South Africa to Namibia (weeks 22 & 23)
In Jo'burg, we boarded the Shosholoza Meyl sleeper train to Cape Town, passing through desert scrubland and the scenic mountainous areas around Cape Town with their blooming fields of yellow canola and vineyards. We spent two days in town wandering around and hiking on Table Mountain before starting our overland adventure.
We passed through vineyards and orchards, stopping for a wine tasting and a braai (Afrikaans barbecue), before crossing the Orange River into Namibia. The green faded to browns and yellows as we entered the Namib, Namibia's vast coastal desert, which we would follow for the majority of our time in the country.
First stop: Fish River Canyon, the longest canyon in the world. While exploring the rim, the sky darkened, our hair started standing on end, and our hand would crackle if we raised it to wave; we looked for slightly lower ground while the storm quickly passed overhead. It even rained a bit, a rarity in the area. Later, on a guided desert hike, we'd find out that it usually rains about 5mm annually in the southern Namib, a bit more in the North; except this year, when it rained 95mm in the South, and barely at all in the North. The excess water is, in fact, not a good thing; all the desert dwellers adapted to the dry ground have been negatively impacted, with many smaller species like reptiles and arachnids drowning. The increase in vegetation has helped the grazers, but also increases the risk of fire. In contrast, the inhabitants of the North – bigger animals – are going thirsty.
First stop: Fish River Canyon, the longest canyon in the world. While exploring the rim, the sky darkened, our hair started standing on end, and our hand would crackle if we raised it to wave; we looked for slightly lower ground while the storm quickly passed overhead. It even rained a bit, a rarity in the area. Later, on a guided desert hike, we'd find out that it usually rains about 5mm annually in the southern Namib, a bit more in the North; except this year, when it rained 95mm in the South, and barely at all in the North. The excess water is, in fact, not a good thing; all the desert dwellers adapted to the dry ground have been negatively impacted, with many smaller species like reptiles and arachnids drowning. The increase in vegetation has helped the grazers, but also increases the risk of fire. In contrast, the inhabitants of the North – bigger animals – are going thirsty.
Heading to the parched North, we went to Etosha National Park via Sossusvlei and its neighbouring Dead Vlei, climbing the iconic Dune 45 for sunrise. It was my second visit there, but I could not make it up the dune this time around; it's strange to see how much worse my knee has gotten in five years. Whether from the top or not, the view is exquisite, and we were lucky to have the full moon – which had risen as a giant dark orange-red orb the previous night, still hanging in the sky opposite the picturesque African sunrise.
Etosha is a wonderful park; the huge expanse protects a great salt pan, hundreds of species, and a series of small watering holes. Though exceptionally dry, especially this year, it is teeming with life. We saw many grazers: springbok (which outnumber people in the country), dik-diks, impala, kudu, oryx, zebras, giraffes, ostriches, rhinos, elephants; a variety of big and small birds (including hissing owls and a few eagles), a honey badger’s silhouette, bunches of jackals, and, luckily, lions: a small pride walked by within a few meters of us (with cubs, too!), and on our second day we found a lone male lounging right next to the road with his fresh kill. Watching the animals cautiously approaching the waterhole, the elephants playing around in the water, and baby rhinos socializing at night, was all so moving. Two hours can go by in a blink - they remind us to be calm and present.
One difference I have noticed is the colour in the sky; on my last African trek, I commented on the muted colour of the sky through some of West Africa where there was more pollution (on a clear day, the sun would set about a hands' width from the horizon, a dark red disc slipping into a thick gray smog). Namibia's skies were such bright blue, the sun rays strong and dazzling, yet this time, the sun is once again obscured by that haze. Is this the same slab I'd seen from the plane, covering the landscape as far as I could see, from Maputo to Johannesburg and far beyond? Is it due to pollution, dust, or bush fires? My guess is a little bit of everything, but I plan on looking into it when we have our next few days of rest.
It makes for beautiful sunrises and sunsets, but I feel deeply concerned every time I look at the muted sky or think about the emptying oceans, the unusual desert rains, or the drought and fires in the wetter regions. Koyaanisqatsi.
It makes for beautiful sunrises and sunsets, but I feel deeply concerned every time I look at the muted sky or think about the emptying oceans, the unusual desert rains, or the drought and fires in the wetter regions. Koyaanisqatsi.