Dunes and Canyons to Cape Town
Overnighting in a desert camp, our next stop in Sesriem is all about the dunes. Again the stars here are bright but we can’t stay up too long taking photos as we have to be up at around 4am to pack the tents away before heading off in the morning. As we are camping inside the Namib national park, the inner gate opens at 5:15, giving us an extra hour before the rest of the visitors. John races the truck along the desert road in the dark to Dune 45, named for its distance along the road. We walk barefoot up the dune.
It’s not easy, the soft sand slips down like climbing an escalator the wrong way. I bury my toes in the foot prints of others, foot pointed down and it eases the pressure on the achilles. The Namib Desert from where Namibia takes its name is the world’s oldest and it also has the tallest of all the worlds dunes. They glow red from the iron oxide that cover the surface and as the sun rises on dune 45 it offers an amazing viewpoint to the surrounding desert and dunes. It’s not the highest dune here at 170 metres, Big Daddy nearby is almost twice the height at 315 metres. Going back down is easy, passing struggling late tourists climbing up, the dune escalator is working the right way around and transporting us back to the starting point where Ken has breakfast ready.
Further into the park, we take a shuttle 4x4 transport past stuck tourists in SUV’s to the parks most famous attraction, Sossusvlei. This is a dried out clay lake bed, formed 900 years ago when the dunes shifted and diverted the flow of the river that once filled the lake. The trees that grew there quickly died and remain standing, dried out and blackened in the desert sun. Martina likens it to a tree graveyard, and it has an eery feel to it, with these ancient dead trees on the flat dry floor. The lake pan is surrounded by dunes and looking up to the huge Big Daddy dune towering over it, I’m glad that we only climbed the smaller dune 45.
It turns out if you want to find a rusted out shell of an antique car, the best place to look is a Namibian campsite. They are everywhere, chopped in half, amongst the planted cactus, bits serving as benches or flowerpots.
Evelyn crouches down between the seats as the truck bounces along the rocky surface. “I don’t like it!” she squeals refusing to look out of the windows, not far from the trucks wheels the edge of the canyon drops 500 metres.
Fish river canyon is over 650 million years old, it’s Africa’s biggest canyon at 160 km long and at places 27km across. It’s the second largest in the world, the view across is so vast in the dry clear air, it almost looks unreal. The truck drops us off at a point where hiking groups can descend to the valley floor. Martina thinks the path down looks like the Grosser Mitte with a chain along the crumbling edge. Hiking here is strictly controlled, only during the colder months, with permits for experienced groups. The summer temperatures can reach over 50 degrees in the valley.
Walking along side the edge of the canyon, the wind picks up as the sun begins to set. There is a viewpoint overlooking the canyon at a bend in the river below. We bring our drinks and watch the sun set before heading back down the rocky road to camp.
The desert roads have been tough on the truck, there’s a couple of leaks to fix and half way to Bethanie we suffered a puncture in the middle of the desert. John remarked that it was the first since Nairobi which was unusual. The next day around 15km before the tarmac, we suffered a second puncture on the same wheel. There are two spare wheels on the back of the truck and we ask how they manage if they lose another tyre. They can travel slowly on two rear tyres but would need to try and replace or repair it as soon as possible. Erellah proudly shows off his Don’t Panic T shirt as the crew calmly finish off replacing the wheel.
The next morning on the shore of the Orange River Martina apologises for being late for breakfast, “sorry it was a nice view for photos and there was a cat and kitten.” The Orange River defines the border of Namibia and South Africa, we chose to relax and take a break here instead of canoeing down the river. The first stop in South Africa is a small town called Springbok, and unlike Namibia, everyone easily managed to get a SIM card. We camp overnight by a vineyard near Klawer, and it’s the last night in a tent for this part of the trip. I’d insisted on jumping in the pool as soon as we had put our tent up, shirt over wet trunks, we joined Rowley for wine tasting. It’s really hot here and he was having a hard time keeping the wine cool for tasting in this heat. Though the white wine was a miss and one bottle of red was served bath water warm, but the rooibos infused dessert wine was a hit for us, and we bought a bottle.
Martina kicks chef Ken out of his front seat of the truck for the drive into Cape Town, armed with her camera and sitting in the cabin up front with John. As we close in on the city, table mountain looming large, we finish our overland trip from Zanzibar. John and Ken will be driving solo back up to Nairobi, and the others will have flights elsewhere. We have a few days in Cape Town to explore and then on to Franschhoek to relax before we too fly to Nairobi, perhaps we will see the truck there.
