Wolwedans Dunes Lodge - Sept 2013 - Namibia
The tea is delivered to the door at 6 am and we fling open the door to the desert and roll up the canvas window frames to the vast sky and mountains. There are oryx everywhere, and a million birds singing. It is so much warmer today. The washing I did in the shower is dried - it left a ring of red dust in the shower. My hair is stuck to my head, and I have applied coconut oil in an effort to add some life to the straw it has become. We are packed and ready to go, our small bags sitting at the door, and we walk through the dunes to breakfast here one last time.
Sunshine tells me about a Chef who was here, a woman, who slept with twenty men. She is clearly mortified and says she is celibate, but laughs uproariously so I have reason to disbelieve her. We are the only ones at breakfast, Russell and Jan the two other Aussies here, have finally taken off in a lot air balloon - their vehicle broke down yesterday, and they are already making up a story which will embellish the details of how they survived in the African bush. The staff all come out to say goodbye, and Sunshine hugs me to her ample chest. Ben is standing waiting to drive us to the airstrip. Here is another magical fairy tale place I do not want to leave, I doubt we will return here, and try to imprint on my mind all the details, an impossibility. I feel teary, something I have experienced a lot in Africa.
Jana Bruckner, Stefan's wife, who are the owners of the Lodge, is flying with us to Windhoek, with her beautiful two year old daughter, and Claudia, her nanny, who speaks Oshiwambo. They have two other children, all of whom speak German at home, plus English and Oshiwambo. The kids all have the clear blue German eyes, blonde hair, and smooth tanned skin of people who were born here, and are as accustomed to life in the bush as Lowe are to life in Sydney, wearing khaki clothes, bush hats, boots, and managing to look both practical, beautiful, and appropriate all at once. Her husband is a remarkable man, and she acknowledges his many skills as entrepreneur, photographer, businessman, and for setting up these lodges about ten years ago - there are three here altogether. They live in Windhoek and use these small planes like a taxi back and forth, a very sophisticated lifestyle.
I look down at the boots that Glenda has loaned me. They have been absolutely perfect, rugged, comfortable, high top lace ups with sheepskin lining, and suede outer, but they are thick with rest dust. I shall have to buy her a new pair.
We say a sad farewell to Ben, I give him a small painted glass heart, for his girlfriend. He has told us very formally that 'marriage is in the pipeline', their families have met, and he is accepted. There is only a small bride price in his tribe, 'maybe one cow' he says. He holds the heart tenderly; clearly he is touched by this small gesture.
Our pilot is Danielle, an attractive blonde young woman, positively ancient compared to our other two, at around 25. Ben stands solemnly at his vehicle, as six of us squeeze into the wee plane, and as we taxi by, waves energetically, and surprisingly, blows a kiss in return to mine, perhaps I have assisted him to be a little more self expressed. he has such a gentle footprint on the land, such a sensitive man who has extended to us his extensive knowledge and much generosity.
The baby is fretful 40 minutes into the flight. Claudia is pregnant with her second child, and threatening to vomit, holding the bag to her face, she is a large woman, and I am seated next to her, uncomfortably close for someone who may vomit, so I hope she has good aim. Gerald stares solidly ahead, if he was nervous with three in the plane, i can safely assume that six people plus baggage magnifies the emotion. I feel for my man, willing to do this scarey thing so many times, just so that we can travel this way. Jana and I talk, she is interesting, and in turn, seems very interested in our lives, and we swap email addresses. The only thing that settles the baby is Jana's mobile phone. Boy, does that baby know her way around technology, swiping pictures and pressing buttons like someone in an Indian call centre, and she settles.
We arrive in Windhoek an hour and ten minutes later, to be met once more by Cliff, our one man welcome team - remember him, the one looking after all his siblings and their kids, honouring a promise made to his dying mother? It is hot here, and he takes us through the city centre, so we get to see Windhoek on a week day, a bustling place full of bars and gambling saloons, one ominously named 'Big Trouble Gambling'. There is a well dressed woman grilling meat on a BBQ on the pavement, a long queue, so this is a popular lunch time snack, another wearing an Aussie bush hat complete with corks, Cliff advises we must not take her photo, or she will 'charge you big money', so we don't. We check out a couple of shops looking for kudu skin shoes for Gerald, but alas, cannot find any. The pharmacy is doing a good trade despite the sour faced woman on the till, and we buy toothpaste and sunscreen for Gerald's poor burnt face. You will see what kind of wife I am when I tell you I thought of everything for this trip - and I confess that includes my HAIR STRAIGHTENER (I hang my head in shame .... I haven't even USED it, as the electricity has not been strong enough in the bush) - but NO SUNSCREEN. I have confessed to you one of my darkest secrets.
Cliff takes us to the charming Galton House where we stayed several days ago on our way out to the bush, and their welcome is warm, Toulouse the chef, is beaming the smile of a happy Uncle greeting family, and brings us tea. Cliff is into FB and WhatsApp, and we spend an hour showing him pictures, telling him stories, and taking a film of him to send to Joshua. We eat at the hotel, both lunch and dinner, and spend the rest of the day downloading pictures, and blogging. I wash my hair for the first time twelve days, and clog up the drain with red dust, then lie in the Namibian sun whilst it dries, drinking white wine. I am with my beloved, having the most wonderful holiday, and I am blessed.
Another very early start, safaris are strenuous holidays, and we are out of the door by 6.30 am. Uncle Toulouse has had to be woken so that we can pay for dinner and drinks, and Gerald is anxious as Uncle's brain is foggy from this unexpected early start, the technology doesn't work, nor the printer, and the airport is 40 minutes away. Cliff assures us all will be well, there is hardly ever anyone at the airport, so Gerald begins to relax and even eats the hard boiled eggs and juice our 'breakfast pack' contains. On arrival however, there are hundreds of people, with alarming amounts of baggage, and we are already late. This is difficult to write, but out of the crowd comes a man in a fluoro jacket, escorts a German couple and us to one side, and calls an official to check us in. I am deeply uncomfortable, yet immensely grateful as it means we will get the flight, but this blatant discrimination is disturbing, and I find I am avoiding eye contact with other travellers and looking at the ground. We clear customs with a rude woman who barks at us - I can see why given our preferential treatment, and meekly submit to her demands.
The flight from Windhoek to Maun in Botswana is only an 55 minutes, thankfully in a much larger plane, which even boasts a toilet. This is another scenic journey over Africa, my nose leaves smears on the window. The steward announces our arrival, and creates some confusion, as he welcomes us to Victoria Falls in Zimbabwe, when we are in fact in Maun Botswana, and I reassure the confused German woman across the aisle, who also has had her nose pressed to the window, and is distraught to have missed the mighty Falls. I am the first to step off the plane, and down the steps on to the hot Tarmac, and I feel very film star-ish. There are eight of us disembarking here, but customs have not arrived, the hall is empty, and we wander around suppressing laughter. We could walk straight out and nobody would be any the wiser. Eventually a man arrives, but alas, has no ink stamp so it takes a while to complete these cursory entrance qualifications. Another man in an impressive jacket emblazoned with 'Security' unzips my small travelling cushion with particular attention, but finds no contraband. And we are through.
A sign 'Groom' and the smiling Chipi is there, taking baggage and checking us straight in for our next short flight to Abu, the closest airstrip to Seba Camp. We meet an American couple from New York, who 'want' my vintage Ray Bans, bought for me by my Mom from Vinnies about fifteen years ago. She is a foot taller than him, and her face has the odd look of someone who has had a lot of 'work' done, but they laugh readily and he tells us he has had the best times of his life in Oz. The flight is delayed until 1pm and we have been switched to a Cessna 208B Grand Caravan plane, a perplexing piece of information to me, as I immediately form the image of driving overland in a caravan, but it is a plane after all. The reason for this is there are six Chinese visitors joining us from Beijing and others who work at the embassy in Gaberones. So we take a two minute walk to the Wilderness Headquarters, and sit in a large beautifully decorated in the old style African lodge, and drink water and catch up on watts app and this blog, before the whole system crashes.
The next flight takes only 25 minutes, with five Chinese men, mostly in business suits, and one woman, whose name is Huang. Huang, as it turns out, has very definite opinions about everything and is not afraid to voice them, including such alarming facts as 'only eat a small piece of meat or you can die' and 'wild animals will not kill you if you have a good heart'. She will not be swayed otherwise, not even by our guides. Hmmm. We make a donation to a very worthy cause, called Children in the Wilderness, which has brought over 4000 kids from Zambia, Zimbabwe, Seychelles, South Africa, Malawi, Namibia, and Botswana to the bush to learn about their animals and land and heritage. I love this charity.
We are met at the airstrip by Speedy, our guide for the next three days, in a big immaculate Landrover, his uniform crisp and ironed and bearing the logo 'Wilderness Safaris'. We are relieved to be separating from Huang and her group, whose constant chatter has hit a nerve. The short drive to the camp delivers a surprise. We stop under a tree, and right above us is a beautiful young male leopard, his tail dangling enticingly within reach. The Chinese group arrive, and all hell breaks loose as six cameras click, and a non stop loud conversation ensues. Then Huang tries to get out of the vehicle to get closer. Yessiree, we are about to see if her theory about good hearts work. Joe, their guide, firmly puts her in her place, and Speedy just as firmly delivers the etiquette for game viewing. Stay in the vehicle and shut the fuck up basically, only he says it more nicely.
We are a minute from our camp, and as we drive up, there are about ten staff standing in uniform, all smiling and singing a song of welcome, swaying to the rhythm. I can scarcely bear the joy of this, and the three managers, Tim and his wife Hayley, and Tizzard, also singing, smiling, holding a tray of cool cloths, and cool drinks. The wooden poles of the camp frame them, what a sight, what a welcome. We walk through the high poked walls to a large enclosure, overlooking a large span of water of the Okavango Delta. There are reeds and trees, birds singing, monies scampering in front of us, and baboons silently observing from the sidelines. Two boats are pulled up on a sandy beach, there are large wooden decks and verandahs and all open, fat African cushions, dark wood furniture, big shady trees, and some thatched houses, barely distinguishable through the trees. I cannot stop smiling, although my eyes are full of tears, THIS is the Africa of our childhood, this terrain, these trees, this heat, this is the land of our birth.
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