Welcome to Etosha

I'm sitting at a watering hole, watching three elephants drink from the pool. An hour ago there were three black rhinos here, drinking their fill. A dark shape moves on the horizon, getting closer and closer, until it becomes illuminated by the orange lights surrounding the pond. Another rhino has joined the three elephants. Jackals run around, trying in vain, to catch – well, it's not quite clear what they're trying to catch, only that they're failing. Welcome to Etosha Park.

Twelve years ago I saw Etosha on a television show. It claimed that the name translated into Land of Mirages. I thought that it must have been the most beautiful place in the world, and as such named one of the notebooks I used to write in, back in high school, after it. Never did I have any dreams that I would, some day, be standing in that very place. In high school the world seemed so far away, travel was what others did – rich people did – I'd never be able to get there. And yet, here I am, after only three years of saving, with a relatively moderately paying job.



I wonder what types of conversations I would have with twelve years ago me. He'd probably rip into me for smelling terrible, and having only four different shirts. But then I'd tell him that while he has many shirts, they're all black and look the same. Then he'd go put on his trench coat and hide in a hall opposite the school library. He also, probably, wouldn't believe I'd been to Africa – at the same time, the time travel situation? That would be handled and accepted without pause.

At the watering hole I sit on a bench, late at night, looking over a stone fence, some pieces of wire in place before it. This is what keeps the animals from jumping out and eating me. Being eating is somewhat of a constant fear for those of us travelling through conservation and game parks. The food chain gets a little messy here, and the animals haven't been told that they all lead to us. They think that it's fine for them to snack on us humans. We need to educate!

Behind me are rows of cabins with balconies that look out onto the pool. But we have no need of air conditioned cabins. No – we have tents. All air conditioning does is wrongly acclimatize you, and lead to you getting sicker quicker. It's true. But most people who could be watching this site are fast asleep. It is, after all, two in the morning. Even I would be asleep if not for the fact that Chef recommended trying to stay up all night...

Before we reached Etosha we drove from our campsite we slept in last night, and headed to a small town. Here we'd be able to shop for souvenirs, and buy water, and just hang out for a bit. Outside the various stores – which remind me of small K-Marts, the locals sit on strips of cardboard, or unfurled magazines, coming together to chat and while away the day. They are not begging, they are not hocking, they are just sitting together to chat. Living constantly in this extreme heat... well I can't imagine it. And this, after all, is their winter.

On the truck we pulled names from a hat and came up with Secret Santas. I had pulled Helen's name. Hmm – Helen... Helen... mother of three, what could I get for her that was less than seven dollars? Seven dollars being our groups limit – 50 pula I think it was?

We all converged on the same gift shop. And what a gift shop it was. It had all the items that people sold in little street markets, as well as other gift shops, but the prices were incredible. Bone beer openers for eight bucks, cloths for less, shot glasses, earings, pins, carved animals, bracelets. Everything. And again – the prices. A pair of earings? Three dollars. The set of five big five pins? Five dollars.



Just for the record – the big five are: Elephant, Buffalo, Black Rhino, Leopard, and Lion. They're the big five, because apparently they're the most fun to shoot. But due to this people who come to Africa often try to spot them all. Good luck!

I picked up the pins for Helen, and received them in a paper bag, sealed with a porcupine quill. And if one wanted to be totally accurate – this is the town we bought our Christmas lights in. And we put them up this night – not as previously mentioned. Whoops.

Christmas was a key thing today. We did the decorations, and were told by one of our travellers that she hated Christmas. Couldn't stand it! That's why she was in Africa. It's interesting to note that everyone on this tour left their families behind over the holidays. But she went on and on about how terrible it is, without any redeeming qualities. So at the front of the truck me and Hamish thought to ourselves – what is the longest, most obnoxious Christmas carol ever? The Twelve Days of Christmas!

We couldn't just start singing though – we had to work them out. And between twenty of us, no one was sure. Here's what we put together:

1 – partridge in a pear tree
2 – turtle doves
3 – french hens
4 – four calling birds
5 – goooooool-den rings
6 – hens a laying
7 – swans a swimming
8 – maids a milking
9 – lords a leaping
10 – ladies dancing
11 – pipers piping
12 – drummers drumming

We sang this song loudly and proudly through the mic over the trucks P.A. system, and it was the best of times.

I ate some biltong too. It's African Beef Jerky – except not always made with beef, and it's very very strong. It may hurt your jaw to chew it. Enjoy!

On the drive we saw a number of giraffe making their way across the lands, moving as if in slow motion. Seeing them was a spectacular sight. The type that makes you rub your eyes and think, my god, I'm in Africa. And these animals are real. They don't just exist in parks, or zoos – they are real wild animals. I can't imagine what it would have been like for a European to come from the land of small animals to Africa and take in all of these creatures – they're just so different from anything anywhere else in the world.

There were also Springbok. These were more important a few days ago, before they were everywhere, and before we had ingested them. Now when we saw them, we just thought of how hungry we were.



Now Etosha offers a night drive for some extra monies. And we were told that it was on the night drives that you'd most often see leopard and lions. I'm not one to care for such things, but with all this talk of the big five, I figured I needed to see them all, otherwise I would feel as if I missed out! So off to the night drive – but wait, all the seats were already full! This led to our Christmas hater complaining, and yelling, and doing terrible things to our captain and chef. But did they get angry? No – they just added a free afternoon drive to our tour. Because they are the best. We had one hour in this campsite named “Land of Fertile Woman” (I forget the name in the original language) before we headed into the park.

I headed off to the watering hole. It was there that we watched springbok (yawn) be pushed closer by Zebra who were unsure as to the safety. One the springbok had drank for a while they were nudged out by the emboldened zebras who now wanted the place for themselves. And after some time watching, a shadow moved on the horizon, drawing closer and closer. It turned to be an elephant. An elephant very very close to us. I questioned the ability of the fence to keep this beast out. A jackal jumped over the fence, terrifying Mitchel, passing close to his face, to escape. Now I really questioned the fence's ability.

As it got even closer we noticed something – it looked like the elephant had five legs. But the fifth one was being used to swat flies. I'll just leave that to you to figure out. Huge.

A number of giraffes came down, spreading their legs to form tripods, so they could support themselves as they bent down to lap the pool with their large purple tongues.



And then off to the game drives. The two drives led us to see more springbok (yawn – not even worth picture at this point) and giraffes, and – after talking to another traveller we were directed to – a pride of lions out in the distance. There were a number of females with their cubs, running around and playing. While we couldn't get too close to them, leaving the path is forbidden, we could still see them. There's another one checked off of the big five.

As we were leaving the park, we saw a car stopped ahead of us. What had they seen? What had they spotted? A lion – a male lion – no more than two or three meters away from us. We watched the lazy beast as he lounged in the sun, not really getting up to all that much. And we fought each other in the truck for proper window space to take our pictures. Whenever something new or exciting is seen there is always the jockeying for position. Peoples toes are crushed, flip flops lost. Closed toed shoes are recommended on these drives.

Having enough the lion got up and walked into the bush. We headed back to camp.

There I showered, ate dinner, and headed back to the waterhole with Hamish. That's where the three rhinos came, then the elephants. At this point I started to fade in and out of consciousness. But luckily Erin woke up and joined us. While me and Hamish passed out, she watched. At three o'clock she roused us to see the giraffes that had gathered. There was a unicorn too. But we're not allowed to talk about that. The park ranger said so.

Big five count? Lions, and Elephants, and Rhinos – oh my!

Desert Elephants and Ultimate Frisbee

Today is December 20th. Only five more shopping days until Christmas.

Somewhere along the line Mia the Cook had been upgraded to Chef Mia. This took place for two reasons: One – her cooking was fantastic. Aside from hot dogs, which I learned to dread (and we only had two or three times) her food was the best food. And two – one night when Hamish and I were preparing food for her, we began to fear and respect her. All veggies had to be cut just so, everyone else in the kitchen team must follow Chef's orders to the T – if they don't chef will get angry, chef will get mad! Miati taraha gihila. Karane! / Chef ist Sauer. Mach was! This occurred many days back on December 15th. And since then the legend of Chef Mia has been growing and growing. Taking over, so that all fear and respect and love her cooking. Chef is wise! Chef is good!

This morning, however, not all agreed with Chef. Chef, you see, played some very loud – very powerful – music very early on the truck. She played it by holding the mic up to her laptops speakers. Korn, Jurassic 5, all the best morning music. It was met with shouts of turn it up, and turn it down, by those in the back of the truck trying oh so hard to read, or sleep. Us at the front were quite enthralled.

Divides, divides, divides.



We made our way to the seal colony which was a wonderful, terrible, cute, tragic, and everything else rolled into one place. More than anything it was smelly. There are thousands – thousands – of seals here. They just do their thing. The pups ranged from a month, to a few days old. Now here's where it becomes tragic. Only 25% of the pups make it to adulthood. And why is that, you might ask? Is it predators? No. It is because the adults roll over them, and crush them to death. Or they get lost from their mother, and can't find her, or they get squished trying to find their mother.

Never before have I seen so many dead baby seals – and people think the Canadian seal hunt is bad.

One seal was lost on the boardwalk that we could view the colony from. It was an adorable baby seal who we took many pictures with. The sad truth? Separated like this – odds are it would be dead before Christmas. Cute, sad, tragic, wonderful, awful.

But most of all – smelly.



Back on the truck we played more guess the song, humdingers, and headed off towards our next camp site. Just as we neared it, there just off the road, stood the most amazing thing I'd yet seen – a wild desert elephant. Raymond has been driving this route for seven years now, and this was only the fourth he'd ever seen. We got a lucky viewing. Apparently they are the most dangerous type of elephant, as they are always hungry and always thirsty. Why they keep to the desert is a mystery to me, with their being able to walk such long distances, you'd think they could make their way to better ground. Still, while some people were settling beside lakes, oceans, and rivers – other people chose to live as nomads in the desert.



Near our camp were 5000 year old engravings depicting the various animals native to the region. Of course a resort hotel popped up around this site.

At camp Hamish and I tossed around the Frisbee, growing our numbers from two, eventually to eight, where we had enough members to play a game of ultimate. After an hour and a half playing in the dried up river bed, the game ended nil-nil. Playing on rocks, in bare feet? Not the best idea.

The shower was a patch of earth, surrounded by bamboo with a faucet in it. Never before have I felt like I was showering outdoors, with such a touch of class. It was the most unique, and best shower I'd had to this point.

At camp, while Chef cooked up a Kudo kabob (another foreign animal out here) and Springbok sausages, some of us decorated the truck – taping up Christmas lights we'd grabbed in town, and tinsel. The Christmas lights would last only a day or two, before a bulb burned out – at which point we gave up on trying to find which one it was – but the idea still carried across. Christmas was fast approaching, though it was the furthest thing from anyones mind.

Dinner was fantastic – though the sausages were better than the kabob, in my opinion. Still, the true star of the show was Chef's veggie bake – mostly Butternut Squash (or butternut squizzer as Anne called it, unable to remember the English word for the gourd.) Butternut pumpkin to the Aussies. I helped to peel and cut these – and having done that more than I'd ever wanted to, I now feel I can cook with these on my own. Time, as they say, will tell.

The veggie bake, would become one of my favourite meals on the whole trip. Chef is good; chef is wise.

After dinner some locals came to our site, and sang for us, traditional and gospel music. They were rewarded with a hat full of tips. We were rewarded with a song that starts with people making car noises, goes into the word “Toyota” and has a chorus of backwards circle moving “beep, beep, beep.” Look – it's hard to get across, but it was wonderfully addictive, and it was the type of song that would get under you skin, and stay there for years to come.



Pictures were taken of them. Human tourism is always something I struggle with. Is it ok? Is it not? People took pictures of the children we gave food to a few days ago. I found that awkward. Today pictures were taken of the people selling wares along the road. Some were traditionally orange, with bare breasts, trying to make ends meat. Their handler came to greet us when our truck pulled up. It's awkward, but still important – I don't know. Best to not think too hard about it. Otherwise you'll end up in a quandary, the type I had over an image of a sixteen year old, topless photo, in a National Geographic magazine from a decade past. I emailed the photographer over it to get his impression. He remembered the photo, and said he wasn't sure if he thought it exploitation or documentation either. If after a decade, the pros don't know – then no one will.

I went to sleep tonight with just one thing on my mind – tomorrow? I would be in Etosha.

ETOSHA!

One More Day in Civilization

I'm sitting inside a rounded piece of concrete watching sharks swim by.

The day started after many false starts, at nine in the morning. I took full use of the shower in the connecting room, and then ate a bread bun that had been left on the table by the two other people in the hut, aside from Hamish and I.

Hamish had left earlier for a day of Sandboarding, and 4x4ing. I, on the other hand, was met by Anne and Rachel to go out and grab some breakfast. We headed out passed the security fence, and the barbed wire, down roads lined with more and more electrified fences. We continued on past the markets set up along the road selling the same wares available at almost all cities in the area, “please mister, come see my shop. Just come see – remember you from yesterday.” They were charmingly pushy, without being creepy. And bartering down prices wasn't quite as painful as it could have been.

Seeking breakfast, we passed one place with a patio, but decided to look for another place. This would take forty minutes, result in much failure, Anne would go a separate way to eat, becoming lost to us for the day, and Rachel and I would return to the first place with the patio. Group dynamics: amazing.

For breakfast I had a delicious ostrich steak with black pepper sauce. Ostrich really is as wonderful as I'd heard it described. Let none doubt the pure awesome deliciousness of such a meal. And, if ever you have the means, do yourself a favour and have some.

After breakfast we walked around some shops, some streets, and down to the beach, and back up it. Eventually we parted ways – Rachel went to find show glasses, and I went to the aquarium.

It was there that I was granted my view of the sharks. The price for the aquarium ranged by a few dollars depending on if you were a local citizen, African citizen, or other. I really like this price scheme, and think it greatly benefits those who deserve to see such treasures. My entrance worked out to be about four dollars American, locals could access for one.

Inside I made my way around the tanks, walking under a tank that surrounded all sides, but it was when I made my way through the back side that I found my favourite part of the aquarium. The concrete seats, curved for lying down, nestled against the portholes. I climbed up and sat inside to write some of my journal entries, as well as reading more of Lord of the Rings.

I felt myself falling into unconsciousness after yesterday's long night, and finally dragged myself away, lest I end up sleeping with the fishes (ba-dum-pssh!)

Back at the compound I walked passed Courtney, and Mitchel, with their sister Bridget, and mother Helen, on their way to the laundry. Hellos were exchanged.

As I neared the compound I realized what it reminded me of – big area with barbed wire fence, and electrified fence, full of low buildings crammed in as many as could be, access to which was granted only after passing the guard post, and the entrance gate. This compound was nearly identical to a concentration camp, except here the gates were to keep people out, rather than in. The realization was an awkward and terrifying one – still, the similarities were undeniable.

Back at the cabin I typed up some emails, and blogs, that I'd send later – just before dinner – and worked towards this end until Erin and Mark came to the door, looking for people to play cards with. I typed some more, and then headed over. Rachel was there playing The Seven Game with them.

Basically, you deal out the deck. Whoever has the seven of diamonds goes first, and plays it. The next person can play a card higher or lower than the one on the table, forming a chain. If they don't have it, they can play another seven. If they don't have that, they have to pass. If they can go, they must go.

Strategy forms as you play.

After playing that for a number of rounds, I broke out Apples to Apples and gave that a go. It's very telling about peoples personalities – how they choose to play certain cards. The game went over well. And then it was time to head out for dinner.

We moved in a herd from one restaurant to the next, looking for a place to eat. getting twenty people to agree on something is never easy. Eventually a place with a patio was suggested. It was quite pricey for me, and I suggested the place back down a bit, but was overruled. Rachel also suggested it. We broke away from the pack, headed down for some fabulous pasta – mine was with an asparagus, yogurt sauce that was phenomenal. We ate inside, as the weather became cold and windy outside. We finished up, had a good chat, and then headed back.

The others were still waiting for their food to come. Some had walked back to the compound, grabbed sweaters, and returned. That's commitment to an idea. I feel we made the right choice.

Back at base, Rachel and I chatted until Hamish and Anne returned. We played cards, poker. We taught the girls how to play Texas Hold 'Em. Anne seemed to spend most of her time designing pictures, flowers mostly, with the variously coloured chips and asking “can I go to bed now?” The resounding answer to which was “NO!”

Hamish: Now that the game's over, can we stop patronizing Anne? Would you like that Anne?
Rachel: Do you know what patronizing means?

Sure Rachel was serious, talking to our German friend, but few comments came across as patronizing as that. And thus there was much giggling.

Just before we headed off to sleep the couple that was staying in the cabin with Hamish and I came by. They said I came in loud last night, then was quiet – they thought I'd left. The girl looked at me and asked if I'd “heard anything” the night before? Silence. We all froze. “Uhh – like you talking in the morning?” I asked. Sure. O.K. We had joked about what we might hear through the walls when the couple got their own room – but had come up empty. This question however, left unexplained, as they walked away seemed most leading. Had I heard anything?

More giggles.

Heading Into Town

The power lines stretch off into the swakopmund desert like a herd of Daliphants migrating under the whitewashed sun.

As the truck trundled along we passed by new, and different vistas, Africa continuing the impress with its vast diversity. We were told that we'd be making an unscheduled stop to see flamingos. This took us to a village where the homes were beautiful, and expensive, and – almost totally white... It's strange to think why someone would buy their retreat house three hours from the nearest airport in Africa though.

When we got to the birds they were – well, they were alright. Had we not been told that we were going to see any, and then we just came across them, we might have thought how fantastically wonderful it was, but expectations were built up, and seeing them in their white glory (not yet pink enough from eating shrimp, except for some spots under their wings) it was just – alright.

Human nature I guess. The same could be said about the Apple Pie in Solitaire, Namibia. This town is only on the map because of the apple pie made here. It's claimed to be the best in the world. And don't get me wrong, it's pretty good – but others seemed to love it more than I felt it deserved. Did expectations play into their reactions? Did they play into mine?

Next thing we knew we were in the city of Swakopmund (or however you spell it – I had a hard time learning how to pronounce it at first.) We headed straight for a burger joint which was said to house the best burgers in the country by our fearless leader Raymond. He had ordered them some time ago, before we even hit the city. But when we got there – they were not ready. Half an hour later, they were not ready. One hour later they started to come out. This laid back attitude seems to be spread across all hot countries – but, when you've been on a truck for hours, and are starving, you really start to notice how it all plays out.



The burgers were actually quite good, and quite large, covered in a sauce I'd never seen before, and would probably never see again. But it was good. I felt bad, however, for the people who ordered a veggie burger. Throw all your thoughts of tofu, or Lick's burger out the window. The African veggie burger? A bun, with egg, tomatoes, and lettuce on it – with mayo, and a ring of pineapple.

You figure it out.

After the food which was more filling that could have been hoped for, we headed to the adventure centre where a video was played for us, displaying all the various activities that could be taken over the next two days: there was sky diving, and 4x4ing, and horse riding, and sand boarding – I would have gone sand boarding, if not for the fact that you had to walk up the dune each time – and after Dune 45, I'd had just about enough of that, thank you very much.

Everyone looked at the forms, and picked their activities. Save for a small few of us, whose funds were not quite as fluid as the others. We would spend the next two days in town.

Our place of sleep for the night was not a campground, but rather a little cottage, for four people each, with two bedrooms, a fridge, a kitchen, and a table. This was luxury if I'd ever seen it. A toilet and shower, just next to your sleeping area. The things dreams are made of.

Rachel (Previously Rai) and Anne (previously... I forget, Aye?) and Hamish and I headed out to town to check out what there was. We stumbled upon an internet cafe, where we could make contact with the world outside for the first time in ages. I copied my e-mail to flash drive so I could read them offline, and reply to them later.

On the way back we headed to a bar to grab a beer, and then rushed to meet the rest of our group at Nepolitana to have dinner. My dinner as Springbok covered in Skydiver sauce. I don't know what skydiver sauce was, aside from cheese, and spice – but it was the most beautiful sauce ever, and I believe it may taint my opinion of Springbok, as it is what comes to mind when I think back on the meal.

When dinner was winding down, Mia made a request to the guitarist just setting up. He told her to look at his set list, she didn't believe it. She returned to us telling us to wait:

The party bus had just come in, of course they did, preparing for their meal. The guitarist began to play, “in the town, where I was born, lived a man, who sailed to sea...” Really?! This was his first song. Wait for it – wait for it – chorus: WE ALL LIVE IN A YELLOW SUBMARINE! A YELLOW SUBMARINE! A YELLOW SUBMARINE! WE ALL LIVE IN A YELLOW SUBMARINE! A YELLOW SUBMARINE! A YELLOW SUBMARINE!”

We put the party bus to shame, and confused / scared all number of other people there to enjoy dinner. They tried to out sing us when poppy songs were played – but they failed. We then required our second favourite tune, which Hamish and I sang loudly and proudly as the rest of our group tried to catch some much needed sleep at the camp site, nights before: Bohemian Rhapsody. The guitarist stopped playing just before it became hard rock. We would not let this happen – singing throughout his next song, finishing the Queen legend that he began. Please, you can't stop just before you announce that “BE-EL-ZE-BUB has a devil put aside for ME! FOR ME! FOOOOOR MEEEEEEE!” Cue head banging.

The only song we came together with the party bus on was Oasis: Wonderwall. For one song only, a white flag was raised, like Christmas in the trenches.

Next stop? The club upstairs of the adventure club. I called in Adventure Bar – I think the real name was banana bar? I don't know. It hardly matters. Raymond argued us past the dress code – none mess with the giant monster. And in we went for a night of dancing to what the DJ played, and when I say DJ, I mean iPod set t shuffle left by the DJ as he went to drink. This led to “Tonights Gonna Be a Good Night” being played twice with just one song in between.

I didn't bring my camera, and while I wish I had pictures from the night, the freedom that allowed was fantastic.

I danced it up, came together with our crew, and had a fantastic time. There was a bachelorette party there celebrating. Hamish and I made a game of stealing things from them, he grabbed the cowboy hat - grabbed... well I got a small beanbag plastic – man part. I won the theft game. And all was well until we noticed test tubes of strange viscus liquid on the floor.

In the urinals a filled tube beside a condom was discovered. Best not to think of it, any further.

When Rachel wanted to leave, Anne and I left also. Rachel was arguing with Raymond about why she couldn't just go home alone. He begged her no to. She didn't understand. Outside the bar, when we were stalked for a half a minute by a car with fully tinted windows, before I looked over, and it finally peeled away, she understood.

On the walk home I tripped and nearly stumbled into an electric fence which surrounds most of the houses here. Nothing will clear your head, and wake you up faster than nearly being zapped.

I was asleep the second my head hit the pillow.

Dune 45

I'm sitting on top of Dune 45 in the Namibian desert. Well – I'm not right now, but I was when I wrote that in my red moleskine notebook. Right now I'm actually sitting in a hostel in Livingston, Zambia trying to type up all the entries that will take me from this day (December 17th) to today (January 2nd.) It's strange to look back on my trip, and try to get myself back into the feelings, and the emotions, and write with the basis of how I felt then.

So much has happened, so much has changed, and so many friendships formed, strengthened, weakened, or were created. But I'll try to write day to day, and I'll try to put myself back into the feeling of how it was back then. But I make no promises. At the very least you'll learn about what I did. But hey, you won't notice the difference anyway, will you? So excellent – let us press on. I'll speak no more about this large gap in time, that feels like nothing at all.

I'm sitting on Dune 45 watching the sun rise up over the Namibian desert. And there are few things quite as beautiful as this. For a moment the sun throws all the dunes into sharp silhouette, and casts staggered colours across the sky. All around me cameras are snapping away madly. I made it to the top, and this view is my reward.

I would rather not discuss how I made it to the top, as I feel – for pride sake – that getting there was the true show of effort. I will say that I was the first person onto the pristine dune that day, though one of the last to make it to the top. And we'll just leave it at that. Maybe we can also make note of the fact that at some points during my barefoot climb, I feel to my knees needing to crawl for a little while, before standing up, and forcing myself to the top once more. At the top Courtney told me she was grateful for this, as it justified her rest breaks.

At one point Hamish (previously Hey – I can't abide these nicknames any longer. If anyone is upset by the use of their name, they can let me know, and I'll change it.) came and grabbed my pack from me. I'm ever thankful for this, as I had a hard enough time getting up without any extra weight to lug around.

But, as I said, I made it to the top, and watching the yellows and oranges, and golds of the sand shift, and change colour... Perfect slices of light and dark were created where the sun could not reach, across the peak of the dunes. Hundreds of pictures were taken, and I'd never seen a landscape quite like this ever before.

Now some might think that climbing to the top was its own reward. Others might think that the rewards was the English breakfast of bacon and eggs that awaited us down at the bottom, created by our cook Mia, was the reward. But in both those cases people would be wrong. The reward for climbing a sand dune is the journey back down to the bottom again. This is not a journey of one foot after the next, reverse hiking across the sand, which sinks inches with each step, making it seem as if you're walking in two feet of snow. No – down is so much simpler, you look over the edge, check your path, give a loud scream, and start skipping from the top all the way to the bottom, picking up speed, and gaining more and more air with every leap.

It should be noted that you must try not to fall, as that would complicate things, but fall I did not. And for a moment I thought of Scott Wilson jumping down dunes on the travel show Departures. And then I thought of my buddy Matt back home, and how much he would have loved to do this – and how amazing it would have been to do this with him.

Now, after walking up the dune we headed to our next activity – hiking up dunes, and across the desert.

Oh good – just what I had hoped we would be doing after I nearly wanted to kill myself climbing up 45.

Hurray!

But this was a guided walk where we were shown spiders who buried themselves in the sand, creating trap doors with their webs. We saw beetles, and lizards, and all sorts of dessert life that would be easily ignored, otherwise. And then we went to the dead flay – once a lake, before the dunes cut off the supply of water. Trees grew, gnarled, and foreboding, against the dunes, on sheets of clay. More and more pictures were snapped up. As I stood here, I could hardly believe I'd been to the top of a dune today. And back in the van, I'd find myself trying to believe that I was, indeed, here at the flay surrounded by the desert. It's just so – different – out here.

Apparently in the clay shrimp eggs lie in wait for up to eight years for the water to return – at that time, there will be no fish, by the shrimp will populate the pools. Flamingos will come from fifty kilometers away, somehow drawn to this spot, to eat them when the time comes.

Our guide also told us about how he hiked the fifty k to the ocean, over a one week period. Fifty K as the crow flies. With all the dunes, it was probably closer to eighty. He showed us how to get, and bury water in the ground in ostrich eggs. And then he told us about his youthful encounter with a lion, where his grandfather forced him to stand still for over half an hour while the lion charged and backed away, and charged and backed away.

If you come face to face with a lion – stand still. Yes, it might still eat you, but if you run it will eat you. Standing still – it's fifty fifty. That's just how it is out here.

At the end of the walk, we had somehow come to the top of another dune, without realizing it. So gradually was it sloped. But – this meant, of course – it was time to jump down another one, kicking and screaming all the while! Dune skipping is the best skipping.

The only downside to this day was that the greasy breakfast weighed heavily on many peoples stomaches, and washrooms here – well they were an “African Experience.” Think wood surrounding a hole in the ground, filled mostly to the top with the most terrible things ever.

I'm glad to be a guy.

On the way back to camp we passed all number of wild ostriches. They looked like Chocobo to me, running around the plains. It struck me how strange it was to see ostriches, and that they should be from this part of the world. To be honest, I had no idea where they were from – yet here they were, everywhere. I've been told they're delicious!

As a fun fact, seventy two over three chicken eggs fit in one ostrich egg.

Back at camp we checked the time – eleven in the morning. It's amazing what you can do when you're up at four. What choice did we have but return to the pool? The pool whose water was nigh opaque from all the dirty tourists jumping into it.

This time the party bus had already left, leaving us to swim to our heats content, without obstruction. Water and Ice Cream were also bought. I've been averaging four liters of water consumed a day out here. And the ice cream? Well – a chocolate covered ice cream bar, consumed in the middle of the desert, after climbing a huge dune – it is the most delicious of all the ice cream bars!

After who knows how long, we headed back into the van to go to Six Reigns canyon, so called because that's how many reigns would be needed, tied together, with a bucket on the end, to fetch watcher from the bottom to the top.



We climbed down to the bottom, and walked along to the pool at the far end. Hamish and Mitchel (Courtney's brother) threw stones into the pool, from being an outcropping – unable to see it. Mitchel tried and tried, failing with each throw. Hamish shrugged, picked up a rock, tossed it, Splosh! Perfect aim. Had he left it as this, it would have been magic, but the next ten failing throws (some bouncing off the rock wall, and heading straight back for us) removed all hints of omniscience.

At the top tour guide Raymond told us about the canyon, “It's so close in some points that you can actually jump the canyon.” He seemed to pause and think about what he'd just revealed to us, “Don't jump the canyon!”

Mia, the cook, said that we should name out truck, as we had named the party bus. But there was no way to do this just yet. People tried – but you can't force a nickname, and all seemed awkward: Sweet Tongue, Transportation: Desert Storm, the Ray-Team... You canNOT force a nickname.

On the way back to camp Mia asked us to sing Yellow Submarine – why, and how this came about, was due to a game of Humdingers we'd played earlier, without realizing the significance of it... Still unaware, we sang loudly out the window at all the people around our camp site, garnering looks for oh so many.

Over the mic, during one of Hamish and I's attempts to entertain, the following exchange transpired. It was a painfully accurate joke that I appreciate:

Mia: I just wanted to point out how good Erin looked in her dress yesterday!
Hamish: ...I thought that Mike was looking pretty good to, eh Mia?
Mia: Hamish – Mike always looks good!
Hamish: ...mumble mumble...
Mia: What?
Hamish [growing bolder?]: Is that because he always wears the same thing?



Cue laughter from all around. So true, so true – but in all fairness, I did wash the shirt in a sink with shampoo... so it's kinda like it's new again, yeah? No.

Back at camp the dark sky covered all in an amazing blanket, even more beautiful than the night before, as I was no longer stunned by it, and could start to take it in. I stared up at it for nearly an hour, in silence.

Anette saw a scorpion hide under her tent. But when Raymond checked it had already disappeared. Life in the desert.

Welcome to Namibia

We woke up early and broke down our tents. It has yet to cease amazing me just how quickly we can all put up our tents, and then take them back down again. An army on the move could be prepared for the night in less than five minutes, and broken down in half that time, on the path once more. We are a well oiled machine – powered by the power of keenness.

When we boarded the bus there was silence for a good long time. Too long. This trip was becoming quiet, and boring, and without social interaction. Everyone seemed far too into their own books, music, or self. Rai decided this needed to change. She started us playing catch phrase, where names of movies, and people, and things like that were all written down and thrown into her big floppy straw hat. The very one I stole the day before when we were pirating the orange river.

One person would give clues as to just what the phrase was, and others would have to guess the thing. For some time we played, and it seemed like only the four of us cared enough to try and guess, but little by little this started to change. “Beneath the Florance celestial orb.” Huh? What? I don't get it.

I repeated my phrase. Still nothing – from the back, “It's Under the Tuscan Sun!”

Correct she was! And thus she entered the fold. Though she claimed not to really be playing, ten minutes later she was slitting on the cooler box at the front of the truck giving as good as she got. Others were roped into this game as well. And thus the bus stated to bond.

When our game had come to an end, humdingers became the delight of choice. People would hum songs and others would try to guess them for the much needed and appreciated points-that-mean-nothing. Our bus was a family.

We played against the guides in the front cab,by speaking, humming, or singing, into the microphone.

As we zipped across Africa we came across a nest built by social weavers over a twenty seven year period. Hundreds, perhaps, lived inside. The African landscape had been changing on daily basis, and as such it never once became boring. While you might retire to your novel now and then, the windows to the world outside were sill most coveted.

And through those windows I saw my first Zebra. It was way off, couldn't be photographed with any ease, but sure enough there was a zebra standing in the distance. So much more than a painted horse, these striped creatures are. And their mohawks? Spectacular as well.

Animals, exotic, and distant from those found at home have a very special draw to them, Sure there may be thousands of them here, but I'd never seen one before, and so -

When we arrived at our campsite, the first thing we had pointed out to us was the swimming pool. Yes, we are in Africa, but that's no need to go without some of the basic necessities of life – you know, like a swimming pool. There was, however, just one slight drawback to this plan. It seems as if there was another tour group who had also discovered said pool. They were travelling with Nomad tours, and had yet to earn themselves the nickname that would stick with them for some time to come. But all that would change -

Before heading to the pool Hey brought out his most spectacular possession. A 200 gram, heavy weight, high wind, Frisbee. We tossed it around the desert, relearning all the throws we used to know years ago. After some practice, I was getting it under my leg, over my head, ringing off my thumb, and raising up as if by magic. We played barefoot. In the desert. In the desert where there were all sorts of scorpions and snakes waiting to make us much less alive than we would have been otherwise. Perhaps one could say that mistakes were made here, but just as I thought we were being the fool, another of our tour walked past:

“Where are you headed?” I asked.

He told me he was going off to that point in the distance. A mountain? No – it wasn't a mountain. It was a sand dune. And he would hike up it. “Are you bringing water?” I questioned noting the lack of it in his hands. “Huh, that would probably be a good idea, wouldn't it?” And so off he went, fetching his water, and heading off into the distance. Never to be seen again.

O.K. He was seen again, but it's possible to understand how things might have played out differently.

Off to the pool, Frisbee still in hand, we joined the other people who, half an hour earlier, had stated that they too wanted to go for a swim. Due to the nature of group dynamics it had taken this long for them to decide that they actually were going to go. And so, rather than costing us time, our game of flying disk toss actually saved us from many minutes of awkwardly standing around.

Now our crew showed up at the pool in baggy swimsuits, some wearing shirts to protect from the sun, ready to jump right in and splash around. But when we arrived we discovered the Nomad group already there. The guys were standing in the shallow end, beer in hand, showing off their ripped bodies, walking two feet, only to turn around and walk back the safe two feet. The show-off-shuffle if you will. And the girls? They all sat pool side in their fashionista bikinis, all very this-season, with large Jackie-O sunglasses. They tilted their torsos to the left, they tilted their torsos to the right. They were bone dry.

Well, good for them. Into the pool we jumped. “Hey look, it's Santa!” Oh good, Charmers, these guys are. Just as I was about to say something, I realized that for, perhaps the first time in my life that I heard that phrase, they weren't talking to me.

No – they were talking to the grey haired, short bearded, east German from our tour.

As we swam and wanted to play Frisbee we were blocked by the beer drinking standing at the other end. This just being there to be there was ridiculous. I announced that I had to do something, got out of the pool, and put into action plan SandlotAlpha. I would not be pretending to drown in order to make out with the lifeguard, but I would be walking to the deep end, flexing for all to see, in fabulous ridiculosity, and then jumping into the pool with the trademarked scream of “Canon ball!” causing localized Richter activity, and emptying the pool of a fair amount of its unclean, can't see the bottom five feet away, water.

Where did this water end up? Mostly on the once-dry girls sitting pool side.



Though I could not see the results of my actions, I was later told that many angry looks were exchanged, and that I had done an excellent service, striking a blow for the good guys. Striking a blow again these evil boozehounds, who dubbed their truck the Beer Bus. Beer Bus? These kids were straight off the Party Bus. They cared not for travel, and that's fine – but partiers were what they were, and whenever we would meet again great sighs would be let go: Guh – it's the party bus.

Rai called them the BimboBus – but that was too much of a pejorative for me, though possibly still perfectly valid.

It should be noted that one of the girls from the party bus (party van, party truck, etc.) was overheard saying, “I hate the sand! When are we going to get out of all this sand?!” Sweetie - you probably shouldn't have come on a trip to the desert. I hear there's all sorts of sand here!

As we sat in a circle watching the sun set, I made my feelings on the local cider known. “It tastes [expletive] vial!” And it did – Savanna? Not a delicious cider. It's to cider what American beer is to real beer. This announcement won me no friends, as some people found it the drink of choice. First enemies were forming.

But there was no time to worry about that, for as the sun set, much quicker here where the earth spins faster, leaving a strip of reds, golds, and oranges across the horizon for an hour yet to come, the sky darkened. The stars began to shine.



Imagine a world without light pollution, where the skies stretch on and on, where the horizon is so low, and the sky is so large. This is where I was standing. This i what I was looking at. The world around me existed, but it seemed so temporary, so unimportant. Everything else was sky. And stars. Some of them I knew, though why Orion was upside down, I could only guess at. Yes, I understand that all constellations are reversed here – but why wold such a great hunter stand on his head? Most were strange and foreign to me. I would see the Southern Cross for the first time.

The sky here, facing my campground, lightly illuminated by the truck's glowing kitchen light, bringing the tree under which all our tents were erected, into view, seeing the world of black broken by pinpricks of white? That was the most amazing thing I'd ever seen in my entire life.

New Years 2010!

I have been writing ten resolutions every year for the last few years now - and then scoring myself on them. Part of the resolutions is that once I make them, I never look at them again - the idea being that if I care about them, they're things I'll remember and make happen. So we'll see how I did this year.

Resolutions for 2009:
1. Still be alive (Yup... that would really help me out.)
[Success: I am writing this a month early, but I can only assume that I'm still alive. Otherwise, won't this be a depressing note.]

2. To not hate solo traveling
[Success! I can't believe I thought I'd hate it. Why that's just crazy talk!]

3. To have stepped foot on 5 out of the 7 continents in the world
[North America, Asia, Europe, Africa... ... ... FAILED! South America is still a few months away, and Antarctica / Australia are after those. Curses.]

4. To have seen 5 new countries (this shouldn't be hard...)
[Success! And then some.]

5. To have [amount removed] in savings left (hopefully much much more by this point, but... you know.)
[success: I do indeed still have this much left.]

6. To have met up with at least five people from different countries who I can unawkwardly talk to
[Success: One day in Iceland took care of this one.]

7. To not lose my camera memory cards.
[Success: Hasn't happened yet.]

8. To keep travelogues and not lose them either.
[Sucess: Man, I'm on a roll!]

9. To not have been kidnapped, disappeared, mutilated, or any other form of terrible.
[Success! Sweet!]

10. To have seen one of my overseas friends whom I've not seen in a while. (don't know if this will fit in in the pre-2010 schedule though.)

[Success! This is the best I've ever done. If it wasn't for that stupid "five continent" thing... But, alas, there it is. Well - I tried hard.

Final Score 9/10

Resolutions for 2010

1. Start writing again - and I don't mean writing travelogues, I mean poetry, and fiction.

2. Continue to keep up with my travelogues.

3. Start the process of writing a book - any book - that I will look to get pubished.

4. Get my British passport.

5. Take at least one trip out of North America, post-year long trip

6. Have visited all seven continents

7. To have seen, or make real steps in planning to see Chernobyl, Easter Island, or the Middle East.

8. To be back in the process of finding a teaching job.

9. Maintain my website, and try to - I don't know - do something with it.

10. To have sorted through all of my photos, and created photobooks for the terrible thousands of images I shot this year.

Well, that's that taken care off. Happy New Year to one and all. I'm still in Africa - but not for much longer. Soon I should be headed off to Thailand, and start to experience the traveller's world that is South East Asia.