Camping and assorted surprises, like hot water

The Gondwana Resort agent glanced sideways and whispered, "Ma'am, are you sure you want to go camping? That camp site has basically nothing. No shade, no trees, no water." I looked right back her, internally terrified that my skull would end up on the dusty plain with a snake creeping out of it, and responded with as much bravado as I could muster: "Absolutely. I love camping. I do it all the time." 

I haven't camped in maybe ten years. And not once with kids.

Audibly sighing, the woman completed my transaction and I walked out of the office shell-shocked that I intentionally booked a camping trip to the Namib-Naukluft National Park, staying at Gondwana's apparently sparse, remote camp site. Here, we planned to see Hartmann mountain zebras in the mountainy parts, and hike the famous Sossusvlei dunes in the sandy parts. The agent did say that we could drive 6km to the actual lodge to use their swimming pool and dine in their restaurant, a consolation prize for our insanity. 

I had about six weeks to prepare my pack list. The first thing I did: purchase a huge canopy and a 20 liter water tank. I contemplated our keep-cold-food stash when I encountered a filterless travel agent who asked me if I had a back up battery for my mini fridge. Mentioning I only had a couple of coolers and planned to use this thing called "ice," she raised her eyebrows and told me "good luck with that." I wrote out our four day menu that allowed for maximum taste in minimal space and froze giant bottles of water as my "back up battery." If there was any doubt, the sippy-sips cooler was methodically planned to have the proper proportions of g&t's, beer, and wine to last four days. I'm not an animal, you see.

I also sorted through musty winter clothes that haven't seen daylight since before Brazil. Desert nights can be unpredictable after all. I bought extra flashlights despite already owning seven, and even picked up a UV light to hunt nighttime scorpions. What would I do if I actually saw one? No clue. But I would be ready. 

I pondered the need for shampoo, wondering how gauche it would be if we used the pool as our source of bathing. And I threw in an unnecessarily large amount of bug spray and sunscreen to ward off evil spirits.  Gorilla tape and huge first aid kit? Always winners. As big day approached, Mark tossed me a monkey-wrench: possible rain in the forecast. For the desert?! In went the rain boots and jackets, and out went my mental health. 

With everything packed or stuffed in the trunk and roof rack (greatest purchase EVER) we took off for an anticipated 3.5 hour drive south by south-west. I've mentioned this before: Namibian landscape is amazing and always dynamic, so as usual, we were not disappointed.  About 90% of the roads were covered in thousands of corn crickets both dead and alive. Also known as armored katydids, these screechy creatures have spikes, sharp teeth, and love to eat each other to get their protein and salt fix. Apparently they also have the capability to auto-hemorrhage when a predator attacks. My kids spent a disgusting amount of time grabbing them by their leg and chucking them into the air during the trip.

We arrived to Gondwana Desert Lodge with plenty of time to hike up their petrified dunes and cliffs behind the lodge. The trail started off hot and boring enough, along a river bed with about 6 inches of sand to get through. Then we hit sandstone on the incline, which segued into rich red sand where the kids went wild. They experienced the glory of running down sand dunes. So did I. It was the first time in years I could "run" without hurting my body. 10km done and it was time to set up camp. Ready or not.

I have to admit, at first glance, the campsite seemed eery and isolated. Of the sites available, only two spots were taken but there were more trees than the agent said existed. We scoped out the spots and noticed all of them had: a standing grill (that got mysteriously cleaned during the day), a faucet, a Skatecity-esque camp light and even an electric socket. We chose a spot neither too close or too far from the "ablutions block" and set up. Anyone who's camped in the U.S. knows that outhouses are an intense experience so we avoided bathroom interaction until it was necessary. But these "roughing it" bathrooms contained actual flushing toilets with toilet paper. There were showers with hot water! There was even a kitchen prep sink to do dishes and clothes lines for use. Schlink score: everything was clean and smelled nice. 

Of course we still had a few inconveniences. The first night was insanely windy and cold. Layers of sand entered the tents and we moved our them to face a different way in efforts to reduce the beach-effect. The wind simply changed directions. The second night, our car keys (both sets) went haywire, locking themselves in the car despite no one touching them. We had to break a window to get back into our car. Thank God for gorilla tape. And the third night was so stagnant and hot, that I flopped like a sweaty fish covered in bread crumbs (sand) on my fart-noise-making sleep pad. Plus both kids at one point barfed: one in the tent, the other on dad. 

Overall, the experience was a win. It never rained, nor did we use our fancy 3x3 meter canopy- it was way too hot to spend the day at the campsite, returning only when the sun began to set. Having day long ventures is highly recommend to avoid the stagnant heavy heat at camp. But the time we got home, I was already planning our next camping trip not one hour after we finished unpacking the zillion pieces of sand and articles we brought home. 

Corn crickets

Between the campsite and lodge.
Credit: Mark

Wildebeest on the property.
Mark gets all the best photos.

Rüppell's Korhaan
It croaks like a frog in the wee hours of sunrise.
Credit: Mark

Hiking behind Gondwana Namib Lodge
and delighting in what little shade we had.

Deets gearing up for the next hill...

...but turn around and this is your view.
Namibia is so wonderfully weird.

My phone still died. But I appreciated the effort of electricity.

Reaping the benefits of a distant rainstorm.
Credit: the husband. If I took this photo,
it would look like a wasteland.

Backyard Fauna

According to my mother-in-law, you know you're old when you own a bird book. Well I joined the upper ranks of adulting when my very own Photographic Guide to Birds of Namibia arrived in the mail. I spend an inordinate amount of time paging through the pictures and practicing my bird call enunciations. But only when I am alone- or does that make it sound creepy? The rest of the time I sit watching the birds devour their bird feed during peak hours and try to get the hang of being stealthy with my camera. Usually I buy the cheapest food I can find because we can go through 5 kilos per week, but we do reap the rewards. One time I mistakingly bough fancy bougie feed and a flock of lovebirds came and emptied the feeder in 2 hours, but it was enough time to take pictures. 

Birds aren't the only thing visiting our yard. We have a mess of wicked fast lizards too. Most of them are drab brown. One in particular caught my eye with its bright yellow head. I scared it by accident and followed its path to the roof of our braai area where I mentally willed it to come down. When that didn't work, I climbed up to get a better look and chased it around the chimney like a ridiculous game of peek-a-boo. Turns out this resident lizard is missing a foot, and either has good luck or is crazy tough: last weekend we had our first snake experience when a 2 foot snake hunted this lizard around our yard. The snake literally jumped from rock to rock, and spiraled up a tree trunk before giving up the hunt. I sat freaked out and glued to my seat, imagining it crawling up my pant leg. Mark sensibly Googled the snake first to determine its lethalness (not for humans) and then grabbed his camera to capture footage before it disappeared for another day. 

Today I spied the same lizard still as a statue amongst the same rocks he scaled to escape the snake. He must like it here. I think I do too. 

Redbilled Francolin

Bird. Book proving unhelpful. Perhaps a lark?
My super smart (and adorable) friend Laurie says: English Sparrow
She's definitely right.

Another bird. Maybe a bishop?

Rosy-faced Lovebirds

Blue Waxbill

Striped belly sand snake that chased and
failed to capture a three footed lizard in our yard.

The victorious 3 footed Namibian Rock Agama
(aka common lizard)

Arrival to Windhoek, Namibia

Knowing me, one would expect that a lengthy stretch of travel over several time zones and airlines, combined with two young children, that something would go amiss. I prepared for the worst on this move from the United States to Namibia but all things considered, it was one of the most boring life events to date. Other than the kids commandeering the airplane bathroom lines announcing their urgencies and charging head-on to the front, they didn't cause a ruckus nor complain. We landed in Windhoek very tired and covered in food stains, but intact and on time. We arrived to our house and thanks to overwhelmingly supportive social sponsors, we had a bit of internet and a whole lot of cable TV to get us started. A few days after that, the kids started school and I was left to set up house.

The landscape of Windhoek in a nutshell is: dry and quiet. I walk around the house like a creeper with my giant bottle of Lubriderm, drinking liters of water that never seem to quench my thirst. With a 6+ year drought, most of the landscape has varying shades of brown though a few species of drought resistant plants and trees flourish with blinding color. The sky is huge and the wind blows high, so that you hear it causing mayhem in the branches but it never really seems to touch the ground. 

I'm told that during rainy season (January-April) the entire landscape is absolutely mind blowing with neon vegetation growing overnight. For now, there’s a huge variety of cactus, as well as succulents, perfectly waxed to hold in slivers of moisture. Looming palm trees have the thickest trunks I have ever seen, and the spiny aloe plants are unmoving, unswaying as they belligerently stare the sun down.

There is a single resident bird in our yard who has set up a mess of real estate in one of our trees, moving from one nest to another. His spread is impressive, homes with bottom entryways, carefully domed using nothing but grass wrapped around a branch. I see why the yellow bird hangs out in our yard: we have shudderingly huge grasshoppers here. Down low, instead of squirrels, mongooses dart up tree trunks and drain pipes. Instead of stray dogs, baboon troops roam the streets and what passes for sidewalks. Sometimes they make unwelcome entries into homes or dump over trash cans, rioting for free finds.  

The kids are recognizing their school-focused routine, getting up at the crack of dawn for a 6:20am bus pick up. Combine that with springtime day light savings and we’ve got the perfect brew of crabby pants. They start and end early due to warm temperatures, so they do get home around 2pm. Deets has been launched into a lot more reading and writing than he cares to do, but he counters that frustration in his Portuguese class, where he gets to relax and answer easy questions. I question whether this was a good idea. At least his homeroom teacher has solid footing on her curriculum, so I have confidence he will adjust. Margo, our chameleon, adapts to anything- she’s off and running, happy to be here getting filthy every day (did I mention it’s dry and dusty here?) For both of them, getting dirty is a point of pride.

For me, I have yet to shape my own routine. It’s been a stop and wait kind of lifestyle when people come by to make repairs, sign papers, or attempt to install internet. It’s not bad, I’ve learned to bake bread and have put forth an effort to cook meals half as good as Mark’s. Turns out I make decent daal, pizza, and bagels. I even made hamburger buns. I tried grilling for the first time. It didn’t go well. In between those times I get tangled in my TRX straps, or take walks around the neighborhood which is full of intimidating guard dogs. I inspect left over remnants of the people who lived here before us: snakes of fat pool tubing that explodes with dirt and dead bugs; neglected furniture that collapses when I place a cup of water on it; gathering up of forgotten, rusted herb planters and random tied up socks across the yard. I found about 20 so far and they keep popping up. 

However, I am happy to be here and ready to make scary decisions like buying a car- if I can. More often than not, spouses of the officer are limited to decision making because they are the “official” ones who can sign things, not us. It’s infantilizing, but I will make the best of it. That is what affordable South African wine and gin is for, right?

The ridge behind our house.  

Bougainvilleas

Resident Weaver.

His newest remodel.

Tiny and spiny orange tree.
The kids drew Halloween faces on the oranges.

An acacia type derivative, next door.

Up close with purple spikes. If the tree wasn't surrounded
by razor wire and an electrified fence,
 I would have tried to feel the puffs.

Socks. Everywhere.

They grow them big here.