First days in Namibia – Lapa Lange Guest Farm

Early this morning, before I could decide how the weather would turn out, my beloved left with our Honey Badger in tow to fit new tyres, attach a bull bar (as other overlanders recommended), and install a Thule storage container, as our current one is far too heavy.

He did warn me he might be a while. In the meantime, an icy Benguela wind has picked up. I’m freezing in a strappy top and shorts.

With little choice of warm clothing, I tied our tablecloth around my neck. If I look like Spiderwoman, will I have superpowers? Fortunately, the cotton fabric is a traditional African print bought in Mozambique. The fabric seller would be thrilled.

My eye has just caught sight of our plastic tablecloth. My next best bet? I could make a windbreak and sit under the table. Like a dog seeking shelter from the sun’s warm rays, I have circled our ablutions, sitting on the portable Da Silva step. The chilly western wind won’t let me thaw. I will welcome my beloved with open arms this afternoon.

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The journey from Mata-Mata went smoothly. While driving, we decided on our next stop and thought we might return to the Kalahari Game Lodge, a destination we’d been keen to visit last year, but calamity struck. Our Honey’s batteries went on the blink; we later learned that only a single thread connected them to the alternator, keeping us going as we limped to the nearest auto electricians in Keetmanshoop. We had to abort our plans; we had bigger fish to fry. This time we hoped we could stay over.

The official, terribly imposing, thatched gate didn’t work last time, and nothing has changed. We couldn’t manoeuvre the Honey Badger through the gap. The lady said she was too high to come by. We returned to the service entrance, but it was locked. With no data at the border, the farm stall closed, and we couldn’t communicate with the lodge. Thankfully this time, the Honey Badger started immediately. Disappointed we couldn’t stay, we fired up the Garmin to find somewhere to stay.

We picked the perfect lodge on the main road to Mariental. Lapa Lange Guest Lodge was described as “an oasis in Southern Namibia”.

Magda, the receptionist, made us feel at home straight away. It looked as if we would be the only campers for the night. We chose our spot and set up our campsite, though we didn’t need to. The cool, thatched veranda beckoned. Who can resist a long drink overlooking a large watering hole? Certainly not me.

The peanuts in the shell, served with our sundowners, reminded us of our very expensive drinks in Singapore at the “famous” Raffles bar. We coughed up over a thousand rand for two beers, one a foot long, the overly sweet pink cocktail (what it’s famous for), and a Gordon’s gin and tonic. A Bombay Sapphire Blue would’ve killed our budget. The SA Rand is/was worth peanuts!

After a deliciously refreshing swim, we settled on the stoep for sundowners at six. As if on cue, a large herd of wildebeest came down to the watering hole, followed by springbok, eland, giraffe, and waterbuck. While some waited their turn, others quietly lapped at the water as the sun gently turned the sky pink, orange, and magenta. The skittish zebra were the last to appear, taking ages to find the courage (after all these eons) to take a few tentative steps forward. They still haven’t realised that no one cares whether they do or don’t, except the predators, of course. Vulnerability is so imprinted in their DNA.

The following day, we unhitched our iron steeds and went for a ride. After a few kilometres, my stiff limbs regained their mojo as my muscle memory kicked in. Now, here’s the surprise.

Butch and I had one of the best private game-viewing experiences imaginable. The Eland herd appeared like ghosts, then springbok, a tortoise, and a hare crossed our path. We saw a few Rhino middens, birds and bees, and flowers and trees. The littlies always fascinate me, and I couldn't resist the praying mantis. 

The road wound through red sand and rocky outcrops as we meandered along the perimeter fence. We picnicked under an umbrella thorn tree, refreshed and wondering what might surprise us—a jolly ground squirrel, perplexed by the alien intrusion. Thank goodness I had my bandana to cover my snozzle; on a game farm or cattle ranch, flies can't resist a free ride on the human nose!

Various cultural and educational activities and game drives are available for guests to enjoy. We opted for a Cheetah experience. Emily, my daughter-in-law, is passionate about cheetahs, her favourite animal. If I'm honest, I wanted to impress her a little by showing off our unique experience and bragging about my photographs. Just a little bit. She was suitably impressed and quite envious, too. Mission accomplished.

Sorry, Emily, you’re so good at everything. I needed this confidence booster.

Our charming, well-informed guide told us about cheetahs, their family habits, hunting techniques and habitat. He had practical knowledge of birds and answered my questions about the farm's fauna and flora. 

Right next to the Honey B was a small tree-shrub with small, tightly packed, waxy leaves that emitted a foul odour. It took us a while to realise the intermittent smell wafting into the Badger came from a shrub, not a decaying animal. Our guide called it a stinkbos; we've since seen this noxious shrub. It's the Noeniebos, or Boscia foetida. We suspect it releases a fetid odour, much like the acacia tree does when giraffes overgraze it. The leaves become bitter and unpalatable to giraffes. They move on to other trees, thus preventing the acacia from being chomped to extinction. Clever how nature works. Trees are ruthless when it comes to protecting themselves. 

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When a lovely server offers dinner on the stoep, it is incredibly hard to refuse. After a few cocktails, we succumbed and had supper with other guests. The three-course menu was a delight. Not lavish or ostentatious, it was good, traditional Sunday fare. The sunsets are golden, casting the landscape in a burnished hue, and the moon rises full. Who could ask for more?

Butch could have his favourite venison steak, Gemsbok, and I enjoyed my pork fillet with mustard sauce. The pumpkin was heaven on a plate. If you’re South African, you might still remember your Granny’s soet pampoen; you’ll know what I mean: glassy Boer Pampoen cubes, sweet and buttery, with a generous sprinkling of cinnamon. The best part is those sticky, slightly burnt, caramelised tendrils you only notice when your teeth catch them. The baked pudding with custard rounded the whole affair off perfectly.

There were only two campsites, both suitable for big rigs. Electricity was supplied, and each campsite had its own ablutions. Unfortunately, the geyser in ours was out of order, so we had the unfortunate pleasure of a cold shower. Butch didn’t mind; he’s hot-blooded. I’m not that keen. 

Large trees on emerald lawns cool the air and make for pleasant braai dining. The gardens are lush, thanks to the abundant water supply.

All the staff at Lapa Lang we encountered were lovely. Magda and Lizell went out of their way to accommodate us, help us, and share the farm’s history and the story behind it. We felt at home immediately.

I had some admin to catch up on, and without hesitation, they cleared a table for me near an electrical point so I could plug in. The restaurant staff were excellent, providing me with coffee and a crispy, melt-in-the-mouth toasty oozing with yumminess when I ordered. Around me, the buzz of new guests arriving, menu options being discussed, and guides introducing themselves carried on as usual. A well-oiled machine went about its business, proving that well-informed, trained staff are enthusiastic, keen, and an asset to any company.

On the artificial lake and watering hole, numerous aquatic birds bobbed about. Ducks, geese, red-knobbed coots, white-faced ducks, and Egyptian geese (ducks-in-denial) paddled happily.

It is butterfly season, and as we know, worms turn into chrysalises, which then morph into annoying moths, especially since we had no idea how to combat them. They love red wine, which lovers of the fermented grape won't tolerate; lights don't attract them, and I hesitate to add that Doom doesn't affect them at all. They inundated us. 

From the sound of things, we knew we were in Namibia, where the majority of guests are German, French, Spanish, and Dutch, with a liberal sprinkling of Belgians. Lapa Lange will be one of our favourite stopovers and a recommendation for travellers in the future. We set off and immediately felt at home as the first of many mule-drawn "karretjies" clip-clopped along the road in a zig-zag.

Lapa Lange Guest lodge

https://gamelodgenamibia.com/