Etosha

Just a few moments inside the gates and we had our first game spot. It was only zebra and springbok, but despite them being very common here, they are still beautiful animals and quite exciting when you have not seen them in the wild before which Rich and Mum had not. Anyway, we were keen to find more interesting animals, so based on a report of a lion kill in the logbook, we headed straight out on our first game drive, up north to the Okondeka waterhole. Unfortunately other than a few jackals and vultures feasting on a dead zebra, there was not much going on, and as you have to get to your rest camp before sunset, we started the drive back. Just as we were beginning to think there was nothing to be see except zebra and springbok, a giraffe appeared on the horizon, and completed unfazed by our presence crossed the road behind our car and headed off into the sunset.














Our base for our two night stay at Etosha was the Okaukuejo Rest Camp, not far from the Andersson Gate. We had splashed out on a two bedroom family chalet which after camping was a luxurious treat, especially given the four poster beds and ornately folded bath towels. One of the advantages of staying here is that it has one of the best waterholes in the park, which you can sit by at any time of day or night as it is floodlit. Outside of the rest camps you are not allowed to get out of your car (and after seeing a couple of lions you have not desire to), so it is nice to have easy access to somewhere you can sit outside and watch at leisure. We therefore used this as an opportunity to sip our G&Ts watching the zebra drink form the waterhole as the sun set.















After dinner at the restaurant (I decided I needed a night off from cooking over an open fire) we headed back the waterhole and were greeted by a crowd of people madly snapping and flashing away. Finally we worked out that the cause of the excitement was a dark grey mass by the waterhole which was on closer inspection was a black rhino. This was a great end to the day, although it's not clear the rhino enjoyed to paparazzi treatment.

The next morning we headed off soon after dawn to see what we could find. Top of my list were lions, and miraculously about twenty minutes in we turned a corner to find a lioness with 3 cubs walking down the middle of the road towards us. They crept back in to the grass, and quickly disappeared, only to reappear behind the car - they seemed to be using the road as a handy route through a very thick patch of thorny bushes. Rich turned the car around, and we followed them for sometime at a respectful distance and they didn't seem at all bothered by us – awesome.














From after breakfast to lunch we didn't have so much luck, perhaps this was because I was driving. I blame mum and Rich who were meant to be acting as spotters. No sooner did Rich take over and we found 7 giraffe which crossed the road directly in front of us followed swiftly by a black rhino and a herd of wildebeest.














In the evening I had signed us up for the three hour night safari drive. As you are not allowed to drive yourself in the park at night this the only way to get out and about. We were prepared for it being chilly in our open top vehicle so took fleeces, but this was not enough and we spent the entire three hours close to hypothermia. Things stared well with male and female lion pretty close to the road, but then after two hours with nothing but owls we were starting to feel a little disheartened (this showing you owls is a standard trick when the guide can't find more interesting animal, I've seen it before). We did find two black rhino, but these were really too far away to be anything more than black shadows.

Having been to Etosha before myself, I would recommend trying to go nearer the end of the dry season (October). At the moment it is just the start of the dry (and apparently there was more rain than usual this wet season). This means that the animals don't need to come to the waterholes as much, so are more dispersed throughout the park. When I was here last time there were literally hundreds of animals at the Okaukuejo waterhole, and I saw at least 30 elephants, which this time were unfortunately very elusive. Overall, however, our experience at Etosha was great. It really is quite exciting driving yourself around and not knowing what is going to be around the next corner.

The Skeleton Coast

The Skeleton Coast is so called because if a ship was wrecked on the shifting sand banks off the coast (and many were), all the surviving sailors had to look forward to was a certain death in the waterless desert. Kirsten's mother (Judith) took control of the Nissan Beast (it does an impressive 6km/l while sounding like a tank), along the salt road following the coast north. The shore is dotted with evenly spaced toilet blocks serving the coastal camp site – apparently South Africans and Namibians like to come here to sea fish; they must really like their fishing to camp out here.














Twenty miles or so north of Swakopmund is the 'town' of Wlotzasbaken – perhaps one of the oddest looking places on earth. There are around 100 brightly painted houses spread around the desert, each with its own water tower, serving as holiday homes for the fishing mad. As we drove though the town it seemed deserted, save for the odd 4x4 parked in a drive. Further along the coast a modern wreck lay listing to starboard 30 metre from shore. Nearby, many bearded men were sea fishing from in front of their 4x4s parked on the beach.














The road inland to Uis is an almost straight dirt track across the desert - the telegraph poles that follow the road disappear into the distant mirage, looking like they are floating above the horizon. This part of Namibia is noticeably more poor; people try to flag you down to their roadside stalls selling semi-precious stones, and at the petrol station in Uis the car was quickly surrounded by people selling their wares.















Our destination for the evening was the Xaragu camp site in Damaraland; notable for its vulgar baboon on a chain. Although if you can overlook this, the setting is beautiful. Along the way women stood bare breasted, enticing you to stop for a photo-opt. Heading back east you hit the town of Outjo on the main road from Windhoek to Etosha. This has a rather good German bakery (with free WiFi), together with a collect of tourist gift shops. From here we reached the gates of Etosha National Park around mid-afternoon.

Swakopmund

Fuelled up and with fresh ice in the coolbox, we joined the dust cloud convoy moving north to Solitaire – the first place to refuel and get coffee. Here a dozen or so 4x4 were parked up, along with six middle-aged guys doing their trans-africa on motorbikes, and a couple of brave souls in salon cars.















North of Solitaire the scenery becomes stereotypically African – vast planes of grassland, punctuated by craggy hills. The picture cried out for huge herds of wildebeest, but alas all our game sightings turned out to be misshaped trees or rocks. We had lunch at the only shaded picnic spot for miles, just after one overland tour had left, and getting the table just before another arrived - dozens of tours run this route; we'll be doing one from Jo'burg to Nairobi in June/July, but for now we can be smug about being independent travellers.














Turning back towards the coast at Walvis Bay, the land rapidly becomes drier, transforming into an almost lunar landscape. Close to Walvis Bay is Dune 7 – one of the Swakopmund area's main dune based activity centres. Pretty soon we (meaning I) were sold into a 45 minute quad-bike dune safari. Kirsten and I, together with the guide zoomed off and up a dune. It was at this point that Kirsten saw down the dune, and decided enough was enough. After some persuasion she got on the back of the guide's bike, and again we took off, up and down dunes, and doing the rather disconcerting manoeuvre where you shoot up a very steep dune, turn the bike across the slop, slide a bit, then turn back down the slope. Kirsten did much of this with her eyes shut, starving the guide of much needed oxygen.















After the exhilaration of quad-biking, it was time for the more relaxed pursuit of Zorbing. I couldn't persuade Kirsten to climb into a giant inflatable ball with me, so alone I was pushed down a small dune, in a ball containing about 20 litres of blue coloured water. The effect, I guess, is similar to being in a washing machine.















Swakopmund is only 20 miles along the coast from Walvis Bay – this is the start of the Skeleton Coast, a bleak coastal desert running for several hundred miles up to and beyond the Angolan boarder. Swakopmund itself is a relaxed town, which gave us a night in a real bed, a decent meal out, and the chance to buy a replacement number-10 gas cylinder.

Sossusvlei

Our African adventure got off to a rather inauspicious start when the airport hotel that I had booked us into at Jo'berg airport for a one night stopover turned out to be having a power cut. However, the darkness was slightly compensated by the free wine being served in the lobby, and, with the power restored, the WiFi allowed us to make final preparations for our Namibia trip. Next morning we were up at dawn and back to the airport to meet my mother fresh off an overnight flight from London. She has been wanting to visit Namibia for ages so this was a good opportunity to achieve this and for us to catch up.















Things were looking up as Richard and I were upgraded to business class. Unfortunately, the flight to Windhoek is only two hours so apart from a pleasant lunch and a few glasses of bubbly we didn't get much time to enjoy it. This was the end of our luck for the day however, as after waiting for an hour at the airport, the pick up from the the car hire company still hadn't turned up. Finally we gave up and got in a taxi to be driven into town by a guy who didn't appear to know how to drive - Richard had show him how to get the car out of reverse.















First impressions of the beast (a Nissan 4x4 double cab) that was to be our transport for the week were not great and this wasn't helped at all when we heard the almighty racket it made when we started the engine. Well, what do you expect when you hire from a company called Value Car Rental. After considerable faffing around making sure all the camping equipment was loaded and a whistle stop tour of the supermarket to get supplies, we were on our way much later than planed. We needed to make the campsite at Sesriem before sunset (they apparently shut the gates), so we zoomed off south.














After about an hour on a decent tarred road we turned off onto a good quality gravel road. Already the scenery was stunning with vast areas of bush and dramatic mountain ranges looming in the distance; it felt very isolated with not another car in sight. Gradually the road got rougher and much to our dismay the sun got lower – every guide book we have read says you should not drive at night because of the poor quality of the roads and chances of hitting an animal.














Finally, after an hour and half driving in the dark (and four hours out of Windhoek) on some pretty hairy bumpy roads (very well managed by Richard of course – I'm sure controlling that skid was skill and not luck), we arrived at the Sesriem campsite. The gates were locked but thanks to having made a booking and some sweet talking followed by insistence and desperation on my part the security guard let us in. Despite the dark we found ourselves a very lovely and campsite under a tree. All we had to do now was put up the tents, light a fire and cook our dinner. However, to our horror, when we went to the back of the car to remove the two gas cannisters which were to provide our light and heat for cooking, we found that they had gone, presumably having leapt out on one of the very large bumps we had driven over. Not to be perturbed we hunted in the dark for our torches, procured some large pieces of fire wood and set to work. Unfortunately, owing to a lack of kindling or fire-lighters, the darned wood would not burn so we resorted drinking our bottle of wine and eating bread and cheese by torch light listening to the howl of hyenas. Not quite what we had imagined, but hey, we got here and were sat out under the stars which in itself felt like an achievement.














We were up at 4am the next morning to see the famous Sossusvlei sand dunes. One of the advantages of staying at the Sesriem campsite is that you can enter the park early than if you stay outside which allows you to get the the dunes for sun rise. Our luck and clearly not turned as just at the entrance to the park we realised that the awful noise that the car was making was indeed a puncture. With a little help from one of the park guards we had changed the tire and were on our way. Being on the late side we unfortunately didn't have time to stop for photos of our first game spots (ostrich, springbok and gemsbok). We were also too late to watch the sun rise from the top of the dunes (it popped up as we got to dune 45), but still the early morning light lit the dunes beautifully. I will let the photos do the talking, but suffice to say this really is a spectacular area.














With the sun fully up, we moved on to Dead Vlei, which is accessed via a 5km soft sand 4x4 track. This is a large pan surrounded on three sides by enormous dunes, with a collection of eerie skeleton trees on the northern edge. Some people walk along the dune ridge right to the largest dune at the south end of the pan, before running/falling down the front face. We were content just to walk across the crazy paving of the pan.














Back at camp for lunch, we stopped in at the garage to get our tire fixed (we really didn't want to start the next long drive with only 1 spare tire given our track record so far), before visiting the poor relation of Sossusvlei - Sesriem Canyon. Having also managed to secure some fire lighters we were much more successful in lighting a fire and managed to produce a pretty decent dinner. Early to bed to rest before the next long drive through the wilderness to Swakopmund.

Perth

Dead on time, our train pulled into Perth, our final destination on this continent. We'd booking an apartment down in Fremantle for five night, as our friends John and Ciara were arriving late evening on their way to Melbourne for a wedding. We picked up hire car number three (another bloody Toyota Corolla), and cruised the 16km down to Freo.















Fremantle is an attractive seaside suburb, with a plethora of bars and restaurants. Our apartment sat on Challenger Harbour, facing west to the Indian Ocean and affording great sunsets behind the mass of yachts. Of course all this nightlife pulls in the Saturday night crowns, and driving out to the airport at midnight involved playing dodgems with the pissed folk (I really wish I'd ran that fat t**t over). With John and Ciara safely back at the flat, there was just time to cane a bottle of port before hitting the hay.















The next day, rather late, and after a lazy lunch, we drove out to the beach at popular Cottesloe. Here John and I consumed a bucket of ice cream each, before braving the icy sea. The waters here are beautifully clear, but after Queensland, dam chilly – still no jellyfish is a plus (I think they have some sharks, but what the hell).















To continue the water based fun, we booked in for some sea kayaking down in Rockingham. Armed with double kayaks, we paddled around Seal Island before stopping for lunch on Penguin Island (you have to hand it to the Aussies, they're very inventive with names). Unfortunately the wild penguins on the island are a bit shy, so we had the settle for the rescue penguins at the centre. The birds, supposedly the world's smallest penguin species, are sooo cute, but not very clever – one bird spend 20 minutes with its face pressed up against the glass swimming for all its worth.















After lunch we snorkelled off the island, before paddling back to the mainland. Given that our car was parked in a fairly deserted carpark, I'd taken the wallet and phone out of the glove compartment at the last moment and stuffed them in the dry bag . This was lucky as some **** had smashed the back window and gone through the car. I blame this on the curse of John Danes, who seems to drag a mini crime wave around the world with him.














We spend the penultimate day with John and Ciara in Perth itself, which like all of Australia's capital cities has a stunning setting. Thanks to Kirsten's guidance we gravitated to the more expensive part of town for lunch, after which we boarded the tourist 'tram' – a bus, decked out to look like a tram – for the city tour. For only $30 each, we did what we could have done in the car, which was sitting in a underground carpark. Still JD insisted, and the view from the park overlooking the city is pretty good.















One of the big tourist draws in the Perth area is Rottness Island – literally boatloads of people come across from Perth and Fremantle, to walk or cycle around the car free island, to their perfect little beach with crystal clear water. Kirsten doesn't ride, so while the three of us slogged up to gunnery hill before dropping down to a beach, she found a spa.















We dropped JD & CD at the airport for their flight to Melbourne, then came down a notch to our city backpackers. The rest of the day was spent cafe hopping, and trying to find a firm that would hire us a car in Windhoek and let us drop it in Cape Town - keep reading for our big African adventure.

Adelaide to Perth

To save time, we skipped to chance to continue on the Ghan down to Adelaide, and instead took a Qantas flight over the vast salt lakes of South Australia. In Adelaide we took advantage of the hospitality of Richard's childhood friend Ian, who's in town in the week as a IT contractor. Here we spent a relaxed couple of days taking advantage of the copious restaurants in this attractive city.















One of the main draws of the area is the Barossa Valley. Having not been much of a fan of Australian wine so far I was open to being converted and duly piled into a minibus for a day's tasting tour. Unfortunately the wines we tasted did little to change my mind. A few of the more expense reds were decent enough but the rest were far to rough or sickly sweet for my palate (two of the elderly guests bought up six bottles of Wolf Bass Riesling, which tasted like boiled sweets). Nonetheless, it was not an unpleasant day trip and going on an organised tour solves the problem of having a designated driver.















We were back on the train for the next leg of our journey – this time the Indian Pacific to Perth. Given this is an two night trip we treated ourselves to a two berth cabin. Although hobbit-like, the beds were actually surprisingly comfortable.














The highlight of the trip is crossing the Nullarbor Plain on what is the longest stretch of straight railway in the world running for 478km. This is a predictably desolate area with nothing to be seen from the train for the entire day except a fleeting glimpse of camels and a kangaroo. We made a brief stop and Cook, a now deserted railway staging post. This gave a chance to soak up the desolation, only to be shared with the other hundred or so train travellers and of course the flies.














In the evening we stopped at Kalgoorlie-Boulder. The Lonely planet promised a wild west style mining town with buxom bar staff serving up beer in their lingerie to tattooed miners. Rich was rather disappointed that the only bars we found were actually very civilised. After a couple of drinks it was back on the train for a bumpy night's sleep and a morning arrival in Perth.

A Town Called Alice

The old joke about Alice Springs is that it's a great place to live; whichever direction you go you'll hit a beach. In reality people come to Alice to explore the Red Centre – some just visit Uluru (Ayers Rock) as a very long day trip. Alice does have some very good galleries selling landscape photographs and (some quite expensive) aborigine art. Our main goal in town was to buy decent hats (I didn't manage this) and fly nets.















Originally we'd planed to hire a 4x4 and do the main sites of Uluru, Kata Tjuta (The Olgas) and Kings Canyon independently over a few days. However, we also wanted to bush camp rather that stay at the hugely expensive Yulara (Ayers Rock Resort), and while it's possible to hire swags and cooking gear, in the end we opted from a small group 4x4 tour.














Pick-up was a painful 5:45am, with a breakfast stop at the camel farm on the Stuart Highway, where you can eat a camel while riding a (different) camel – whatever floats your boat. We finished the 440km trip down to Yulara in time for lunch (sandwiches with a free side of flies) before heading off to the first Uluru lookout point.


The local indigenous people, the Anangu, successfully launched a claim to Uluru and Kata Tjuta under the 1985 aboriginal land act, but some back-room deals meant the park was leased back to the federal government on a 99 year term. The main anomaly of this situation is that the Uluru Climb is still open, although the signs (and most tour guides) ask you to respect Anangu law and not climb. As it happens the climb was closed due to extreme heat (temperatures over 36°C, high winds, etc all close the route, to the effect that it is only open 100 days a year), which rendered moot the climb/not climb debate.

One cannot overstate how bad the flies are around here; I tries to resist wearing the fly net, but after the little bastards start trying to drink the water off your eyeballs, it becomes too much. So looking like a party of bee keepers, we started the Uluru base walk. Uluru is a place of great cultural significance to the Anangu, and our guide, Steve, was very knowledgeable about the mythology surrounding the place – well as knowledgeable as you can be for a white fella.


Of course Uluru is famed for the deep red colour it goes when bathed in the glow of sunset, and this is what the tourist hordes come for – some paying vast sums of money to dine on top of a private sand dune, sipping champagne while the flies eat you.














We watched the impressive display, with the 20 coach loads, from the public viewing area, however our champagne had gone AWOL, so I drunk Carlton Drought.


After the sun goes down the flies go to bed, which is a relief. We joined the convoy back to Yulara, to camp in the private camping area – not quite true bush camping tonight, but still sleeping under the stars. Some time after midnight, I was woken by the sound of a camel snoring next to my head, but on closer inspection, it turned out to be the retired headteacher from Yorkshire. This made the 4:30 start all the more painful.















Our sunrise viewing spot lay halfway between Uluru and Kata Tjuta, allowing for the sun to rise behind Uluru (this only happens from this spot of one week a year), while lighting up the larger Kata Tjuta. No sooner was the sun above the rock, than the flies swarmed.

The main track in Kata Tjuta is the 5 mile Valley of the Winds walk, which we started before 8am to avoid the heat. Taking things easy, we stopped regularly as Steve explained the 900,000,000 years worth of geology that gives us Uluru and Kata Tjuta in their current form. At 546m, the largest rock of the Kata Tjuta complex is some 200m higher than Uluru, and with quite a bit of greenery thriving in the micro-climate between the huge rocks, the whole site is more interesting than its more famous sister.














A quick fly infested lunch and we were on the road up to Kings Canyon. On route we stopped to pick up some fire wood and a frozen kangaroo tail from a garage, which was defrosted in the bus. At our campsite the fire was lit, and the hair burned off the tail. This was then buried in the hot ash to cook the traditional way. Kirsten described the taste as a bit gamey. Not wishing to have another camel incident, we took our swags some 50m away from the fire, where we witnessed a rather impressive shooting star.














Another early start for the trip to Kings Canyon and the 4 mile Rim Walk. This area with its plummeting drops, is perhaps the best of the three. For extra value the flies are not nearly as bothersome. Halfway around the walk is the Garden of Eden – a lush valley with a large water hole at the far end. Half an hour of swimming and bombing is a great way of breaking up a long walk.


The return trip to Alice was spiced up by a bumpy ride down the unsurfaced Ernest Giles Road, followed by a live performance by Dinky the singing dingo. Dinky lives with owner Jim at Jim's Place, a roadhouse on the Stuart Highway. He shot to fame a few years ago, with his howling along with the family piano, and has since featured in a documentary presented by Martin Clunes of all people.