Moving onto Norway

Mark orchestrated a beautiful and seamless transition from Scotland to Norway. Perfect weather, perfect company, perfect convenience. I love the airports that have rental lots and public transportation directly connected to the arrival terminal- so once again the men set off to pick up the cars while I downloaded the route we'd take to get to Stryn onto 5 separate devices for the whole family. Stryn is a town in what's technically west-central Norway (still the fat bottom half if the country), but still feels very far north. But it isn't really. Norway is crazy long: its coast line is 13,624 miles long. Estimated drive time: 6 hours and 15 minutes, so we counted on doing it in 8. We left the airport at 3pm, confident we could make it before dark because Stryn in July has about 22 hours of daylight. Which, we will talk about in another post.

We hit the road, already impressed by the sheer number of evergreen trees, even in the city. But, before I go into gushing about how pretty Norway is, I have one thing to bitch about and then I won't bring it up again. Norway has some great things going: solid infrastructure, well made roads and tunnels, and fancy bridges. The citizens enjoy access to fantastic health care, nutrition, and seamless technological advancements. So why is it then, that Norway has the most disgusting bathrooms I have ever seen in my life? 

Throughout our trip, most of them were in absolute devastation: unhygienic in dangerous proportions, graffiti, and trash everywhere, leaky sinks or non-working sinks. Putrid smears of body fluids were everywhere and even a dead animal was seen. It was an emotional experience (and not a good one) whenever I had to use a public bathroom. I much preferred to pee behind a car or in a bush. But of course, as Norway is technologically advanced, cameras are everywhere. Even restaurant bathrooms were cringe worthy. Shame on you Norway. Shame. Shame. The only decent bathroom was at the Oslo central train station but to enter, you had to pay 40 Norwegian Krone, or 5 USD via credit card or cash. FIVE DOLLARS to pee.

Moving on. About two hours in, stomachs gurgled so we stopped in Lillehammer for dinner, and having done zero research, we were at the mercy of an outdated GPS system to find us an open restaurant. GPS brought us to an outdoor mall and edible food was obtained. We saw the looming ski jump up close (very terrifying) and we were very pleased with ourselves when we came upon The Flamingo Bar. How great would it be to rub elbows with Steven van Vandt?! I say super great.  

What wasn't great, was that we had had zero communications with Mark's parents after leaving the airport. Norwegians are stingy with their free wifi, so calling them was a bit trickier than we wanted. Whatsapp messaging was our primary mode of communication in Edinburgh, so we did the same here and hoped for the best. 

The drive north was not unpleasant, though everyone drives the speed limit (fancy speed cameras and all) and anyway, most of the highway is 2 lane with a barrier or berm in between. We wouldn't be passing anyone anytime soon. Instead, we started making phone calls every 15 minutes, paying out the nose in airtime. A few hours later, we stopped again for groceries and found free wifi, hopeful to get an update from his parents. We did, but only a few messages of "where are we?" and "the GPS says we need to get on a ferry, should we take a ferry?!" Which, of course wasn't the original intended route. Sighing deeply, Mark and I decided to carry on, as it was nearly 9pm (still bright out) and we still had four more hours to go with delirious, napless children.

The unanswered calls continued, as did the milage. At 1am we arrived to the AirBnB rental, put the kids to bed and started calling again. Finally, at nearly 2am we connected. They were fine, but had gotten lost almost immediately out of the city. Google maps ate up the original route I laid had out and gave them a new one. They never made it to Lillehammer at all, but detoured west and in full on panic mode. His mom had only been using wifi to call me (I had no service whatsoever) and was leaving messages on Facebook which never went through. Realizing they were hopelessly hours behind us, they decided to stay the night in the last town they stopped at. Mark's parents made it to the house a full day later, but at least they had the benefit of descending into Stryn in broad day light. The views were spectacular with a mountainy landscape stuffed with glaciers, huuuuge towering waterfalls, and crazy deep ravines. 

They greeted us with hugs and wool socks, which is totally what I would do, if I got lost too. Alls well that ends well, though and now everyone could now sleep better. Or could we?

Not so north now, are we?

Gorgeous infrastructure.

Lillehammer. Not many photos when your undies are wadded with worry.

Finally settled into the mountain stocked countryside.

Traditional Scandinavian roof. Back in the day,
a birch bark and grass roof cost
 zero dollars to make and works as a decent insulator.

Closing Out Scotland

I don't want to downplay the sheer awesomeness of Isle of Skye. After all, people including myself flock there in droves every year to see the unique landscapes and indulge in their history. So much so, that sustaining the demand has become a problem for locals. While the roads are well kept, there's not always two lanes and cars passing opposite need to alternate the right of way. The volume of vehicles overwhelm most parking lots, leaving determined visitors to park precariously (and carelessly) on the road side. The bottlenecking and the need for patience is impressive, especially when tourists hop off ferries and onto giant tour buses. Large influxes of people inevitably means more congestion; more trash; more makeshift roadside camping because cottages and inns are fully booked for months ahead of time. Mark and I had to amend our travel plans specifically for this reason. We all want to see everything, and we all want to see it RIGHT now! Yes?

Anyway, Isle of Skye is super cool, but the Highlands south of that region are amazing too. Even though the area is seemingly much of the same land (green, mountainy, and stuffed with lakes), the Highlands are undeniably different. It's hard to describe. The expansive textures of the Highlands is unparalleled to anything I have seen before, where the green is nearly blinding. The ancient, rounded mountain tops have a secret they won't tell, and the lakes disappear underneath a sea soft moss and teeny delicate flowers. The sky gets bigger and we get smaller. I desperately wished we had time to stay at least one night in the vicinity of Trossachs National Park. There was a gentleman in full on Scottish uniform, playing his bagpipe on the side of the road with his back to the Beinn Ime, the highest peak in Scotland at 1,011m/3,326ft. Everyone and their mom, including burly motorcyclists were pulled over to take a snapshot of this idyllic scene. I bet that musician makes a killing.  

Since the Harry Potter Studio was out of reach, we did the next best thing and stopped in Glencoe, where Hagrid's Hut once stood. There's no sign and no notice showing you where the hut was perched during filming, about 100 yards up from the road, but with a seasoned HP eye, the location is easily spotted. Mark had a hell of a time explaining to Deets and Margo that we wouldn't actually see the hut, nor Hagrid (God, they were hopeful), and had to talk them up from massive disappointment when they realized we were staring literally at a hill now overgrown with ferns. We made up for it by letting them throw rocks into a creek, which happens to be one of my favorite downtime activities.

Onward we went, and before we realized it, them mountains had petered out, leaving way to serene farmland and more cozy towns, streets lined with colorful hanging flower baskets and Scottish pride. The drive ended before I wanted it to and left me wanting more, but I suppose that's the sign of a good trip. We checked back into a hotel near the airport and settled ourselves for a quick overnight before flying to Oslo for the next leg of "rest & relaxation." 

Hagrid's Hut

Credit: Mark

No regrets.

Isle of Skye

The Edinburgh Airport car rental place is a hilarious thing. Even with use of those luggage carts that steer all weird, it's easy enough to walk from the terminal and directly to your chosen rental company. However, if you are coming from the city via taxi, it's another story. No taxis are allowed into the lot, which meant that the kids, grandma, and I got to sit by the side of the road with ten thousand pieces of luggage strewn about while the dudes dealt with the paperwork. No worries, it gave our carsick boy plenty of time to barf in the grass and take a nap, and Margo to practice her jumping jacks and harassing custard faced brother. From here, we would drive to the vastness of the Isle of Skye: a legendary archipelago stuffed with peninsulas, lochs, and towering mountains. Plus a bunch of green stuff like grass and moss.

Scottish roads are delightful, as are the adorable towns along the way. We drove north and enjoyed watching the flats turn into rolling hills and into mountains. Thick forests surrounded both sides of the winding road, sheltering village off shoots from highway noise. We made a pitstop in Dunkeld, once a choice getaway location for Beatrix Potter back in the day. She enjoyed this place for good reason: with everything in Scotland, if it's not beautiful, it's cute and historic with well made stone bridges that cross over its seemingly endless supply of rivers and lochs. Plus it was Dunkeld where tales of Peter Rabbit took form. It's a cute story: Potter, a frequent letter writer to sick children, ran out of things to say to a particular boy and segued into a tale involving four rabbits.

Eventually we drove into Inverness and craned our necks searching for the Lochness Monster before stopping by Black Isle Brewery for thirst management. After two other stops that involved mediocre cafeteria food, and a flat tire repair, we arrived to Dornie, population 360: the most adorable town in existence. It contained the following: two bars, one grocery store, one cafe, and one 13th century castle. Mark had rented a three bedroom cottage that was filled to the brim with floral design. Carpets, walls, curtains, beds, and pillows were adorned with varying flower prints. Our AirBnB host was a sprightly woman dressed in a bright blue raincoat, sensible trousers, and thick wool stockings (please no shoes inside, mind you!) who showed me how to turn on the television, washing machine, and thermostat. All of it was so endearing and cozy I never wanted to leave. 

From here, our ventures commenced with days filled with hiking, boating, driiiiiiiving, and drinking beer. I tried a mess of whisky and faked my way through it. I can appreciate the thought, effort, and history behind it, but man... while I loved having a warm belly, I did not love the raging heartburn. 

We gawked at cyclists, campers, and backpackers slowly making their way in the sodden rain (one had to assume it would and could rain at any moment- and it did). As it was high-season, there were many travelers in the area. Some literally camping on the side of the road and we watched more than one tent bail out pooling water, which I imagine circulated right into the ground and back side their tents. 

Among other things we spotted many waterfalls that changed in size on a regular basis from the rain. Trickles transformed into giant cascades in a matter of moments, rushing down hill with impressive force. We visited fairy pools on a rare dry moment, which are a magical series of trailing waterfalls that eddy off into crystal clear pools. Mark and I drove by historic castles, shuddering at the thought of life 500 years ago. We passed by 1000's merino sheep, some of which are actually feral, according to the hungover zodiak boat guide, and peered at the sea lions blubbed out on rocky beaches. But the big excitement for me was seeing the famously hairy Highland cows. So exciting apparently, that I forgot to take a picture of one. 

My dude sitting pretty in Dornie.

So many layers of flowers.

I love a good fake fire,
but  if you wonder what will happen
if you try to dry a shirt on one... just don't.
It wasn't me nor my husband- for the win.

The unbelievable manicured backyard of our cottage.
There's potatoes growing in here somewhere.

Eilean Donan Castle built sometime in the 1200s.
It's by far the MOST photographed castle in Scotland.

I hid here while the rest of the family followed the masses
 inside to marvel the crown jewels or something.

And now a crappy castle: Duntulm, circa 14-15th centuries.
 I'm not sure where the sky went in this photo.

 The suits! They do nothing! Except Deets'.
He stayed bone dry and had the most fun.
Castle Maol in the background. 500+ years old, maybe?

Bog cotton. Very dreamy.

My overly brave girl who said "to hell with being dry."

Water water everywhere.

Highland leaders of the pack.

Mark capturing the fairy pools.

One of the many fairy pools.
Credit: Mark

Kilt Rock Waterfall. While those are rocks (not ice)
in the ocean, it sure as heck felt like it was that cold.

Rain and Sun in Edinburgh

Forget Brittanica estate rooms and opulent crystal place settings. Forget crown jewels and royal tapestries. Instead, give me prisoner's quarters, blood letting dishes, decrepit stone churches, and graphic preservations of the human condition. Also, give me the great outdoors- because there's no better way to get to know a country's heart and soul. In Edinburgh, I got to do all these things, including high-brow gawking of things I would never have nor desire. 

Luck was on our side as we hopped on buses and traipsed along the cobblestone: it rained only about half the time. On the days that weren't dripping in grey, we were outside doing things like hiking Arthur's Table, the Royal Botanic Gardens, Princes Street Gardens,  and letting our feral children do what they do best. Otherwise, between downpours we scrambled amongst thickly fortified castles, ancient churches, and museums, ducking into pubs for gin or whisky to warm our tummies. 

Perhaps obviously, my big highlight was visiting the Surgeon's Hall Museum. My eyes grew wide with nostalgia as I explained trephination or talked about the formaldehyde filled jugs of body parts to my kids. To a decent extent, they played along, surmising theories for how people died in the first place. I told them they died because they didn't brush their teeth nor wash their hands enough. They only half believed me, but I think they took extra care of themselves thereafter. At least for a few days.

Mark's favorite activity for ALL places he visits, is walking. He likes to walk with no formulated itineraries and especially without maps. He has this bizarre internal compass that usually keeps us on the right track. I don't know how he does it. Also on this occasion, Mark had an opportunity to catch up with a couple of Scottish friends he made 16, 17 years ago. He met one in Romania, a fellow from Perth who worked for a nonprofit. Another was a Glaswegian teacher in Bratislava, and each friend picked up as if no time had ever passed. It was just... nice and dreamy. I loved getting a sneak peek of Mark's past life while they regaled tales of the day over pints of beer. It's like getting to know a different version of the person I love best.

As for the kids, they loved going to Dynamic Earth, an interactive science museum that left us all depressed about dying in a well-predicted, future volcanic explosion straight out of Yellowstone National Park. Really, the museum was quite entertaining and a great respite to dry off from the insipid drizzle. Margo and Deets played. And played. And conquered any playground (and canons) we came upon. Both of them ate dirt and tore clothes as they tripped and rolled down parts of Arthur's Seat. It was very green and they were very happy.

Aside from a stingy and dramatic AirBnB host, who failed to give us but a single sponge to clean the 3 bedroom apartment that slept 6, we quite enjoyed Edinburgh. Believe me, we left that apartment waaaaaaay cleaner than when we arrived, but there was still immature squabbling from her end about towel usage. She wanted to charge us 40 pounds to replace a single towel that wasn't left white enough in our care. Thank goodness the AirBnB dispute team manages the crazies well. Next up: Isle of Skye.

Also for anyone considering visiting Edinburgh, I loved this website: http://edinburgh.org/101/

We stayed in Leith, a port-centric neighborhood north of downtown.

Leith, Edinburgh.

Heart of Midlothian, a mosaic marking the site of an old tolbooth
 where executions used to take place. It was demolished in 1817.
People spit freely and often on it.

Cruising the Royal Mile

St. Giles Cathedral

View from western end of Princes Street Garden.

View from Arthur's Seat,
an ancient volcano

St. Anthony's Chapel
From the 11-freaking-00!

Holyrood Abbyy, 1128
That's ooooooooold.

I know you saw this on IG, but it was so awesome.
She reminds me of an old PE teacher.

Okay, okay. This was pretty cool. But I have thing about rope pictures.

Heja Game Lodge: How NOT to do a game drive

Namibia does game drives well. I love them. I love the excitement of animal sightings and the guaranteed fresh air. I love the scenery and just being able to sit back and let someone else be in charge for a while. When my friend invited me to do a hail Mary game drive before she and the kids took off for the summer break, I immediately agreed. My friend chose Heja Game Lodge for this particular adventure because, a) it's less than 30 minutes outside of Windhoek and, b) she once saw rhinos grazing right off the road. The road being a popular stretch of ruddy asphalt for cyclists and runners. 

The lodge has a unique personality: a hiply decorated bar and lounge area that backs to a brown, dull pond stuffed with ducks and swans. Dusty, scraggly ostriches and warthogs linger among the abandoned pieces of junk, whereas the vividly colored metal playground is just begging for children to acquire extra tetanus shots. Their five (5!) conference centers, scattered among the lodging accommodations are filled with fancy technical options along with rows of tables and chairs covered in sheets of thigh-sticking plastic. No matter, we weren't there for that.

I should have suspected our adventure would be sub-optimal when the driver refused to say hello or introduce himself. But with 5 joyful youths and 3 adults to herd onto the truck, I dismissed this as impatience to get started. Maybe he'd perk up once we left the parking lot. If we ever left, he was driving so slow. Going 20km/hour (12mph) we crawled past the greyed, crabby ostriches, past the fake animals used for practicing archery, and eventually onto the paved road where he stopped in the middle to point out a dead, bloody iguana that had its eyes pecked out. He continued on... going 20km/hr and as my patience withered, my indignation grew. Sure, we spied about a thousand warthogs and hundreds of blesbok, which is a southern African antelope with a helmeted look much like the leatherheads from the early days of football, but the road conditions deteriorated so much that no photos could be taken. Even if we were driving... 20km/hr. 

I loved the mountainous, shrubby surroundings and could even ignore the hundreds of piles of forgotten piping and rotting hay. But when the driver approached the foot of the mountain that we would ascend, I began to get a sick feeling in my stomach. We trusted him to continue because we were in a 4x4 capable of driving in contentiously rocky conditions. And besides, he'd been driving 20km/hr and promised that rhino sightings were just on the other side. Bodies lurched side to side and I tried to imagine a peaceful place where I had an elastic, flexible spine. Every child and adult clung to the metal bars, eyes glued to the steep grade ahead of us.  Sadly, he made it up about 200 feet before the back wheels spun out and sunk into the ruts. Ordering us off the truck, we walked to safety wondering what his next move would be. 

Apparently it was to try to drive up without us and we could hike up behind him. That plan failed miserably, with dust and rocks flying down the hill as he gunned it and then watched him maneuver the vehicle Austin Powers style back down. Into relative safety, and he told us that we had another way around to the back side. I took this to mean he'd take the long, flat way around. Nope. He careened the 4x4, kids and all, up another side of the mountain where the vehicle continued to slip and tilt dangerously. More than once I cursed loudly which gained me stink eye from all the kids not mine. As for the adults, we looked at each other and laughed hysterically to cover up the fact that we were truly worried about losing a kid or two. I love a good thrill, but I had never been so scared on a game drive, including the time when elephants charged the vehicle a few weeks ago.

The driver made it to the top, and certainly the view was breathtaking. Had he bothered to stop, I would have taken more photos. Surrounded by valleys and mountains that were on the downside of the rainy season, tones of brown, yellow, and green stretched as far as the eye could see, buttressed against the endless blue sky.  Down below we could see herds of animals either on the lookout or on the run, and a short-circuited blue wildebeest bucking his way across the flat spots. And no rhinos, which by this time we didn't care about anymore. Exhausted from hanging onto dear life with no breaks, kids (rightfully) started whimpering and the adults announced that enough was enough: we were done.  Of course that meant we needed creep back down the mountain.  The truck lurched forward dangerously, forcing our butts off the seats, as plumes of dust and rocks tumbled down the mountainside. More cursing followed along with dramatic near misses of thorny branches reaching inside the truck. The canvas rooftop even split in two.

We finally it to the base of the mountain and drove back to the public road where our guide decided to gun it back home. Blinded by whipping hair and watering eyes, we literally jolted to a stop in the parking lot, harried and bewildered. The driver swung down from the truck and left us to our own devices (normally they assist passengers to enter/exit). My friend and I eyed each other and marched directly to management. Ever professional and calm, my girlfriend factually explained the situation. Ever the emotional exploder, I was at least smart enough to keep my mouth shut on this round. Completely dismayed, the manager told us the roads leading into the mountains weren't part of the usual game drive route and that it shouldn't have happened. They didn't charge us for our personal three hours of hell, and for that I am grateful.

Luckily we walked away unscathed, but I didn't realize how mentally and physically trying the drive was until I got home. The weariness seeped into my bones, and the breath I had been holding was so intense I almost cried as we all laid down for a long afternoon nap. One day later, the tension in my shoulders and elbows from is enough to remind me of the highly annoying day, but it also reminds me that my friend and I were in it together and that we'd be laughing about it over gin and tonics sooner than later. 

Going on a game drive.

In case you were confused, it's a bar.

Sample of a blesbok

Getting kicked off the truck.

During various points, sombreros, bags,
and hats all flew off the truck.
It wasn't even windy.

Walking the Dog in Windhoek

Technically, Namibia is dog friendly. After all, probably 9 houses out of 10 have dogs. The city has a couple of dog-training parks where you can pay a membership fee to make use of their obstacle courses: tunnels, ramps, zig-zag poles, etc. assuming your dog would be into that sort of thing. There's a great farm where dogs are free to run off leash (assuming the dog is smart enough to stay away from the free roaming cows and bulls). Windhoek has a couple of kennels and countless beauty shops, each with varying degrees of quality, and a decent selection of trustworthy veterinarians. Heck there's even a pool exclusive for doggie swim lessons! Plus, there's the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals (SPCA) and a handful of other non-profits that deal with the responsibilities of pet ownership, like spaying and neutering services.

Obviously an infrastructure to support pets exists in this country, which is great. But the dogs here just aren't... friendly. Of the 9 houses that do have dogs, there's only 1 other person in my neighborhood who actually walks his. Here, dogs usually serve as one of many tiers for property protection- after the 10 foot walls topped with razor or electrified wire, and before the motion sensor burglar alarms. Most dogs are sequestered outside to guard the perimeter and ward off the unwelcome. They stick their noses and paws underneath the gates, chewing on metal, and savagely snarling and barking at all hours of the day to match the mind numbing "whop whop whop" of the burglar alarms. Alarms that are set off so often, that locals sardonically call it their national anthem.

Anyway. Walking my dog isn't super fun because of all that. More often than not when gates open and close, these "guard dogs" race to escape, eager for a confrontation. Jim and I have been attacked so many times, that I carry a nerdy walking stick to ward off gnashing teeth. The worst part is, the owners get mad at me. One woman told me it was my fault that her husky slipped past the gate to attack my (leashed) dog. Had I "not walked past her property, I wouldn't have been attacked" and that I owed HER an apology.  I'll spare you the other side of that conversation; just picture me with Medusa's head.

So it's weird and uncomfortable, and walking Jim requires a bit of cognitive preparation. Since we are at elevation, the mornings are guaranteed to be cool- 40F or less during fall and winter. I layer up with scarf, hat, gloves and top off the look with saggy sweatpants. He and I take off around 6:30am after the kids get on the school bus. If it's a Monday morning (trash day), we navigate past city-issued trash cans and bags of recycling that have been pilfered by opportunists. The bellowing dogs greet us as we walk past our neighbors and the sound of madness grows as we head down the street. Poor Jim, never having been a barker, simply whines and pulls on his leash.  I never did teach him to heel.

We amble past the high walls, unique to each property, and turn onto a wide main road where we enjoy the silence briefly settle back in. Sounds of barking and howling dogs alternate and mix with passing cars and the harsh screeching of francolin birds. These birds yell as if they're yelling at children to clean up melted ice cream on the couch. Sometimes there's morning construction crews of about here 20-30 who always stop in their tracks to stare down the weird lady in sweatpants and her dog. My morning salutations are usually ignored and we continue on, staying aware of cars that blow past stop signs (everyone) and other potential dog walkers (no one).  In fact, the only people who will say hello to me are the housekeepers huddled at the bus stop waiting for their shifts to start. Nice ladies, really.

There are a few miserable looking joggers, some vigilantly carrying mace, others obliviously rocking out to music. Jim and I speed walk up steep hills and gingerly step down them- both of us a match for sore knees. By 7:00am the sun breaks over the mountain, cascading a glorious shine over the city and surrounding hills. Right after sunset, meal times, and bed time, it's my favorite part of the day. I love these moments: when the dogs are out of earshot, I stand alone with Jim looking over the city. Ironically, Depeche Mode's Enjoy the Silence always winds through my brain and stays there for several hours. At least it gives me tempo to walk home to. I dodge sharp bougainvillea branches creeping over walls, pick countless thorns out of my dog's paws, and stare down the wonk eyed mongrels behind bars, hoping the gates remain closed as we finish the loop. An unsuccessful walk means I had to fight off fugitives and their belligerent owners or save the token idiot dog who's not fierce, but on a death wish as it runs down the street. This happens about once a week. A successful, good walk is the opposite of that. I love how high the bar is set here.

 Our daily walks and the uncertainty that ensues
justify my claim that Jim is the greatest dog ever.

Catching a breath.

Despite the madness of dog-walking, this is why I do it.

Damaraland Is So Badass. And hot.

Over these past few months, nighttime temperatures in Windhoek have been dropping into the low 40s, even 30s. I can't quite say it's legitimately cold (though I desperately want to) compared to Colorado and Missouri winter nights, but it has been chilly enough to warrant sleeping with socks and long pants. Even as I write this at 8:30am, I'm wrapped in fleece and Deets' firetruck sleeping bag. It's 50F. So when we booked a trip to go camping in Damaraland about 4.5 hours north of Windhoek, it seemed reasonable that the nights would be similarly cool. 

I loaded up the car essentially prepared for Snowmaggedon: hats, gloves, long underwear, scarves, and down blankets. I packed a thermos and tons of hot chocolate packets to ward off frosty mornings. Mark simply smiled and said nothing. Turns out the region is a regular hot spot, rarely dropping below 60F at night. Setting up our tents, we didn't even bother with the rainflies. It was quite nice, giving us clear views of the star-packed sky when we finally crawled into bed. At 8:30pm. 

We stayed at the Aabadi Mountain Lodge, a place I picked based off of two things: one, they have an elephant on their webpage and two, the place is locally owned with an emphasis on eco-tourism. Sure, it was rustic compared to Erindi which had personalized toilet paper, but this campsite came with more than what I'd consider the basics: a braai and sink area at each site, open air flushing toilets, and wood burning hot water heaters for the open air showers. It was cool. Like most campsites around the area, there was no fencing which meant wild animals could come and go freely. It was exciting to think a leopard or an elephant could randomly stop by, but I will admit there was a massive fly issue from scattered animal droppings in the area. It was an excellent lesson for the kids and myself who were tempted to bitch and moan about the incessant attacks. Mark, ever the patient one, reminded us that we were all in it together. Overall, there's so much to do in the area that we didn't spend much time hanging out when the flies were at their worst.

For example, we did a game drive one morning. Bumping along the dirt roads we passed by tiny villages with metal shacks and gardens, looking for signs of elephants like footprints, poop, and broken branches. The terrain was incredible and classically Namibian: forever changing from smooth dirt to rocky crevices, up mountains and into valleys. We drove by Burnt Mountain, a 12km extinct volcanic ridge and a mess of dolomite columns called the Organ Pipes. For all the rock nerds, the pipes are vertical molten rocks that pushed up through the earth's surface about 125 million years ago. 

It took the driver three times to find what he was looking for: a herd of desert elephants that were sauntering along the dried out riverbeds. He'd drive out to the main road to get phone reception, then venture back in. We finally spotted a group of 11 elephants shading themselves in some trees. With rising temperatures, their ears were flapping to cool them down. A bull arrived a few minutes later shoving adolescents aside to get prime time shade. Babies were passed out under the protective guard of their mothers, and one was nursing. NURSING! It's "tiny" body tucked right underneath mom's armpit, its mouth latched on with its adorable trunk fidgeting like a child. I cried. 

When one of the elephants woke up from her nap, she trumpeted angrily, forcing the driver to quickly back up and give more space. In unison the elephants peed and crapped all over, before moving down the riverbed further. We sat in the ever roasting sun, mesmerized. Something like 400 photos later, we wistfully called it quits and headed back to camp for beers. 

Later that same day we took our own car on safari to check out rock paintings but got quickly distracted when we saw the elephants again. Along with a few other cars, we sat taking photos, turning on the engines periodically to give them space. We had a joyous time until I managed to drive over discarded fencing wire that wrapped around our drive shaft. We couldn't move the car, and with an approaching elephant herd, we had to come up with a plan. You simply don't mess with elephants. If provoked, these beasts WILL charge. 

Stranded in the middle of the river bed, we half blocked the trucks behind us, essentially putting them in danger, so Mark made an executive decision. He crawled underneath the car still hot with an idling engine and began to untangle the wire by hand. Drivers from other vehicles started yelling at us, thinking he was doing sort of covert sightseeing, and Mark had no choice but to keep going. Luckily one of the drivers was our guide from earlier, and used his truck to block off our back side while another car took the front, effectively triangulating him in. While the kids were obliviously playing in the back seat, my eyes darted from the approaching and progressively rambunctious elephants to the back of Mark's legs sticking out from underneath. I kept checking and rechecking that I was in park, and anxiously waiting for a victorious fix. By the time Mark extracted the 20 feet of wire, we were surrounded by elephants, so Mark jumped in the car and we drove off just as an adolescent trumpeted and charged at our car. Even though it was probably just a threat, we had no qualms getting out of his way. 

At dinner we invited the driver and guide over to our campsite to eat with us, thanking them for their support. Not everyone was amused by the situation and some people lodged complaints, so we were grateful that the Aabadi staff stood by us. Looking back, I'm not sure we should have done anything differently. Perhaps we could have waited longer in the car, but with the setting sun, we didn't have much time to waste. Maybe wire cutters would be a reasonable purchase? Who knows? I guess in the Namibian wild, anything can happen. 

Home sweet home.

Bathrooms with a view.

Burnt Mountain. Credit: Mark

Organ Pipes. Ok- the photo has a detail extraction filter,
BUT the sky was eerily turquoise as the sun began to set.

Sleeping.

Not sleeping.

Oh the sweetness.

While Mark was under the car...
Credit: Deets

Big Momma, goes by Rosie.