road trip — Keets/Mariental

day 4

Brought to consciousness early—by the industrious sounds of camp being packed all around us, I stumbled over Ali and out of the tent, my bladder compelled in the cardinal direction of the ablution block.

Arriving back at our campsite (no. 11, picked for its proximity to the toilets and it's relative privacy), Ali was standing sleepily looking over the remnants of the previous night's festivities.

We agreed to breakfast at the canyon, and began to pack up camp.

The fire pit was easy work, as I’d cleared most of it the night previous, apart from the coals. It was the tent which proved to be moderately vexing.

When I said we flung it open the night previous, I wasn't joking.

You pop it into the air, it opens up, et voilà.

It had been a while since when I’d packed the sucker last, but my memory served to remind me that the five step process suggested by the pictorial instructions, was in reality three steps that harbored very little similarity to those on paper.

We figured it out, threw it in the back, and trundled out to the rim for breakfast before we would head to Keetmanshoop for our next stop.

Due to some miscommunication, once in cell service we found ourselves without a place to stay for the night, so we decided to take in all Keets had to offer, then head north to another volunteer’s site in Mariental.

It turns out Keets has a thing or two to offer, those things just differ greatly from person to person. In Ali’s mind, I think that offering came in the shape of the tripod pug at the Quiver Tree forest site. She reacted with the same wonder and joy I would witness the next day upon her interaction with cheetahs.

For me, the hyraxes topped the Kokerboomwoud (Quiver Tree forest). Hyraxes are thick, furry and rounded herbivores, usually around the size of a household cat. Once pegged as harmless tourists – and therefore no threat – the mother of the hoard opted to ignore us, sunning herself atop a mound of stones. The adolescents scrambled at any sound, and the babies, curious, peered from the rock crevices, less adventurous, and more likely to take cues from their matriarch.

After we downed the bulk of a couple pizzas under observation of an encroaching flock of birds, we hop, skipped, jumped down the road to Giant’s Playground... which was for me, a bit meh.. But, Ali is down for bouldering, likely due to her geographic origins, so off she went exploring the odd and random geometric patterns effected from wind erosion, while I would occasionally holler to ascertain her location, trying to figure out if there was anything to see here, other than a tourist’s trap..

Midday, we headed up to Mariental to hang with Sinthu and Evie.

I think in the end, it was better all the same for the change of overnight locale…
Oh, and I finally took a picture of this: 

Namibia is host to a large number of ephemeral rivers. Though most of the year they are dry basins, they are never-the-less marked at each bridge along the highway. In the north, the names of these dry tributaries are varied—in the south, such imagination isn't evident. Aub, for example is, I'm told, a Herero word for watering hole. Wasser is, well, wasser.

From day one, we'd taken to calling out the names of the river placards as we passed them. 

Aub, Aub, Aub, Wasser, Fish, Aub... 

This was day four, yes? 

We'd gotten to the point we'd just call out: 'Aub, aub, aub, fish, aub' at random.

For photos of this leg of the trip, check out my google+ album, here.

< day 3 | day 5 >

road trip — Hobas

day 3

You know this just means you get a free pass to screw me over, right? I’ve earned it.

My comment to Ali after a miscommunication had me pulling the car around (stalling first) in a U-turn to proceed to the /Ai-/Ais hot springs and camp site. 

This was after a morning of patient instruction on proper shifting of gears. From Luderitz – where car guards are taken very seriously – to a few handfuls of kilometres from Keetmanshoop – then south toward Fish River Canyon and our campsite at Hobas.

She was right in her hesitancy to proceed to this interim destination. As a retreat to recuperate after hiking the canyon – yes, the /Ai-/Ais NWR resort could be an ideal locale, were it not for the sheer number of guests (largely European and S. African). The site itself is small, and tightly packed with buildings – though their facilities are lovely (as is the large outdoor pool pumped with heated spring water).

I will say, though, that I’m glad we drove through the park. While Ali is from Colorado-land, I’m from a flat-land. I will take any and all of the mountains you can throw at me.

Her, she is bored by them. (An attempt at Namlish).

As it turns out, my Namlish is atrocious. The speed and cadence of my speech is still largely Americanized, and as such, I was often misunderstood in the south.

Luckily, we had Ali on hand as our collective English to English interpreter.

When we finally arrived at Hobas, we had just enough time to fling up our tent, then pop to the NWR tuck shop for overpriced beer (N$108 for a six-pack, and Ali’s choice in extracting pain as punishment), then straight to the viewing station for an epic sundowner. We closed the joint down, and waited till all one could hear was the eerie howl of the wind rushing over the canyon’s rim.

But then the stars came out, and our bellies growled and we headed back to start up a fire.

After living in Namibia, I tend to employ a 3-stone fire (though I recognize it is an inefficient use of fuel in a land susceptible to desertification).

This was a rare treat for me..

I don’t know what it is about women, pasty-white ones in particular, but there seems to be general consensus they are unable to start a fire. In Namibia, tending the fire is woman’s work – unless you’re pale, then it tends to be assumed you don’t know how to start a fire, or that such work should be considered beneath you. Though, in America, its man’s work, so don’t get yourself dirty there, little lady.

Again, I’m not sure why, but there seems to be a general sense of astonishment after I build a fire. I've never understood the thinking. If cavemen were able to do it, why should I be considered less capable? (Also I was a girl scout for at least a decade, so it continues to exasperate me).

A topic Ali and I discussed and expanded upon while heating up chakalaka, warming sausages, toasting brötchens, and swilling a fruity moscato before tucking in our meal, and then ourselves (into our tent).

Top freaking night. 

For photos of this leg of the trip, check out my google+ album, here.

< day 1+ | day 4 >