From our camp at the side of the road in the middle of the now extremely soggy Namibian wilderness, we backtracked east to the main road and took the long way around to Sesriem. Mark drove back through all the small streams in reverse order with the skill of an experienced rally driver, and by the time we had arrived at the main road again, the bitumen seemed almost foreign. A few short hours later we had made it to the Holy Grail that was Sesriem. It was not quite 4pm yet, so we had enough time to check into the campsite (paying the enormous, although off-season, half-price, camping fee of US$15/person!) and visit the famous Sesriem canyon (an impressively long water-filled crevasse in the middle of the desert) before heading to the nearby, most accessible dunes for sunset.
I had never seen proper desert dunes before, and was awestruck as we approached my first one. Like Uluru but less firm, the huge mound of sand blazed fiery red in the afternoon sun. Les, Mark and I soon gave up on trying to walk in thongs and kicked them off in favour of bare feet, scalingthe face of the dune against the torrent of backwards-flowing sand. The top didn’t seem far away so we scrambled upwards but what we thought was the peak was actually just another ridge, with the peak clearly visible ahead. So after a short breath-catching break, we tried again. But time after time we were fooled. Each time, despite our previous experience, the next ridge was so convincingly the tip until we passed over it and realised we had been fooled once more. Les gave up and decided to just enjoy the sunset, but Mark and I continued upwards, eventually reaching the summit. And what a feeling! The top was a small plateau of dunes, balanced atop this red giant. The landscape that we had so recently stood upon, looking up at the dunes, now seemed completely different. A land of shrubs and trees was now transformed into a vast canvas, divided only by the roads and river beds that carved intricate patterns in its surface. Strangely, although we hadn’t seen anyone all the way up the dunes, another person rested atop the highest one with his bags, talking on a phone – perhaps making use of the only cell phone reception around. I soaked up the beauty of the scene and revelled in the fact that I was held up by sand alone; the very same sand that so readily blows away with the slightest gust or crumbles underfoot.
Back at the lodge, Mark pulled up next to another small car. Excited to see other 2wd drivers we sparked up a conversation. The two travellers were French and had struggled along the roads just as much as we had. It was great to know that we weren’t the only ones stupid enough to be using a 2WD around these parts so the two parties exchanged stories, each hoping to have endured the most extreme conditions and impress the other. Once we had confirmed our place as most-extreme-offroad-2WD-renters, we left to set up our tents (see pic below, taken during the day). After dinner we hung our food in a tree to prevent the jackals from getting at it (we had been warned in reception that they would eat anything that’s left unattended) and went to bed.
Mark was a real slave driver. The next morning he had us up at 4:30 so we could be ready to leave at 5 for sunrise on the dunes. We were waved through the gate and drove the 45km to dune 45*. Two giant tour buses overtook us on the way (even though we were travelling 40kph over the speed limit), beating us to dune 45 so by the time we had arrived there was already a hefty conga line of Germans** making their way up the ridge. It was crowded but that didn’t change the view – one of the most magnificent I’ve ever seen. Huge towering dunes in all directions, lining the corridor that the main road to Sossusvlei takes advantage of. Dunes as far as the eye can see – truly a sight to make anyone feel insignificant. When the sun finally rose over the dune to the west, the shadowy veil obscuring the colour locked within the dunes to the east was slowly lowered. And the brilliant reds from the evening before were reinstated.
After sunrise, we all shuffled, ran and slid back down the sandy giant towards the car park so we could get to Sossusvlei and the main attraction: the famous vleis. The word Vlei (Pronounced “Flay”) means “a low, open landscape” but in the case of the Namib, is basically the space between dunes. So Mark drove us the rest of the way to Sossusvlei. We parked the car in the oddly flooded car park (a HIGHLY unusual sight at the dunes, so I took some photos – see below) because a large-print sign clearly stated that the road ahead was only for 4X4 vehicles. We mounted one of the huge off-road trucks that could take us the rest of the way and soon we were ploughing through the boggy sand.
As we bumped around in the back of the 4X4, and chatted with the Germans onboard (more Germans? In Namibia? What a surprise!), the truck passed a 2WD trapped in the ocean of sand. I recognised the bogged vehicle and told the Germans that we had met the French owners the day before. Instantly they broke into laughter: “typical French”. United in our common hypothetical dislike of the stereotypical Frenchman, we joked about how they were probably too arrogant to read the “4X4 vehicles only” sign because it was written in English. I actually really like French people, which is annoying. It’s a pity that so few actually adhere to the stereotype – it would be so much more fun if they did.
Once we had walked around at the dunes for a while, Mark decided that he had to leave. He was in a hurry to get to the capital by the afternoon to return the car, so we waved goodbye and he disappeared behind the hill. Mark had been a godsend and great company so it was a sad thing to see him go. After so many goodbyes in the past months, I had become accustomed to making it short and moving on so I instantly forgot about Mark (Mark who?) and Les and I hiked, laden with some snacks and a plentiful water supply, along the top of the dune and further into the desert.
As the sun rose higher in the sky, we hiked along a dune’s ridge and the face to our right baked. It was only warm at first, but after about an hour, it was becoming too hot to comfortably walk on. How anything could live on the dunes’ burning surfaces is a mystery to me. What initially appeared to be a desolate, lifeless environment was actually teeming with life (possibly as a result of the recent rains.) There were several species of beetle that were just everywhere (if you stopped and looked, it was easy to count 10 or 20 of them within eyeshot) and each species seemed to defend itself in a different way. One type (rather unoriginally) would just run away; a second, and larger species would bury itself and when unearthed would take a while to realise it was no longer concealed and eventually jump up and scurry away; and a third species would flip over when threatened and play dead (see photo below). I loved the way that the third one was almost cartoony in the way that it put it’s ‘hands’ in the air, lying completely still. I tried to take photos of it flipping back up the other way, but even though I kept completely still it wouldn’t budge. As soon as I moved away it would right itself and scurry away. But the highlight was the small orange lizards. These were more skittish than the insects, and would scurry at an astonishing speed along the steep surface of the dune. As we plodded along, one ran at top speed up the side, launched itself off the tip and got about two metres of air before skidding down the other side. The lizards would run for a while, but when ‘standing’ still, they would lift their feet off the sand and rest on their belly to give their feet a break from the heat. When especially scared, they would suddenly dive into the soft sand and remain there completely concealed until the threat was gone. I know I’ve gone on a bit here, but I suppose I find these animals so interesting because they have to work so hard to survive. They withstand some of the harshest conditions there are and still manage to flourish.
The heat was becoming unbearable by about midday, so we were forced to retreat***. On the way back along the sandy 4X4 road we stopped for lunch. After eating, Les took shelter from the heat under a tree and I headed off over a nearby dune to see the Dead Vlei. But little did I know that during lunch, the sand temperature had passed thong melting point. The sand, like molten lava, flowed over my flip-flops and directly between my toes, scalding them instantly. I tried to rectify the problem by running, but my feet just buried themselves deeper in the red hot magma. I also tried burying my feet intentionally in search of a cooler layer below the surface, but the coating of hot sand was just too thick to bear. The best I could do was stop and wait for the sand to cool against my feet and rest before moving on. Nonetheless, by the time I had seen the spooky Dead Vlei and got back to the road, my feet were medium-well-done.
For dinner I decided to eat a proper meal: one with red meat. It had been too long since I last had a good chunk of meat, so I ordered the game steak. My mouth still waters at the thought of it: the most succulent, juicy, perfectly cooked (rare) steak I have ever tasted. It was so good that I ordered a second one straight after the first and wolfed that down too! Thoroughly satiated, we returned to our campsite. But something was awry. I was almost certain that our campsite was not the way we had left it. I could have sworn that we had left our food sealed in a cloth bag inside the tent, not ripped to shreds and strewn haphazardly about the campground. We had been victims of a jackal attack. And it was our own fault. We had stupidly thought that the minimal food we had would be ok because it was sealed. But the jackal had torn a huge hole in our tent door (straight through the zip!), and taken the food bag. It was clearly confused about the time of day however, because it had made an evening meal of our muesli and powdered milk, undeniably breakfast foods.
After some concern about whether the jackal might still be in the tent, I investigated, hoping that Jackals were clever enough to make a quick getaway. After tentatively kicking the tent a few times, I quickly unzipped the front door and leapt backwards. But there was no jackal to be seen, and surprisingly, aside from the missing food bag and the newly ripped jackal hole, there was no evidence that the beast had ever paid a visit! Les was overwhelmed by the idea of a wild animal in our bed, so I sent her to have a shower while I sorted out the situation. I whipped out my trusty sewing needle and before she was back I had stitched the two-foot hole back together. She was still distressed, so I comforted her, telling her that the jackal wouldn’t bother coming back – all the food was gone! My comforting meant nothing though. There was clearly a jackal roaming around the tent. I was frightened too, so heart racing, I grabbed my pocket knife (thanks to the Chappeltons!) and leapt out the (now only partially functional) door. A dog-shaped shadow scurried off into the darkness. I was spared the need to use my weapon****. We cleaned up the mess outside to prevent the beasts from returning and retired to the tent. Les’s exhaustion was overwhelming and she was asleep within a minute of her head hitting the pillow. I, however, had too much adrenaline pumping through my veins to give way to slumber just yet. Every little sound caused me to jump. I was sure I could hear jackals rummaging through some packaging we must have missed, and once or twice I heard a nearby bark. But I managed to convince myself that most of the noises were just insects and eventually nodded off.
* Dune 45 is not just named for its distance from the town, but also because it’s the 45th dune from the other end of the road! A strange coincidence that this would happen to be the most accessible dune from the road!
** Germans are the Namibian tourist of choice. German is still quite widespoken, so it’s relatively easy for them to travel with minimal English skills. Although, a German who can’t speak English is a rare thing.
***I decided (for some reason) to experiment with what Word would do with my writing. I picked the first synonym that MS Word had to offer for this sentence: “The heat was becoming unbearable by about midday, so we were forced to retreat.” and it became “The warmth be flattering intolerable with concerning noon, consequently we be strained in the direction of move away.”I should do this for every sentence! Ok. I was bored with actual writing when I did this.
****But it didn’t matter Les thought I was sooooooo brave anyway.
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