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.

Road trip to Southern Namibia

No Schlink car trip can ever start off without my preoccupation with stockpiling essentials like snacks, water, and sunscreen. Mark worries about much less important things like printing out proof of insurance, the spare tire and securely fastening down the duffel bags. What kind of priorities are those, am I right? Once satisfied, I had enough apples, dried fruit, and biltong to go with the waffles, soft pretzels, cheese, crackers, and several gallons of water, and celebratory stock of gin, tonic and limes- off we went, headed south through Namibia. The kids were giddy with 6am excitement, unable to go back to sleep- ignorant of the long hours ahead. I desperately wanted to nod off, but as the first leg co-pilot, I knew my allegiances should remain awake with Mark. For our first burst of excitement, we drove past the Tropic of Capricorn, completing a lifelong dream photoshoot at the southernmost latitude point that receives sunlight directly overhead. 

The best part of driving in southern Namibia is that the landscape is consistently unique. Not having been particularly far north, east, or west I can't speak to them yet. But the south is definitely cool and unpredictable. One minute we would drive past rolling mountains,  another past rocky steppe, or farm land, and another through canyons. Sometimes all four seemed to happen at once and although Namibia is drought ridden, there's still a mess Pantone colors swathing the landscape. It's pretty great.  The only thing that is less great, is the endless, straight road (though the B1 highway is well paved and marked) which will make any driver sleepy.  

A few hours later we approached our next pit stop of Keetmanshoop, and decided on a detour to the Quiver Tree Forest/Rest Camp. Owned by a German family with what seemed like 43 sheep dogs, this private property contains an impressive spread of quiver trees which are part of the aloe family. The owner estimated that some of these trees are over 300 years old. It's impressive they don't whither in the hot sun, which at our time of arrival, reached 40C (104F). Beet faced and only "slightly" sweating, we explored the rocky and hilly terrain chasing lizards. After chugging the once cold turned tepid bubble water, we visited the Giant's Playground: a place filled with very old, very big rock piles. Essentially, they are 160-180 million year old igneous rocks spread over 180,000 square kilometers. Essentially, it's pretty cool. And hot at the same time.

I love how Google has its mind made up with the most efficient way to arrive, but then promptly changes to divert via dirt roads. Yet, I still believed as we bid goodbye to the B1. Perhaps it saved 3-5 minutes, perhaps not. What the new route did do was take us to through suspiciously green, and soldier straight vineyards and palm tree farms. It was a pleasant surprise, even if we were only 90% certain of the correct way. Finally, with an eminent arrival to the Gondwana Canyon Village, we enjoyed spartan yet massive rock columns, and buttes, along with a sneak preview of the Fish River Canyon. Everything mind you, was dotted with oryx, gembock, and ostriches.  Once we checked in and pretended not to notice it was 42C, we had no choice but to cool off by swimming and taking a sunset hike before eating dinner under the stars.  Dinners here start and end late. So much that, the kids wanted to skip dessert, falling into bed at 9:30, with us not far behind at 9:31. We all had enough bursts of excitement for the day.

23°26′13.5″

Quiver tree forest! 

Photo credit: Deets.

Mistakingly taking a selfie with a quiver tree photobomb.

Hiking around the Canyon Village.

View from the shade in which I was hiding.

View from the porch of our "chalet."

View of the village from above.

Ostriches and Crocs in All Their Glory. Maybe.

Luckily my kids don't give me the wary eyeball when I announce we are taking an adventure trip in the car. Yet. To kick off holiday break, I picked out a rest camp an hour north of Windhoek that boasts keeping tame, hand fed ostriches and crocodiles. Seemed like a nice combination. We found the place easily and signed up for the "tour" led by a 26 year old employee who loves all things ostriches: their stupidity, their greediness, their color changing beaks during mating season.  After spewing out a few facts, she eagerly told us how a man snuck into their camp last year to steal a backpacks' worth of ostrich eggs and was killed by blunt force trauma. Cause of death: trampling by a 2 toed ostrich. Yes, she told this to Deets and Margo who were then offered to hand feed them. Needless to say, no one took her up on the offer. Those birds are legitimately crazy-mean birds! If they could flare their nostrils and thump their chests, they would. 

Continuing on with the tour, we met Rita the Warthog, who lived in the tour guide's house for several years and slept under her bed. She gave her up when Rita got too fat. We met a group of tortoises, one female and approximately 12 males all hell bent on mounting her shell. Skipping over to seek out Lucy the crocodile, we saw only a green pool of water from behind the cement fence- which, the guide insisted my kids should sit upon. She continued with her fascinating animal facts telling us how Lucy sometimes jumps as high as 2 meters out of the water. The guide said she likes to jump and catch a group of weaver birds who've set up a ton of nests on an overhanging tree. She tried to coax out the crocodile by whapping the surface with a long stick, but only succeeded in making Lucy sink deeper into the pond. Can't say I blame her. 

After a few more random facts about love birds, weavers, even the camp's resident dog, she tried to bid us adieu. However, the kiddos kept asking her about the giraffes who were shacked up with the ostriches. With only a passing glance, she shrugged saying nothing except "I dunno, they're just giraffes." Totally caught off guard, I could only laugh.  After all, we followed her for 20 minutes as she preened and pontificated about the other animals. I guess giraffes aren't for everyone.   

Having only spent about thirty minutes there in total, I felt we should drive through the nearest town of Okahandja and scope out the local craft market. There's no stop lights in the town, but it's full of activity as it is the water supply HQ for Windhoek, has a chic and modern military center, plus a hefty makeshift craft center that sells anything from wooden hippos, to jewelry, to kitchen stuff. We enjoyed a lively and accusatory encounter with the sales folks who "jokingly" called me mean mommy because I wouldn't buy the kids anything special. Had I been in the mood to haggle, I might have walked away with an 8 foot tall giraffe. Instead I spent my money on gas, thinking that might be slightly more important. 

Just a giraffe.

His ugly mug, all red and hyped up for mating.

Rita, the fatty.

Lady T finally getting a break to herself.

Waterbuck, another animal the guide cared not talk about.
They have distinct targets on their asses.

Personal Touches in the Foreign Service

Even though the Foreign Service provides furnished living quarters to the majority of posts, some people bring furniture for a more personal touch. Many people choose to bring their beds of all sizes and personalities: king beds, day beds, sleep number beds, probably even beds made of space moon foam. Mark and I chose not to, instead relying on our 12+ year down comforter which we spiff up every few years with a new duvet from IKEA or Target. To me, it's an essential and perfect part of what makes me feel at home. The duvet has a perfect warmth to thickness ratio: thin enough for 98% humidity laden Recife or the parched 12% of Windhoek, (so long as you stuck one leg out) but warm enough for the blasted winters of Denver, DC, and Bucharest. We love our comforter like other people love their beds. Or bikes.

On this very fine and uneventful weekend, I decided to effectively burrow underneath my down comforter like a hibernating ferret to relieve some muscle aches I developed while fake hip hop dancing under the shade of our braai. I was jonesin' for some serious nap time. Instead, I found something hiding under the covers: my six year old reading a magazine and requesting that no one should bother him. He was reading: FP USA 2015/16. Say what? Yes people, he was reading the annual publication of the Federation of Petanque magazine. This year they've reached 2,000 members and they tout "It's fun! It's friendly! It's exciting!" 

My husband is turning our kids into retired old men who wear white boat shoes and fedoras, brainwashing them in the ways of petanque. Mark had been dreaming of this moment, ever since we got a preview of our Windhoek home, well over a year ago. He did the research and chose his materials carefully- official regulation, unpainted steel balls, two sets of 3. Each set came with an etched design for quick differentiation on the court. After months of waiting his balls arrived, and Mark wasted no time in teaching the kids how to play. At first I was reluctant, not at all interested in standing in the sun and tossing balls around with the intent to land closest to the neon painted cochonnet (aka "the piglet"). But as Mark is thoughtful in so many things, he proved that the kids enjoyed playing- so much so, that my son was reading all about it in our bed under the favored blanket of all time. I can't really argue with that, so we are now a steel ball tossing kind of family. It's an odd kind of personal touch to our new home, but that's a Schlink for you.

Beer: non optional.

Jim getting in on the action.

Margo gaining two points.

Balls.