Beating The Odds - Navigating Namibia Naturally

January 20, 2022 Posted in Review / Travel / The Honey Badger Diaries

Thanks to Boris Johnson, who tried to win Browny points, South Africa was once again on the red list, banning all travel to and from our country. By the stroke of a pen, millions of travellers could unpack their suitcases, lock up their passports and go out and buy a Christmas tree; they were home for the holidays. Within nanoseconds, the terrible news reverberated around the globe, and most first-world countries rapidly followed suit.

Butch and I went into overdrive and sorted ourselves out to make it to the Namibian border before something similar happened there. Butch was more optimistic, and we agreed we’d rather spend our holidays in Namibia than at home.

In a mad flurry, we packed, stowed our groceries, charged our camera batteries, buffed our lenses, and set off. An afternoon earlier than the itinerary!

By then, poor Cyril had tried every trick in the book to reason, cajole, appease, and reassure the world that Omicron was a milder version of Covid. As luck would have it, he’d also contracted the dreaded virus and did a Trump on us. He took to his bed. I can’t blame him.

Twenty-four hours before our planned departure, we had our PCR tests, a painless procedure, at our local laboratory in Worcester.

With huge grins and a sigh, we were beating the odds. We were off, but not before my beloved checked the tyre pressure gauge. Its continuous beeping drove us bananas. As if on cue, he lay under the truck, checking her vitals.

Without a hitch, we made it to our first campsite on the banks of the Bulsberg dam on the Rondeberg farm, between Clanwilliam and Klawer.

We set up the basics for a braai, a sundowner, and a quick walk to loosen stiff limbs on the freshly mown green lawn. An early night was in order so that we could set off as early as possible in the morning. Our entertainment was a group of boys; we think they’re matrics, singing school songs, fishing, scurrying about, ever busy with tackle, bait and a beer.

If you’re looking for an excellent location for water sports, fishing, and boating, this is undoubtedly the right place to be.

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A gentle breeze sashays the bullrushes near my workstation. All I need to do is lift my head to see a busy Buffalo weaver collecting leaves and sticks for his new nest; a pair of Southern brown-throated weavers are swaying in the buffalo grass, and a Lilac-breasted Roller is catching insects. Ah, and there’s a Coucal, too quick to identify, calling away. Amid all this, the gregarious White-browed Sparrow-weaver clan doesn’t stop its loud, liquid ‘cheeoopprreeoo-chop' song.

I’m distracted and off course. History has taught us to watch our tyre pressure, especially when the tyre pressure monitor warns us. We were waved through the roadblock just as the beep started. We pulled off at the only service station in Bitterfontein. Butch calls the owner the Bitterman. He dogmatically refused to let us air up our tyres unless we filled our tanks with fuel. I kid you not. Our offer to pay was obstinately declined. Never is a long time… I’m not as kind, and I think calling him Mc Duff or sourpuss would be flattering.

(Side note: I started this blog while on holiday, but the lack of Wi-Fi and the simple pleasure of being on holiday without deadlines or responsibilities weighed more heavily, so I packed up my laptop, took out my binoculars, and bird-watched. I unpacked and rebooted at home.)

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To beat the crowds at the Noordoewer border post, we didn’t linger en route, except to stop at the Garies Tourism office, a favourite haunt, for a quick brunch. I couldn’t resist the red hat.

Without further ado, officials stamped our passports on the South African side. At the Namibian border post, we ran from pillar to post in the scorching heat, filling in forms, having our PCRs checked, and paying road taxes. Explaining that our vehicle was a “motorised caravan” was challenging (always is) until we found “other” on the notice pinned to a corkboard.

We met up with Lana and John, who are also Isuzu motorhome owners. We compared notes like new parents. Their trip to the Caprivi took different routes, but we were sure to find their spoor along the way. While we cycled, they had the luxury of riding their motorbikes. Parked next to the big boys, we were reminded that size was a matter of perspective.

Using our hats to fan our flushed faces, we scuttled off to the first Engen filling station to buy cold drinks. I went in search of a SIM card, but none were available. We finally managed to buy one the next day in Keetmanshoop.

According to Butch’s extensive research, MTC was the recommended service provider, and their “Aweh” package was the preferred option. Once we’d installed the SIM card into our router, our struggle became real. For the love of Mike, we couldn’t get it working. We argued, frustrated by our inability to find a connection, and once we did, our data was gobbled up within a few hours.

When something is too good to be true, we concur; it is too good to be true. In our experience, we’ve never found data this inexpensive: 3 GB at R65 ($4.27 US). Fortunately, we were pleasantly surprised that most campsites and lodges offered free WiFi to guests. Not always very fast and capped with a daily limit, the free WiFi still let us connect with family and friends. MTC has installed convenient self-service terminals in many shops, malls, and fuel stations. Unfortunately, they were mostly sold out of data during this busy period.

Unfortunately, it has become virtually impossible to manage one’s affairs without data in the world we live in. We will need to find a solution before we embark on an extended overland trip.

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With every downhill, there's a steady climb. The ruler-straight road, stretching for many kilometres uphill from the border post, always surprises me; it's an illusion that Namibia is flat. Butch reminds me every time we hit that gradient. In fact, he says, the landscape is a terraced plateau.

Scarlet-faced, exhausted, and crippled by back pain, we stopped at The White House Farm Stay, north of Grünau. We’d both had enough. With our bathing cozzies stretched over our winter bellies, we stood in our flip-flops, swatting flies with rolled-up beach towels. Half a kilometre away, shimmering, we spotted the sign for the pimped-up farm dam. Jaded, we made our way there to cool down in the icy water.

Refreshed, we set up our campsite, watched a magnificent tangerine sunset, and, for the hell of it, Butch and I took our drinks up to the secluded Victorian bath set up in the veld and bathed as the heavens turned scarlet and the earth cooled. We sipped our sundowners as the evening star glided up from the horizon.

No sooner had we switched on the lights than the aerial attacks began. Winged insects dive-bombed, crawled, hopped, bit and zoomed annoyingly everywhere, and I was their bull’s-eye. For the duration of our five-week trip, we’d work in the dark. The romantic Citronella candle, our only light source, sizzled with carcasses. Before bedtime, I’d douse myself in Eau de Sommeil Paisible (Peaceful sleep). The Kindle and iPad's illumination sometimes attracted these pesky little critters, turning reading in bed into a swatting match. Notwithstanding all of this, I’m not complaining.

We both drifted off on a cloud, induced by Voltaren gel, massaged into aching muscles and joints, plus anti-inflammatory capsules.

The White House is our go-to stop before and after the border post, and I can't recommend it enough. There are chalets, the manor house, and campsites. The current owners, a young couple, are delightful. You can pre-order three-course suppers if the journey has been too tiring or you want to chillax. Our German neighbours couldn't stop raving about the shoulder of lamb done the "French way" that the friendly, chatty Dolf de Wet delivered after sunset.

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While sipping our coffee and munching on Nita's delicious Karringmelk beskuit (Buttermilk Rusks), a gift from The White House, we set off on the B1 to Keetmanshoop, where we filled up with fuel and bought some data. From there, we turned off onto the C17 to Koês and then onto the C15 gravel road to Stampriet, where we’d sleep over. We missed Dolf SNR.

We aimed to do last-minute shopping and refuel in Gobabis, as we'd be far from any civilisation for at least 4 nights after Stampriet.

We stopped en route for a picnic lunch at the Mesosaurus Fossil Camp. Unfortunately, the office was closed, but it seems we should have arranged guided tours beforehand, which we weren’t aware of. According to our itinerary, we would’ve camped there, but we were ahead of schedule and decided to head on.

I will confess that I suffer from FOMO (fear of missing out). Not exploring the Quiver Tree Forest, Mesosaurus Site, and Dolerite Rock Formations was a great disappointment.

While we enjoyed the warmer weather, we weren't acclimatised to the extreme heat in Namibia. We couldn’t wait to reach our destination at the Kalahari Farmhouse and Campsite, part of the Gondwana Collection’s portfolio in Stampriet.

“If there was ever an enchanted garden, this is it. Entering the Kalahari Farmhouse is like stepping into a magical enclave or an oasis in the desert - far from the world. It urges you to take off your shoes, lie on the soft grass, open a book and relax.” That is what the website promises. That’s exactly what we found. As soon as we’d parked the Honey Badger, we rolled into our bathers once again, poured ourselves a life-saving drink and wallowed in the pool until we'd cooled to our core. Later, we lolled on deck chairs, reading and catching up with our families.

We enjoyed an al fresco supper and were surprised to find locals at every table. We enjoyed our dinner and retired early. Our tiny camping fan whirred us to sleep, kept the bugs at bay, and kept us cool with its gentle breeze.

Once again, we enjoyed a picture-perfect Namibian sunrise, a perfectly brewed cuppa and beskuit before setting off on the M42 and later the C20 to Gobabis. As far as I was concerned, our holiday would officially start once we’d cleared the decks of last-minute chores. But you'd say the road is part of the journey. Yes, of course, but the great distances do take their toll on us.