The Road

Our journey is nothing like The Road, a post-apocalyptic novel by Cormac McCarthy, where an ailing father defends his son as they slowly travel to the sea. The novel’s main themes are Faith, Trust, and Doubt.

In the harsh world of The Road, everything depends on trusting or distrusting each other. Some of these emotions we've already experienced in some way. 

Fortunately, our journey is an adventure,  and we aim to reimagine ourselves, renew and reawaken our sense of wonder and awe which is often lost or set on the back burner while we’re young and ambitious, especially during our working lives. While we “live our best lives”, we’re human with all our frivolous frailties, faults and flaws.

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I’ve spent a lot of time telling you about the places we’ve stayed over at but very little about the roads we've traveled on. We try to limit the time we drive to five or six hours per day, but as you know, “The best-laid schemes o’ mice an’ men / Gang aft a-gley.” Our speed is slow (90kmph) and steady. Butch very kindly stops whenever I need to take a photo eg the tortoise crossing and will swerve for the smallest ground squirrel. We enjoy regular pit stops for coffee or lunch and have found the picnic spots in Namibia to be clean and tidy. 

Our journey to Swakopmund highlighted gravelly landscapes,  rocky passes and sandy deserts. We packed up and left the sublime oasis of Tsauchab River Camp in the south to head in a westerly direction to Swakopmund. We’d not go to the dunes of Sossus Vlei this time, but we would stop for coffee and apple tart at the iconic coffee shop in Solitaire.

The Namib Naukluft National Park is one of the world’s largest protected areas. From the south to the north, the west coast to the east, the Naukluft loom out of the gravel plains.

“The Naukluft is an impressive escarpment that falls off the Central Highlands. This vast plateau boasts near-vertical cliffs that rise over 1000m from the surrounding plains. Formed 500–600 million years ago, it consists predominantly of porous dolomite and limestone rock, riddled with caves, galleries and ravines, sitting atop a solid granite base. Indeed, Naukluft takes its name from a Germanic corruption of the Afrikaans “nou kloof”, meaning narrow gorge or ravine. Where the underground water spills out in springs and streams in these fissures, crystal-clear pools support a surprising variety of plant and animal life, including around two hundred bird species. Look out for klipspringer, kudu, steenbok, oryx and Hartmann’s mountain zebra, and soaring black eagles that nest along the cliffs.”

Picking  our way around the southern and western edges of the mountains, we witnessed giant rocky outcrops fringed by flaxen grasses, punctuated by hardy succulents – with mesmerising views across to the richly coloured pink and apricot dunes of the Namib to the west.

The fees to enter the Naukluft National Park with our vehicle is exorbitant. Although there is a prescribed set of fees the interpretation varies from place to place! The dirt road has been maintained in parts, but recent rains have eroded some sections, a good grading is recommended. The rock formations, vegetation, and sheer mountainsides soon quietened our moans as we were taken up with the magnificent landscape. The plateaus and plains covered in old gold velvety dralon tempts one to reach out an arm to lazily run a hand lightly across the tippy tops of dried flaxen grass. If only one could. In the heat we were able to meander slowly with windows open allowing the wheaty perfume of cracked dry grass to waft over us. 

At the end of the road, we found the entrance gate and office. While Butch and the official debated (once again) whether the Honey Badger was a registered 6-tonne delivery truck  (not) or a motorised caravan (it is), I did some investigating and ordered us a coffee to be served on the veranda with views onto the jet black rocky mountain formations. 

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 “Undoubtedly, for most people, desert equals sand. There are few more spectacular examples of a desert (erg) than the Namib dunes, which stretch for most of Namibia’s Atlantic Coast, pushing south into South Africa and north into Angola. The remarkableness of the 50,000-square-kilometre Namib Dune Sea within the Namib-Naukluft National Park has now been internationally recognised as a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

Though the Namib boasts some of the highest dunes in the world, at over 300m, it’s the ever-changing palette of impressive colours– from gold to pink, cream to brick-red, apricot to maroon. The coastal dunes are generally paler, consisting of newer sand, much of which originates from sediments washed down the Orange River to be swept northwards by ocean currents and tossed onto the beaches. The colouration becomes deeper and redder towards the east of the sand sea due to the iron oxide in the quartz sand.”

We made it to Solitaire just before the tourist busses arrived for lunch and could order our tea, apple tart, and cream. Unfortunately, the experience disappointed me; the apple tart wasn’t a traditional German apple cake, the pie apples were tinned (understandable, considering the location) and the cream was dispensed from a can—all fluff with no flavour nor substance.

After a visit to the facilities, I decided to spend my time amongst the rusty but colourful vintage cars and succulents in full bloom. They provided more joy. While the tourist bus’s doors wooshed and opened the floodgates to tourists. The stream flowed into the restaurant, I walked, stretching my legs. Like the memory of an old flame the reality of Solitaire has changed, matured and become more commercial in my view. The rusty cars are still very photogenic, the plants and flowers pretty but the quaintness has been lost. 

This time we didn’t make it to Sossus Vlei and the magnificent dunes but pressed on, and just as well as we did.

We turned into the gates of Rostock Ritz at coffee time, a game farm with accommodation and a campsite. While driving up to the lodge we could smell rain and then the heavens opened, and a drizzle fell, cooling us down.

The tyre pressure monitor was up to it's old tricks again. Quiet for a while now, the beep, like an alarm, awakened us from our complacency. We came to a stop on the circular driveway, and Butch hopped out to inspect. Sure enough we had a flat tyre. A puncture is the last thing on your wish list when driving for almost six hours.

We booked in, and the manager graciously offered to help. He had staff available who could assist Butch with the heavy wheel. This time he knew exactly where all his equipment was stashed, and with the help of two powerful young men, he had the truck jacked and the spare wheel on the ground. Within half an hour, we were back on the road again, ready to set up our campsite for one night. Thank you to the guys who helped us and gave us recommendations in Swakopmund. 

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The campsite is situated a few kilometers from the lodge, tucked away behind a small outcrop of koppies. Well out of sight of the guest cottages, with views across the golden valley. Although the campsite is private I thought they might be a tad neglected, out of sight and out of mind. A slow/low season could also account for the tiredness. There was no hot water for showering and only two of the four taps produced a thin trickle of water in the basin. The view over the expansive veld while the sun set coppery over the plains was magnificent and all was forgiven while I did the dishes and later my ablutions. 

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For us personally, this was not a good night. It might’ve been stress from the long day, the puncture, or just a “normal” domestic affair. Maybe we both needed some personal space. I knew I needed to walk, which I  did, into the koppies to see the sun set over the plains. Watching two ostriches make their way from kilometres away and pass us undisturbed and almost undetected had a quietening effect on me. The gemsbok's insecurity as he carefully, on full alert, walked gracefully from one set of dunes to the next was a treat. These encounters, when we are unsuspected spectators blending into the landscape are awesome. 

The cause of our discontent could’ve been an inability to communicate our feelings or accumulative exhaustion. Who knows. These things happen, but how we confront our fears and anxieties and communicate them make or break a situation. My spaghetti bolognaise for dinner was served “hot” but received “cold.”  Which reminds me of Jack, with the fine sense of humour, who said "Sometimes, not often, I get hot tongue and cold shoulder!"

Some sound advice I read later. “You can measure the happiness of a marriage by the number of scars each partner carries on their tongues, earned from years of biting back angry words.” 

― Elizabeth Gilbert, Committed: A Skeptic Makes Peace with Marriage

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Onwards and upwards we go. I’ve decided to include this tidbit firstly, to illustrate that we are living the dream, but taking into account that there are sweet dreams, day dreams, and sometimes nightmares too. We're still the same people with the same emotions, warts and unique idiosyncrasies. Because we’re in a truck on an adventure doesn’t make living life less rocky or easier to negotiate. Being in each other’s company 24/7 in a very small space, is a first for us, and at times tricky and uncomfortable adjustments have to be made. We’ll chafe and grow calluses and scars to improve the journey we’re on. Our patchwork quilt is still new, it needs to go through a wringer to soften and become a comforter.

Secondly, it’s always, to my detriment at times, my philosophy to be clear as glass and, most importantly, to always be authentic and not ersatz.

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The next day we revisited and drove through the Kuiseb canyon, which I’d done 25 years ago. The landscape looked completely different then; it was bleak in winter, whereas this time the abundant rains provided a golden blanket covering every square inch of land: the golden grasses, green during the rainy season, now rich in colour. These landscapes reminded me of my mom's old gold (she loved the colour in the '70's) shantung curtains, they could be shiny yet dull depending on the light, richly textured raw silk, and heavy, a fabric but crinkly to the touch. Rubbed between thumb and forefinger could set your teeth on edge. 

We passed the Tropic of Capricorn; I thought I’d taken a selfie, I will have to find it, and kept going ever west into the natural sea desert. Fascinating and daunting in equal measure. White sand sometimes reflects the pink in the clouds, a reflection of a sand storm somewhere off Namib’s towering coral or orange-hued dunes.

At last we entered Swakopmuntt. There Butch had his work cut out for him while I explored the lovely seaside town steeped in a rich German culture. We would certainly stay for a few days.

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‘The Road Not Taken’ by Robert Frost is a poem narrated by a lone traveller confronted with two roads, symbolising the journey of life and the decisions we make. The narrator chose the path that was ‘grassy and wanted wear,’ demonstrating the desire many of us have for individuality and adventure.

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P.S if you’ve never read The Road by Cormac McCarthy, please do. The language is extraordinary, and roads are fascinating as metaphors for life, change, journeys, partings, adventure, etc. or simply as roads unchartered and well mapped suitable for a pilgrimage.

PPS. This will be my last blog for the year. Thank you for reading my stories. I'm still amazed that 3259 people read my blog this month. That's all the inspiration I need to continue telling our tales. I hope you enjoy a very blessed Christmas Holiday season and that between all the hustle and bustle and excitement you find time to re-boot and recharge your batteries too.