I woke to the sunrise on the river, the rushing sound of the water and the golden morning anointing the tops of the mountains. It was with a pang of sadness that I packed up and moved on. The road was forever calling.
And to my absolute relief it had just been graded. I glided along merrily. The words that came to mind were from country singer Dierks Bentley’s catchy song: “. . . I got some rust on my Chevy but its ready to roll. I got a rhinestone sky and a song in my soul. It aint a smooth ride, Life, it’s a whirling road. Yeah, it might be gravel, but it feels like gold.”
It wasn’t long before I picked up my first Himba passengers as they stopped me for a photo or flagged me down for a lift. My car was full with passengers hopping on and off, one woman even accompanying me all the way to Opuwo and leaving a lingering whiff of Himba perfume when she left.
From there, instead of continuing southwards to Palmwag via Sesfontein, I took a slight detour to make a turn at Olifantsrus on the western side of Etosha, the small camp being a longtime favourite. The cold front followed me in and while the whole country’s temperatures dropped into the minuses, I set up my tent for the night and headed to the waterhole. It was going to be a chilly one. As I hadn’t seen any elephants and this was ‘Olifantsrus’ after all, I extended my stay for an extra day to wait for them. The family group eventually arrived with all the majesty of the giants that they are, and drank thirstily and calmly below us, the little uns lovingly locking trunks with each other in affection. When the signal was given by the matriarch, they all turned tail and silently disappeared into the bush, leaving us all entranced. I often think how grateful I am to be born in the age of elephants (and books).
The next day I could linger no longer, I packed up and continued to Palmwag, stopping to talk to the stone sellers along the way, meet donkey-cart drivers and horsemen moving their cattle from one farm to another. From Kamanjab, I turned westward to take the Grootberg Pass to Palmwag. The landscape was beginning to transform, with the flat-topped Etendeka mountains coming in to view. At the top of Grootberg, a Himba man in traditional dress flagged me down and hopped in. During the drive he suddenly shouted loudly for me to stop. “Ombahe!” he yelled, pointing to the vegetation on the left, “Ombahe!” I braked but couldn’t see anything and as he spoke no English and I spoke no Otjiherero, the conversation couldn’t proceed, although we had earlier managed a few place names like Epupa and Opuwo to discern where we had come from and where we were going. I started driving. Again he frantically shouted “Ombahe!” and pointed out the window. I braked and reversed once again, and then I saw it - a giraffe! With that settled, we happily continued on our way.
Damaraland’s landscape has always made an impression on me with its vast epic scenery of red table-top mountains and red rocky ground, dotted with green euphorbias, mopane and shepherd trees. It’s unlike any place I have seen before and has a beauty that is entirely its own. It struck me once again as I drove towards Palmwag, dropping off my passenger after the veterinary gate at a group of welcoming women and smiling children. Palmwag, positioned next to a tributary of the Uniab River among the makalani palms, is an enjoyable Damaraland treat with a campsite, equipped Camping2Go safari tents and chalets, revamped in recent years.
The vehicle for the sunset drive into the concession area was about to leave. I quickly grabbed a jacket from my car and jumped aboard. I was in the nick of time to experience some of the magnificent scenery at the best time of day, when the land drinks in the sun, deepens in colour and glows in rich ruby-reds, softening into pink as the sun sets. Guide Rodney set up a table with drinks and snacks on the top of a hill with a ‘365 degree view’ of the landscape around us. We toasted Life and then spent two minutes in silence to appreciate it. The wind was the only sound we could hear. I once asked a friend what the reason for our existence was, and I remember his reply clearly. He said: “To experience the sanctity of life.” There you have it.
The sky darkened as we drove back to the lodge for the supper buffet in the large airy restaurant, and then to drift into peaceful Damaraland sleep under thatch roofs with a half-moon outside. The next day would be a catch-up day (serenaded by the korhaan), with my dusty laundry gratefully given in for a wash and a good lunch at the Makalani pool bar. I waited in anticipation for the sunset colours. The sun performed impeccably, as usual, colouring the world around me masterfully. I took it all in, a miracle every day. The red basalt rock glowed as the sun took its final bow and left the stage for the stars, moon and magic of the night to take over.
Join me next week as I take the salt road down the Skeleton Coast to Swakopmund.