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.

Roads in Damaraland

Tell me something. If you needed to go to Khorixas (cor-E-haas) and saw a road sign indicating Khorixas: turn right, and Torra Bay: turn left. You'd turn right. Right? 

Last week we traveled around Damaraland, a huge and rugged territory about 4.5 hours north of Windhoek. Actually, the region has been divided and renamed (Erongo in the south and Kuene in the north) but the name Damaraland still sticks. This land is the kind of spread that gives you goosebumps- either because of its seemingly emptiness (it never is! There's always someone randomly hanging out in the veld) or because of its untamed beauty. 

For four days we explored, encountering things like wild giraffes and elephants, six thousand year old rock paintings, and bold russety mountains. We drove our butts off on the washboard dirt roads which of course meant we would eventually need gas. At the crossroads, we saw our car had 1/4 tank of diesel left and Khorixas was the place to get it. ETA: less than one hour.

So I turned right. I drove. And drove. And drove, nervously glancing at the dwindling fuel range as the landscape turned from the occasional roadside village with huts selling crafts and tire repair services, to a space of rolling off-white hills dotted with deep brown shrubbery. And nothing else. The kids were passed out in the back and Mark was studiously ignoring my rising anxiety. I pictured our dried out skeletons seated against the rusted car with flat tires; a stern and visual lesson for other travelers to always be prepared. 

Despite this self-inflicted drama, 90 minutes later we made it Khorixas with only a few kilometers to spare. Refueled and nerves abated, we drove through the city onto the other side where we saw another road sign that directed us to return from whence we came, but in the opposite direction; in less than half the distance it took to get us there. The irony was not lost on me. Shoulda turned left.

Continuing on, we watched the land turn back into its whacky self as only Namibia can. Along the way we happened upon the UNESCO Petrified Forest and took a lunch break there. Any UNESCO site requires strict supervision, so we were assigned a tour guide to walk us past 120 million year old slabs of petrified fallen trees. Trees that made it to Namibia from the center of the continent, back when it was Gondwanaland. For some reason, the kids LOVED this tour of looking at mostly buried remnants of solid wood. They asked the guide all sorts of questions and were gaga with the notion that these trees were once the size of blue whales. 

Though the tour was quaint and slightly uninspiring, we learned few other floral tidbits. For example, the resin of the commiphora plant is in high demand in places known for making perfume, like France. Himba women burn the branches to extract its resin which is then mixed with red ochre and animal fat. They use it as a fragrance, moisturizer, and sunscreen. I broke off a twig and could smell the rich camphor-like scent. I tried to discreetly rub the twig under my armpits in hopes of dissipating the day's stress sweat. But I mostly ended up looking like a sun-dried ape with bad hair, picking nits off myself. 

We were also educated on the Welwitschia mirabilis plant, named after a botanist who apparently fell to his knees upon seeing them for the first time. Full grown, these coniferous plants look like piles of fat green ribbon strewn about. They can live up to 2,000 years but grow something sad like 2 cm/year. They are mega tough drought-resistant plants and widely admired for their rarity. The plants we walked past were still in their infancy (15 years old) with only two stubby leaves and a fat bark-like center. Talk about a lengthy lifeline. 

Finally I could check petrified wood off the list. Tipping our guide, we mentioned offhand that during the drive we saw a herd of wild giraffes crossing the road. He grew up in Khorixas and had been working at the UNESCO Petrified Forest for nearly 12 years, and he only ever saw giraffes once in his region back in 2012. Wow. I love that the odds were in our favor. 

You've entered Damaraland.

Sunset in Damaraland at the Aabadi Campsite.

 Damaraland, Brandberg Mountains- the highest in Namibia (8,441')
Credit: Mark

15 year old Welwitschia mirabilis
National plant of Namibia

Fully grown, probably 1,000 years old. Google image search. 

Checking for hollowness. Red/orange tints are from iron rich sedimentation, black from magnesium.
The trees were buried under 100s of feet of earth and have been slowly uncovered from erosion.

+/- the length of a blue whale.
The trees are part of the Cordaite family,
related to firs and spruces. Credit: Mark

Twyfelfontein Rock Art

One of the most popular reasons people visit Damaraland (or the Erongo/Kuene regions) is to check out really cool old rocks of various categories: formations, engravings, and paintings. As I mentioned in previous posts, we visited the splendor of the Burnt Mountain and the Organ Pipes. We admired a forest that once stood tall in the middle of Africa now turned to stone through diagenesis.  We cruised past the massive Brandberg Mountain Range and on the way home took a detour to look at Spitzkoppe Peak that is over 120 million years old and maxes out at an elevation of 5,853 feet. They call it the Matterhorn of Namibia. All of this region is a geologist's paradise. Rocks, rocks, and more rocks.

In between these sites, Mark was eager to visit Twyfelfontein, a place better known for man-made rock engravings and paintings. In Afrikaans, Twyfelontein means "doubtful spring" and was named by a farmer who decided to settle in the area back in the 1940's. But before it even had a name, Twyfelfontein was inhabited by nomadic hunter-gatherer San people who are thought to be the first settlers within the region. Seriously, their ancestry traces back more than 30,000 years! At the UNESCO Twyfelfontein site, our guide told us the San might have used rock art to tell stories, record events, teach children, and to communicate between tribes. Tools like white quartz and red ochre mixed with animal fat were used to engrave and paint. Interestingly, since San people were constantly on the move, there are depictions of seals and penguins on the rocks that sit more than 35 hour's worth of walking from the coast, according to Google maps. They made frequent trips out west to gather the salt from the oceans and used it to cure meats.

The surprisingly well-detailed drawings give history experts the impression that the San were excellent travel guides and story tellers. They made maps to watering holes, depicted by a circle with a dot in the middle and recorded the footprints of migrating animals. There was an ostrich drawing that included two heads and four legs in various direction show the rapid movement of these giant birds like a stop-motion cartoon. The lion with a hand for a tail and a kill in its mouth perhaps told a story of a brave hunter who got more bang for his buck, warranting permanent placement on the rock wall of fame.  

Human foot prints: personal signature
Animal foot prints: food sightings
Circle with dots: water sources

The ostrich with two heads and four legs.

Elephant sighting, upper left

Giraffe, lion, springbok

That sky tho'

"Camping" at Erindi

When we went camping as a kid, I remember watching my mom systematically stack layers of camp gear, dry boxes, coolers, and duffel bags into the back of our Toyota Tercel. In the car my brother and I would sit on a rolled out sleeping bag and the back seat stuffed with what I considered at the time all-essential: cassette player, dried out markers, and Big Chief tablets. My brother would bring his bike magazines and complain about his unrelenting growing pains, justifying the need to stretch his legs out across my lap. Since I was pretty much obsessed with my brother, I was a total sucker and fell for it. Every time. Then we'd roll into whatever campground site, stuff some money into a metal box and find the perfect spot to set up tents. 

It didn't matter where we camped, on the beach or in the mountains. Inevitably, I'd drench my only pair of shoes only to forget them as they'd melt by the fire. I always got sunscreen in my eyes, and spent an unhealthy amount of time worried about spiders in my dome tent. But man, did I love camping. It meant freedom, burning things in the fire, and listening to my parents sing glorious songs from the 80's. My parents, the camping experts, always seemed even keeled and extra relaxed on these trips. Maybe it was from the fresh air, or maybe it was from the gin & tonics. Either way, it didn't matter.

Now that Mark and I have started our own camping traditions, I wonder what my kids will remember. The plague of corn crickets? The heartlesslcold nights? The hours of boring car time spent with Mark and me yelling "look out the windows!" in search of wild animals?

This past weekend we went camping at Erindi, one of Namibia's most famous game reserves. Ten times the size of Manhattan, the land was once a cattle farm stuffed with cows and decrepit vegetation from overgrazing in the 1970's. The owners phased out cattle farming and began to reintroduce wild animals, and in 2007, Erindi became a legitimate wildlife conservation. We're talking all the animals sacred to Namibia: elephants, giraffes, cats, antelope, dogs, birds, and more. They created 2 islands surrounded by 9,000-volt fencing to keep the people out of animal territory: The Old Trader's Lodge, supposedly the fanciest of all fancy lodges that ONLY the fancy people staying there could visit, and Camp Elephant with incredibly chic chalets and camp sites. We're talking a fridge, hot plate, kettle, private solar showers and bathrooms, stone fire pits (with secret ash cleaning fairies), shade, and grass. No wonder the Gondwana staff was so concerned about "lack of amenities" when we went to Sossusvlei. No wonder we would pay $66/night to sleep on the ground.

I loved that Tercel, but here, it's more than reasonable to have a 4x4 SUV particularly if you want to do some edgy adventuring. Everyone knows that stuff (crap) fills the space you have, and indeed we filled it, but in my defense, we packed two spare tires and back-up car tools to go with the rest of our items. In the backseat the kids barricaded themselves with a pillow wall and their preferred camping essentials: a crocodile pull toy, one slipper, a stuffed penguin, a marble, and a single sheet of paper and marker. They were ready. 

We checked in and set up camp, and just like before, I spilled water on my shoes, managed to get sunscreen in my kids' eyes, and handled the curiously huge crickets (which are really a type of locust) with suppressed anxiety. It was all coming together.

Unfortunately, due to the rainfall in the past month, all the walking trails were closed as well as Camp Elephant's swimming pool/playground. We asked if we'd be allowed to use the pool at the fancy pants lodge and they scoffed saying anyone from Camp Elephant caught lurking at the lodge would be fined $1000 Namibian dollars. This basically limited us to hanging out at the camp site, visiting the watering hole (which was very cool) and signing up for self-drives and game drives (also cool, but $$$). It quickly turned into an expensive weekend. Also, of the "24" (I use quotes because five of their activities are the same thing: game drives) advertised activities on their website, only a few of them allow children younger than six: the kid-centric, closed vehicle midday game drive and a visit to the San Village. They say it's a safety issue. In short: for anyone planning an epic trip to Erindi with their kids, keep this in mind. 

Although I was disappointed with lack of activities, we LOVED the self-drives. Mark and I took turns tempting fate. I drove through a sandy river bed, mostly because the sign said "beware of elephants." It was good practice, but in retrospect I wish we skipped it. The embankment on both sides abolished any hopes of seeing an elephant unless it was directly in the riverbed. Like a kid in a candy store, Mark drove through suspicious bodies of water at Hippo Lake, with an elephant bull in our rear view mirror. He navigated a rocky, 19% grade hill where we both thought our car would tip backward at any moment. Hilariously, Margo slept through that nail biting event. 

When the sun went down so did the temperature. The adults built huge fires to warm our feet, while the kids ran around shoeless like maniacs. The families we camped with are awesome friends, and the same ones who ventured with us to Sossusvlei. Eight kids, ages 3-10 basically policed themselves while the six adults cooked and relaxed. A few of them even took naps and read books, an apparently rare occurrence. 

I still need to get a handle on sleeping in a tent. Mark is so proud of his 20 year old REI backpacking tent, but to me it's like a coffin. A tiny, narrow coffin built for two. He thinks I should just decide on what position I want to sleep in and stay that way all night, but that sounds like how a dead person would do it. No thanks. I tried out the kids' dome tent, opting to sleep with Margo which went mildly better. I still tossed and turned all night, frantic and deeply annoyed by neighboring snores, grunting animals, and chirping birds with no internal alarm clock, but at least I didn't feel like I was suffocating. Needless to say, the morning coffees were the only thing that saved my curdling brains. In the future, I will invest in more padding and ear plugs- those fancy kind that only the fancy people feign to use when they stay at the fancy lodge. And maybe an extra gin & tonic to seal the deal.

Fancy camping toilet paper.

Our humble cottage.

The penthouse.

The bunker.

Seeking solitude by the watering hole.

Yellowbilled Hornbill aka The Fake Toucan 

One last look.

Bustard. Namibia's largest flying bird.

Traffic.

Captain Phasma Visits Sossusvlei

Caffeinated Phasma

Even a Stormtrooper Captain needs a vacation once in while. After several months of painstaking trials of soldier bootcamp I decided some alone time in the desert would be a perfect respite. Gussying up in my most casual chromium armor, I threatened a few tourists to take my picture against the famous Dune 45 in Sossusvlei. Ignoring the memory of Agent Terex's withering comments about my inherent whininess and apathy for the First Order, I took in the greatness of the iron-rich red sand. The desert's stillness spoke to me, emitting an energy all of its own. A girl could get used to this kind of stark harshness.

Unfortunately, the essence of my enemy never leaves. Literally. Hiking further up the dune, I encountered an inconvenient force who attacked me without provocation! One swipe of the lightsaber and the next thing I knew, I woke up face down in the increasingly toasty hot sand blowing into my nethers, and into the gaping mouths of the tourists I killed earlier. I realized it was the great Jedi Obi Wan Kenobi who ruined my vacation. I didn't even know Kenobi knew who or when I was. It's like I can't escape the shadows. It's an exhausting and lonely responsibility representing the will of Supreme Leader Snoke.  

I trudged down the dune and encountered an awe-inspiring colleague whose vacation was also ruined. Like a marionette, I saw Jabba's lifeless head hanging off his slug body with buzzards approaching. I said a quick prayer in Huttanese and stepped over his body.

I thought a bunch of dead acacia trees in a spread of dry salty clay would cheer me up. I made my way to Deadvlei by paying a small fee and hopping onto an NWR run 4x4 for the last 4km of sandy road, thinking I could spare myself the headache of getting my own vehicle stuck. Following the trail, I found Deadvlei and its nothingness along with a number of overwhelmingly enthusiastic, red-faced people taking selfies and poorly timed jump photos. Beyond them was Big Daddy, a dune of massive proportion, a thousand feet high. Unfortunately, I spied a Jawa and Rey lurking the premises, forcing my hand. I really didn't need another stabbing, so I turned back. I drowned my frustrations with beer and spent the rest of my day considering my career aspirations at the pool. 

Cheesy Phasma

Stabbed Phasma

Unconscious Phasma

Dethroned Jabba

Defeated Jabba

Considering lunch options

Deadvlei

Rey on the move

Jawa running and clawing through the pan

Beleaguered Phasma

Contemplative Phasma

Hungry Phasma

Namib-Naukluft National Park

When I started my pack-buy-hoard research for camping, I kept coming across frustratingly vague details for accessing the Namib-Naukluft National Park, where the Hartmann mountain zebras had an entire section to themselves. Sure, I learned that this park is 4th largest in the world at 40,000 km2 (between the sizes of Maryland and West Virginia), and where to start and finish the famous 8-day hiking trail, but I couldn't figure out whether entry permits needed to be purchased ahead of time, or if I could literally drive up to the entrance and get one there. All I could ascertain was that it was required.

I called the Ministry of Environment and Tourism, but the number was disconnected. It took me quite some time to figure out which building I needed to visit (because of course the address wasn't listed) and when I did, the secretary, a spitting image of Roz from Monsters Inc., couldn't be bothered to answer questions. Without missing any texts from her phone, she slid a paper under the glass to fill out. I assumed this to be permit paperwork and BOY oh BOY would my friends be impressed by my preparation! Next goal: to not lose the stamped piece of paper.

Turns out, any old Joe can drive to the main entrances of any park in Namibia and buy a permit straight from their car which is what most people do. I also learned that Sossusvlei Desert is part of the Namib-Naukluft Park, which... doesn't mean anything. I was just happy that my stamped piece of paper counted for two park entries instead of one. 

Anyway. About the zebra park. The entrance reminded me of Jurassic Park with rolling valleys paired with mountains beyond mountains, an inspiring teaser for how many secret animals the land would hold. I'll tell you now how many zebras we saw: zero. I'm not surprised, considering how shy and skittish they are, but it was still disappointing. The guide books also talked up a storm about the other animals we'd likely see: golden moles, oryx, ostrich, birds of prey... the usual sorts one sees in Namibia. All we saw were baboons. Lots of baboons of all sizes just loitering along the trail. Taking in the situation, Mark and I were shocked to see how little everyone else cared about them being so close- particularly with kids around.  Maybe we are too cautious, but having watched Baboon Wars and Planet Earth enough, we're okay with cautious.

We hiked anyway, choosing a 10km (out and back) that promised natural pools and caves. Up we went, dodging baboon eye contact. Loaded to the gills with water bottles, our pace was slower than usual, but it also meant I got extra workouts when those giant, black, shiny-butt bees flew around me. I should totally let a bee loose during an Insanity® workout to really up my game. Mark implored me to control myself. I tried my best.

Loads of people took advantage of the hot sun and natural pools, but we hiked on, hoping the crowd would dissipate by the time we came down. Of course by the time we made it down, baboons took over the pool, likely scavenging for forgotten food. Deets held back tears as we denied him the chance to swim, and it just about broke me. We continued back to the trailhead after having to bush wack to appease the extremely stern looking baboon guarding his brood and guzzled beers before hightailing it back to the campsite. In short, yes the scenery was pretty. And since I'm not allowed to have regrets on a meh sort of hike-day, I'll say we LOVED the hike and everyone held hands singing camp songs toward the end. Even if we didn't.

The entrance couldn't have been any farther away from where we stayed.

Starting off fresh: 11:30am.

Powering through.

Baboons staking their territory.