from the desert night. Everyone's bad attitude dissipated, especially with knowing our hike back to Canyon Village would be no more than 10 minutes hike down and 20 minutes across a sandy stretch of land. We missed breakfast, but no one cared. The only thing more desired than food, was to drink cold sparkling water by the pool and take a nap. All of which was easily accomplished, with plenty of time to visit the famous Fish River Canyon in the afternoon, get caught in a massive (but refreshing) downpour, and take in the impressive lightening that cracked the skies into a million pieces. 

Mountain Zebra

No where to hide.

Current mood: this rock.

Victory.

Photo credit: Margo

From the front side. Mission completed.