Extreme Sports & Me

So... it was pure bliss having my own room again. Actually, it was better to have a bed again.

Granted, it was a backpackers and not a luxury hotel, but considering the fact that I’d been sleeping in an old canvas military tent for a week, I would take anything. I could get. At one point, during the entire kafaffel with Shared-AccommodtionGate, I did go in and offer to pay extra to secure my own room.  I would have drained my credit card to avoid spending time in cramped quarters with Claudia. The problem was that the backpackers was sold out due to the much anticipated New Year’s Eve celebrations and there was nowhere else to go. Claudia stood her ground though and refused to bunk in with me.

Shame.

Think of the fun we could have had getting wasted & swimming together. 

Perhaps I should have been insulted that she made such a fuss... but the feeling was mutual. I just had to let her hang herself. Which she did.

She claimed that she had paid single supplement and therefor, deserved a single room. Fair enough... all of us travelling alone had paid this... and to be fair, it should have been respected as much in tents as out of tents. I also paid the single supplement.. Both of us were just as entitled as Takaka was.

The problem was quickly solved when Whaaaaaaaat? agreed that Claudia could move in with her. Takako was more than slightly disappointed... as should be expected. She was not particularly found of the idea of Claudia joining her... 

...but them’s the breaks...

Better her than me.

Malinga suggested a group dinner out together and chose a place called ’Neapolitian’, apparently known for their Italian cuisine. They were not, however, known for their service. 

Our waitress was appalling. If you were to write down the top 10 worst server traits, she took Gold for Namibia in each category. Efficiently, friendliness, charisma, organization, memory, speed... she failed all of those with flying colours.

And.... their internet was out.

I feel that I should elaborate a little bit more on the enchanting, mysterious & often misleading game I like to call, “Find the Wifi”... 

...no one is a winner in this game. 

No one.

So far Africa scores a big zero in connection.

The Backpackers has no internet... although the girl at the front desk insists that it does work and keeps suggesting strange places to try to connect.

Try the corner of the lobby... maybe on the left hand side of the patio... have you stood inside the pub on the far wall by the kitchen... 

I think this is a ploy to remove us from the vicinity and send us on a wild goose chase. Swap ‘goose’ out for ‘wifi’ and it’s spot on. No matter where you end up in the entire place... it 100% simply does not work.

I think it’s me. I feel like I’m the curse.

Earlier in the day, I had packed up all my necessary crap in my bag and set out to explore the coastal city of Swakopmund, determined to find wifi and get my blogs live. I hit three pubs/cafes in town before I was fully connected. At one location, I even sat down and ordered a glass of red wine prior to finding out that their wifi didn’t work. I feel the need to backtrack, because what I actually mean when I mention that I packed up all my necessary crap is that I forgot my charger, my cord and my plug... 

Not very brilliant moves in the game of connection, especially when your Backpackers is a 30 minute walk away.

I also did’t check my battery power on either device, therefor my iPad died within 30 minutes... forcing me out of my connection and back to the accommodation.

I have never considered myself an Internet Amateur, but I am.

At least I was today.

The entire town seems to be riding the same excuse wave of “there are too many people in town for the internet to worth” which seems like a load of silly gobbledygook to me. 

After about 40 minutes at Neapolitan, without wi-fi, our drinks had still not not arrived, making me think that perhaps they were going to be served with our meals??

Not the case.

I was patient for another 30 seconds and then I could feel myself reaching a much recognized state of ‘mild meltdown’. 

Get me a glass of wine or get me wi-fi... 

...one of them... 

....immediately.

I would have settled for a water.

Neapolitan did not do Italy proud. 

While we were waiting for dinner, Ruth suggested that we start a What’s App group so that we could all share photos and stories after the tour was completed. Everyone agreed that this was a good idea, so a piece of paper was circulated for everyone to share their number.

And everyone did...

... except Claudia. 

Typical. 

After dinner, the boys and I went out for a couple drinks (perhaps a slight crap shoot to find wifi elsewhere but nothing did the trick) and then back to the backpackers to get a good sleep for our big extreme adventure sports day...

Quading...

... seems like it should be fun...

Right?

Better be...

 The van for the Activity Centre picked us up at 11:15AM and afte a few detours, u-turns and a few jaunts back & forth on a not-so-scenic back road... he finally got us to the centre. He didn't speak to us the entire way, which was welcoming... and unnerving.

I might even call it foreshadowing...

The Activity Centre was bustling & buzzng once again and we encountered the same chaos as we had yesterday. The usual fight to the front ensued and once we eventually shoved our way in, we managed to pay our fees and sign our lives away. We were then were whisked away to be fit with hair nets and helmets. A brief orientation was given in regards to operating the quads and we were instructed to follow the guide, at all times, single file.

Rules were posted for all to see;

• No fishtailing.
• No donuts.
• No detours or going off on your own.

Seemed simple enough to me. I wasn’t particularly disappointed by any of the rules posted because I had no intention of breaking any of them.

... and off we went...

We had hardly been on the trail 15 minutes when Yu decided to go rogue. He just kept turning off the main path and attempting to make his own route. I was watching in disbelief, a little bit of horror and a whole lot of embarrassment.

I coudln’t believe it. I kept throwing my hands up in to the air in complete frustration and asking, “WHY is he doing this?”

“What is seriously going on?”

Rules are rules. Follow the guide.

No one had an answer... let alone the guide, who had to ‘unstuck’ him twice...

I was diligently following the rules. I stayed the required 5m away from the quad in front of me. I slowed down or sped up when the guide gave me instruction. I looked left... I looked right... I stopped... I started...

Pat on the back for me. Good quad job.

... so far.

Then Pascale took the lead in quad delinquency & figured it was his turn to take over the rule breaking part of the afternoon. He decided to spend the majority of his time on the quad fishtailing all over the dunes.

To no one’s surprise, he got stuck. While the guide was unstucking him now, Sandros took it upon himself to donut my quad. Around and around and around.

This is what tipped the guide right over the edge.

He threatened to cut our tour short and bring us all back to the activity centre immediately.

All rules broken.

Go group!

Looking back, this probably would’ve been the perfect time for me to call it a day. Throw in the towel, thank the guide and tick dune quading off my extreme sports bucket list...

There would have been no complaints from me.

But the day continued... and so did I.

Eventually Yu was removed from his quad. I couldn’t quite decifer if he was simply horrific at steering or if he was too unpredictable to be trusted. Either way, he was forced to climb on behind the guide and leave his quad in the middle of the desert. 

He told the guide that quading was just not for him.

Turns out that quading wasn’t really for me either. 

Why hadn’t I taken the one hour tour?

 But there I was... committed to another hour and a half... and becoming more and more apprehensive as the tour went on. At the beginning, life was grand on my quad... up & down, left & right... everything was good and I was essentially a professional fair weather quader. It’s when it started getting a little bit more dangerous and riske, that I started to seize up.

Thing got intense... for me, anyway.

Suddenly we were dropping down 75% angels and taking high dune figure 8’s. When the boys went big, I opted to go low. The long drops... well... I would like to boast bravery... but to be fair, the only reason I even attempted them was because I didn’t know how to back up and remove myself from the situation. Had that been an option, I would not have been the Evil Knievel you see here before you.

Had I the choice to run down the dune instead, I would have taken it and left the quad for dead.

Then my nightmare came true.

I fell.

Quad fell too.

Somehow, somewhere, some way... deep inside, I knew that I was going to meet my demise eventually but I definitely was not prepared for when it happened.

I was going Mach II, dead drop down... in the middle of double flip... landing a knarly jump from dune to dune... with a pride of lions chasing me... in a sand storm...

And then I fell..

Kinda...

Not really...

The truth is that I was desperately trying to follow suit and make my way across a particularly steep-angled dune, but it appeared that the path had been taken out by a small sand avalanche. Turns out that instead of going straight, I should have turned downwards instead of attempting to cross the loose sand. From what I saw, the guys had gone straight across.

What do I know though?

I obviously don’t understand British Humour and I am quite crap at quading.

My decision to cross the sand avalanche didn’t work well in my favour. What I remember is the quad tipping to the left... and then I tipped to the left. 

Basically we all tipped to the left.

The quad flipped and down I went. I remember flying off first... and the second thing I remember was the machine tumbling over my head. Thank God for helmets.

The quad then rolled right over my left side, plummting me in to the sand and breaking every single bone in my body. At least, that is how it felt.

Everything after that is fuzzy. I went in to complete shock. I don’t know if the machine rolled off me or if the boys ran over and took it off of my limp, sand infested, broken body. No one has told me and quite frankly, I am a little embarrassed to ask for details.

I have to accept that this is my fault and roll with it.

Sand was everywhere - my mouth, my ears, my face, my hair... my feet, my backpack, my bra and even my bum.

I stood up, shook myself off, figured out where I was, who I was and what had just happened and then I got back on my bike. I wanted to lie down and cry... but I didn’t think that was an option. 

The guide asked me if I was ok and all I remember saying was, “I just want to go back now, please.”

I put on a brave face and slowly made my way back to the activity centre praying the entire time, “Don’t fall. Don’t fall. Don’t fall.”

Fear and insecurity had taken over and unfortunately they were not letting go any time soon.

With every turn, I winced. Every corner, I slammed on the breaks. If the boys sped up, I closed my eyes and swore repetitively. 

The pain was real... my entire body was throbbing. Agony.

I almost burst in to tears of joy (and pain) when we reached the Activity Centre. Off the quad, off with the helmet and off to the bathroom to see any damage done and get some of the sand off my face.

The guide expressed zero concern in my well being. I walked by him after leaving the bathroom and he hardly acknowledged me, let alone reach out to question how I was feeling. It seemed odd.

Later on I figured out that I forgot to tip him.

I can’t breath in without grasping my left chest, so apologies that my unempathetic guide didn’t get $5. With every bounce or jarring motion, it feels like a punctured rib is about to pierce my heart and break through my chest.

Back at the hotel, I climbed on to my bed and started to cry. The pain was becoming more & more evident and at that moment, it just seemed like I had gone right ahead and destroyed the rest of my vacation. I hate extreme sports. 

I laid there feeling sorry for myself for quite awhile before forcing myself up and out of bed. It was New Year’s Eve, I was in Namibia and self pity wasn’t really on the menu.

I had a much needed shower and then headed in to town. Every step of the way was painful, but I clenched the left hand side of my chest and put one foot in front of the other until I was at my destination.

Of course, my destination informed me that they were closing in 30 minutes... FML

I had enough time to throw something on Facebook, chug back a glass of red wine with 3 muscle relaxants, 2 anti-inflammatories and 4 Advil... 

Dinner.

Having an 800lb piece of machinery fall on top of you on New Years Eve gives a whole new meaning to f$%ked up.

The Single Supplement

Ahhhh... life on the dusty road.

Everything I own is either dirty, covered with sand or inundated with dirt & dust.

We were up and out of the camp by 8AM... with the promise of another long drive ahead of us... again.

This time though, we were preparing to leave the desert for a few days and our destination for the next couple days was Swakopmund - a coastal town known for its extreme sports.

Most of us were excited to hit this town for a two main reasons;

1. Laundry
2. A bed - bliss... we were leaving the tents behind for a couple nights

 When I say, ‘most of us,’ I meant ME.

I was ecstatic.

In desperate need of clean laundry and comfortable bed...

I was also getting tired of having Dune 45 filling my tent each day... and I was getting a little sick of the daily set up and tear down. 

... in saying this, I realize it’s only been a week and I signed up for 20 days of camping.

Maybe someone needs to have a chat with me before I make a decision like this again.

David made a comment that the accommodation in Swakomund, we might be sharing... in a dorm. Not super impressed with being in a dorm, considering I paid quite a bit extra to this tour for the “single supplement” but right there and then, I silently prayed to the Namibian Desert Gods to please ensure that I didn’t have to share a room with British Humour and Whaaaaaat?

It took a while to leave desolate behind... and there was a lot of bumpy& dusty in our day. We stopped a few times for photos and pulled over at the Tropic of Capricorn. Made me wish that I had brought some stickers with me, as the entire sign was covered in them.

Once we were on the coast, and getting closer to the Swakopmund, we stopped at Walvis Bay to see the flamingos. Malinga gave us a half an hour to really take in the beauty of the pink birds, but after 10 minutes, most of us were back in the truck , shivering... and ready to go. 

It was cold at the ocean.

We weren’t in the desert anymore.

Between Walvis Bay and Swakopmund, we did make one very important stop.

Wait for it...

Wait for it...

The Mall!

We were given 1 hour at the mall, to get supplies, shop, stock up... have lunch. I shopped... but actually only bought two things.

 The other day, during one of our dinners, Whaaaaaaaat? approached me with MUCH concern, worried that she wasn’t able to help with washing up after each meal because the soapy water was hard on her delicate finger tip

I wish I had that problem.

Of course, I suggested she ask David and Malinga if they had rubber gloves somewhere in the truck.

Revelation.

Ahhhhhhhhhhh!... and off she went to make the inquiry.

 She came back almost immediately to report to me that they didn’t have any gloves. They suggested that she do other things if her fingertips were such a problem. She was content with that answer, but I assured her that if we were in a grocery store or dollar store anytime soon, I would pick her up a pair.

... And that is exactly what I did.

A cheap pair of yellow rubber gloves. I was quite proud of myself for remembering and I knew that Takako would be touched.

When we were all back at the truck, I approached her, with her present behind my back and a big smile on my face.

“I bought you a present!” I announced, beaming with anticipation at presenting her with her little gift.

“Whaaaaaaaat?”

I whipped out the gloves and presented them to her.

She looked at them with pure disgust and with full distain in her voice, said “No! I do other things.”

She wouldn’t accept them, let alone cast her eyes upon them.

When I tried to explain that I told her that I was going to buy them for her, she simply replied, “You do dishes. You wear them.”

Gloves gone.

In the garbage.

Gift #1... shit.

 For my next party trick, I bought Malinga a new potato peeler. The one for the truck was horrible to used and I simply could not tackle one more carrot or potato with it. He loved it. He even said thank you.

Gift #2 restored my faith in mankind.

I told David and Malinga the story of the rubber gloves and David went and retrieved them from the garbage. Malinga is going to pretend that he got them for Whaaaaaaat? and she how she reacts to him. 

Swakompus is known for its extreme sports.

• Skydiving - that was ticked off my bucket list when I was 19.
• Bungee Jumping - I think that I’ve made it clear on how I feel about this.
• Scenic Flight - I’d have to get another job when I get home... well out of my financial league as a solo traveler.
• Quading in the Desert - definite maybe...
• Sand Boarding - ... nope...
• Dolphin cruise, camel rides, village tours, go-carts - ... boring.

Had I hindsight, I would have been all over a dolphin cruise.

Claudia chose nothing because...

And get this...

She likes to kayak... and kayaking wasn’t available.

She gets more odd with each passing day.

David pulled us in to the Swakopmund Activity Centre as soon as we arrived in town. Inside, we all sat down and watched a brief video on what was offered for the following day.

I chose quading in the desert.

I signed up with Sandros, Pascal and Yu. The Spanish and Park did a special combo of quading & sand boarding... not for me.

The Activity Centre was pure chaos. Three girls working a long counter and then 10 deep with bodies shoving their way to the front to either register, pay, ask questions, etc, etc... There were no line ups... it was survival of the fittest. 

Once we had all made our final decisions and signed off on the waivers, it was off to the backpackers. No, do not get me wrong. I have a lot of respect for backpackers. I love the way they, along with International Hostels, make it convenient for people to travel the world without a large financial burden on their shoulders. I spent the majority of my 20’s and 30’s enjoying everything they had to offer... but in my late 40’s, I just don’t want to share a room or a toilet or a shower anymore. I’m just not in to backpackers anymore.

I want the complimentary sherry. 

I want the Pretty Woman tub. 

I want the mini bar.

As I made my way up towards Malinga at the front desk, made my final plea to the powers above.

Please. Please. Please.

As soon as I reached the front desk, I saw our names together. Claudia and Joanna. My heart sank and disgust took over.

NO!!!!!!!!!  The powers above can f#$k off.

Malinga gave me an apologetic look. I glared at him.

“You’re not my favourite tour guide anymore” I said. “You suck”

I was going to die.

Claudia was right behind me and when she saw that she had to share accommodation with me, she refused... left, right and centre.

I knew if I left it well enough alone, British Humour would take care of it.

While she stood at the front desk demanding another room, I quietly unpacked... minding my own business... with a big smile on my face. The kids kept running in to my room in bouts of laughter that this had happened.

I had a feeling that I was going to have a double bedroom to myself for the next two nights. 

I was right...

Solitaire

This is a continuation of December 29th...

Internet around the remote emptiness of the deserts of Namibia can be found few and far between. Often we will find it at a place we have stopped for lunch- spend 30 minutes there and then move on to no wi-fi for 3 days.

Apologies...

 We stopped in a small town called Solitaire, right off the highway. As soon as I saw the sign, I knew that there was a special photo in my future... and I was right.

Solitaire is known for it’s amazing pies... and apparently they were delicious... but I didn’t indulge. It was one of those places with fabulous (and temporary) wi-fi, so it was a good  opportunity to get on line, albeit a short time.

If the wi-fi hadn’t been working, there was the temptation of visiting the Solitaire Activity Centre. I envision a big room filled with locals... all doing their own thing. No team sports or activities in Solitaire.

After our lunch stop there, we continued along another bumpy, dusty road, to yet, another remote place in the uninhabited desert. Just when you think that you can’t get more in to the desert, there you are... in a more isolated place of the world, with the scorching & unbearable heat beating down on us.

Boesman’s Camp.

Lucky us... there was a tiny little pool to cool off... abut half the size of my living room. Smaller, actually. The slide leading in to the pool is a pending lawsuit. Metal, broken, boiling hot, dangerous... 

I met Takaka walking down to the pool and made sure that I warned her how big it was. “Enormous,” I said. 

“Whaaaaaaaaat?”

 We have all now adopted this saying for whenever anything happens... anything at all. I fear it may be a time before we are able to drop this bad habit.

**Important announcement**
We have all come to know the two Korean boys, Park and Yu,  as...

Wait for it...

Wait for it...

Park You!

And it never gets old.

Next to the pond/pool is a cage built in to the corner of the courtyard and in it, about 30 turtles. When I inquired as to why they were in captivity, I was told that they have been set free in to the wild on more than one occasion, but they have always come back.

I am not sure that I believe that story... but perhaps it makes me feel better to try to trust and understand.

After set up, we had an activity of our own - excluding Claudia - shame...

Pablo and the rest of us in the shadow

 We were accompanying Franz in to the desert for a Desert Sunset Safari drive. 

Franz was taught  by his grandfather how to trek in the desert, and he was nothing short of amazing at his job. I made the comment about how incredible it would be to be so good at your job, that when you spoke about it, people stopped in their tracks to listen to you speak.

That is exactly what happened.

 We were mesmerized at every word. Franz was a charismatic busman who spoke in a melodious tone with the occasional Khoekhoe language clicking thrownin. Khoekhoe was once the national language of Namibia and it is very complex because the clicking sounds are made at the same time as the consonant sounds. 

As he spoke, his entire body mimicked everything he said. He would act out drunk, dancing, dead, falling over, hitting, stopping, shooting, being shot, climbing... etc etc... and when he was out of actions, his arm would rise up rapidly and then whip right down again with a few snaps of his finger. 

Franz

 Considering none of us were particularly looking forward to this activity, we came out of it raving about Franz and everything he had said and shown us in the desert.

He could identify different insect specials, all animals tracks, spider traps & webs, all types of feces, nests, hiding spots, snake movements...

Franz explained the history of Namibia, the history of his language and how the Namib desert came to be. There wasn’t anything he didn’t know about the strong winds, the the heat, the safest place to remain cool, how to find water and how to avoid being bitten by a snake.

Takako in the Sand Truck, as the sun is going down.

 He knew exactly what every animal and plant needed to survive and how long a human could be in the heat for without water.

Back at camp, some of the crew were trying to imitate his movements while the kids were desperate to perfect the art of locating spider traps in the desert.

When the sun was down completely, we wandered up to the top of the camp to watch the stars. Namibia is one of the top destinations in the world for stargazing. The moon, the stars, Venus, the Milky Way, Orion’s Belt.. absolutely pristine. I had downloaded Star Walk 2 on to my phone and became obsessed with making my way around the sky.

 Franz had told us that the zebras visit the camp each and every night to drink water and often drain the pool. We all made our way down to the stone wall to watch this miracle happen.. and we were not disappointed.

I was unable to take photos, as it was very dark, we were in hiding and had we been seen, it would have scared them off. My photos definitely would not have done the phenomenon justice anyway.

A herd of 5 mountain zebras slowly made their way to their evening drinking hole and took advantage of the available water. The evening ritual consisted of 4 of the zebras fighting, braying & running in to each other, while one drank. They were aware that they were being watched, as they kept lifting their heads in our direction and watching. As if something would spook them, they would then all run off in to the darkness... and then slowly make their way back again for another one to quench their desert thirst.

Eventually, one by one, we all got up and made our way back to our tents for the evening.

Life in the desert is tiring... 

Shining Right in to Your Heart

 
“If I have ever seen magic, it has been in Africa.”
John Hemingway

After a tantalizing meal of mystery meat mixed with canned peas and carrots last night, we all gathered round for our evening debrief.

Malinga explained the following days activities;

• Bus leaving at 4:45AM.
• Leave all tents. Take all luggage.
• Dune 45 for sunrise. Climb or don’t climb... your prerogative.
• Breakfast served at truck when we were all down from Dune 45.
• Continue to Sossusvlei.
• Return to camp at approximately 11AM.
• Dismantle tents. 
• Continue our journey...

Now I don’t want to pride myself too much on having had struggled through complicated schedules from time to time... but this seems pretty straight forward to me.

Laid out.

Simple.

Apparently... not simple.

Whaaaaaaat? and British Humour could NOT grasp the simplicaity of it all.

They took our simple debrief and threw it in to a tailspin of gigantic proportions.

• What time do we have to wake up? Who cares when you wake up. You’re an adult... set your alarm for whatever time works for you. 
• Why are we taking our luggage? Because it’s safer than leaving everything unmanned in the tents.
• Why are we leaving the tents? We are coming back for them.
• When will we be back in camp? Approximately 11AM.

“Approximately” was not good enough.

Apparently it was “not fair” for their planning.... they needed an exact and confirmed time

Why?

 Perhaps they had friends meeting them here...

A conference call...

Dentist appointment...

“WHY DOES IT MATTER?” 

Meltdown time...

Luggage IN truck, tents empty... who who who who cares what time we are back????

The degree of complexity to which they took our evening debrief was nothing short of embarrassing.

Embarrassing to the two of them. 

Embarrassing to our entire group.

It didn’t stop there.

• How long to climb the dune? Malinga can do it in 15 minutes. 

• What if they didn’t want to climb the dune? Then don’t... no pressure. Go as far as you want. Whatever makes you comfortable. 

• How long does it take normal people to climb the dune? Implying perhaps that Malinga was some kind of super hero?

I made the mistake of sitting with the children, who were all but shoving their sleeves in their mouths to stop them from giggling out loud. It was too much to handle and every ridiculous question, concern or demand from them sent us all further in to hysterics.

Finally, it just went too far, hilarity overtook and we all burst in to laughter.

It was surreal.

Back to the mystery meat...

I asked Malinga what it was.

Beef.

Weird beef.

The next day, he pulled me aside to let me know that it was a mix of beef and ostrich. 

No wonder it tasted so gamey.

4:45AM came and went and believe it or not, we were all on the bus.

Even British Humour.

David made it to the Sesriem Gate for 4:57AM and as soon as it opened at 5AM, we were the first through and it was go time. Chop! Chop! Along the bumpy road at a speed of at least 120km so that we could all race to the top and enjoy the sunrise.

Wikipedia break:

Dune 45 is a star dune in the Sossusvlei area of the Namib Desert. It is named for the fact that it is at the 45th kilometre of the road that connects the Sesriem gate and Sossusvlei. 

Trudging up a 170m, 5-million year old sand dune must sound like a casual stroll. It was no easy feat. Image how difficult a brisk walk in soft, deep, flat sand is. Now apply an 45% angle and my unfit body began to feel the burn. The path had been trampled down over the years, making the climb easier on all of us, but it was still sand. Not even a quarter of the way up, my lungs were reminding me that I was once a heavy smoker.

It’s rightful name should be Deception Dune.. because I have never met a dune more deceiving. Every time that I confidently thought we were approaching the summit... I wasn’t. 

I don’t normally suffer from anything like a fear of heights or vertigo... but I think that Dune 45 installed a mild case in all of us. Just to let us know who was in charge. There were times that I would stop momentarily, to catch my breath or secure my footing... and it would take me more than a few seconds to fid my balance in order to get in a comfortable enough position to continue my climb.

Although it was just sand, in order to continue the journey, I had to force myself to look directly at the sand in front of me. Next step, always...

Don’t look left.. don’t look right.. follow the footsteps... 1, 2, 3, 4, 5...

Speaking of footprints... the shoes, once again, took a red sand beating. It was not long before they were off and in the backpack for the remainder of the day.

Resting on the fine edge summit of the world’s most photographed dune, watching the sun come up in the Namib desert was a powerful, breathtaking moment. I felt that the only thing missing was Nessun Dorma playing in the background. We all became one with the red and orange landscape.

They say that everyone that comes to Namibia must always return. The sun shines so brightly here that it shines right in to your heart... and I believe it..

Often people ask me what my favourite country is.... and I find myself fishtailing around the question, commenting about different counties I have enjoyed... what they have to offer... etc etc...

Now... I have an answer.

Namibia. 

We must have remained there, in awe, for about an hour, before Malinga announced that he was just going to run down the dune, instead of taking the path. The group os us sitting at the top together were intrigued by this suggestion... 

“Can we follow?”

Off Malinga went, running... or should I say plummeting down the dune, through the sand... and we followed directly behind him.

It was a colossal reward for having climbed that dune.

Adrenaline was running through my entire body with every single step. We literally ran the entire way down.

Me, Michelle, Eduardo, Pascale, Sandros, Roberto and Albero.

Abero and I reached the bottom at the same time... overcome with excitement, we both screamed out that was the best thing we had ever done. If it wasn’t such a long, burning journey to the top, I would have done it again.

What a rush..

Breakfast was toast and mystery meat. I decided to forego the beef & ostrich combo on toast - for the sake of everyone on the bus with me.

David allowed me to photograph his plate, but I think he was quite confused as to why I was laughing so much about it.

While we had been watching the sun come up on Dune 45, another Japanese lady reached the summit, donning many scarfs, a flowy D’Allards outfit, and an enormous camera. She had hired a personal guide to tour her around Western Aftrica for 3 weeks and our days activities was very similar to hers. I noticed that she had a a very wrinkled complexion, but had covered her entire face with a thick white cream. We were all commenting on how nice it was that Takaka made a friend. They hit it off immediately and sat there deep in conversation for quite awhile. The whaaaaaaats and the wowwwwwwwws were running rampant!

When we were all down and enjoying our first morning coffee, Takako turned to me and said, “I did not know same category you lady.”

What does that mean? 

I stared at her blankly.

“You and lady. Same.”

Same? Rest assured that lady and myself were nothing “same”.

Same category.

I need more information in order to fully comprehend what is going on right now.

Finally it came to light that the lady and I were in the same age category.

She had told Takako that she was 47.

No. She wasn’t. 

Yes. 

No. 57.

No... 47. 

57. I’m 47. She’s not.

There was no way that this withered old Geisha and I were the same age.

Was she in a plan crash?Did she survive an entire year without water?

She has lived a life... you can see the journey...

 I saw her twice more throughout the day and I would demand everyone’s attention immediately to compare our features. 

NOT 47.

Next stop was Sossusvlei and the petrified forest. Sand dune trucks were waiting at the entrance to take us in to this highly protected area.

I couldn't help but chuckle when the man, who appeared to be in charge of the dune trucks, motioned for us to be on our way.

“OFF GET!” He yelled at the driver.

Off get?

I’m assuming that was supposed to mean, “Get outta here!”

I like it...

Beauty and once again, another movie set. The ground was once salt water... until the winds of sand cut off the water supply and eventually dried it all up. Dramatically dead trees scattered throughout the area, almost tragically invitingly in their own personal allure. They call it the petrified forest. 

I was sitting enjoying the scenery and taking a few pictures when I noticed the bikers from the day before walk by. I called to to them and made mention about how much admiration and respect I had for them. They thanked me, told me how hard yesterday had been on them, biking through the desert and then kept going.

As we loaded on to the bus, the bikers approached me to ask if our driver would be willing to give them back to the gate, as they had hitch-hiked their way here. We had to beg David to do it, as picking up strangers was strictly against all Nomad rules. He melted though when he discovered that their journey began in Switzerland! The guy has been on the road for 16 months. Sandros got his website, so I will have to have a look at it. 

Claudia drove back in a separate vehicle with the Spanish family and I don’t think she liked being with the children very much because she spent the entire drive with her hands over her ears.

They were amused to no end.

Drive back to campground to dismantle tents. Funny.... it was 11AM and woudn’t have made an ounce of difference to our lives if it has been 12 or 1.

I wondered if British Humour and Whaaaaaaat? Realized how silly they sounded during debrief, but somehow I doubt it.

There is so much more to this day... and I will have to include it in the next blog. Internet is very bad and I have come to believe that I may be cursed when attempting to get online...

It’s me....